Sugar McKenzie and August Wakefield couldn't be more different - Sugar, a meticulous, caring, but lonely paramedic and August, a charming former reality star still chasing his dream. But they've both closed themselves off emotionally from others...t...
"If a turtle doesn't have a shell, is it naked or homeless?"
-Fortune Cookie
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"Sugar," he mouthed the word, a smirk pulling at his lips. "I like the sound of it. Any particular story behind your name?"
"Yes, there is."
I had my story scripted and down to a "t." Since this was a "first date" and all, after messaging for a month, I felt like I was able to give extra details and explain more of my grandmother. Simple messages through TrueMatch were hard, especially in my retelling. He wasn't a stranger passing by on the street. I could read his body language. I'd be able to gauge if he was connected and engaged with my past.
"Hopefully an interesting one," he whispered to himself.
I paused. What did he mean by that? I leaned back into the cold metal chair. Not without shivering, my arms wrapped around each other. I glanced down at my peppermint hot chocolate, waiting for it to cool down. I didn't want to burn my tongue.
"Go on," he urged. I flinched under his gaze. I guessed he was trying to encourage me . . . just the way his tone was.
"My grandmother called me that," I responded.
His chuckle broke my script.
I hadn't expected a laugh. It wasn't a comedy. It was a nice, sweet memory.
I brought my hands up on the coffee table. It was late morning, and the grounded coffee beans fermented the atmosphere. The baristas yelled at each other, striding to get their orders done. Customers either had their phones out waiting, chatting with another person, or stood staring at the baristas, waiting for their drink order.
"Why did you laugh?" I asked.
He crossed his arms over his chest. I leaned away, taking his demeanor in.
His profile picture didn't do him justice. There were no blemishes on his face. His clean shaven chin had small stubs of hair trying to grow back. Looking up from his chin, it was his eyes, the oval shape held intensity - never faltered. His brunette hair seemed organized in its own way; curls were around his ears and near his forehead, and the rest looked like small hills connecting each curl to the other.
Why did I agree to do this date?
It was as clear as Oreo Cookie Dirt. He was a man-whore. A heartbreaker player. A scallywag.
"Nothing I expected," he stated.
He leaned his shoulders back, opening his chest more. His legs spread out under the coffee table, verging over on my side.
He knew he had the looks. Of course, he did! Over 100K hearts (which indicated that users believe he was attractive). Not before long, there will be a chili pepper to indicate his undeniable charm compared to the hearts that indicate how kind and loving he was. Maybe I should send a customer service inquiry to TrueMatch . . . . with the idea. It'll enhance the engagement on the system.
