"You sure do eat a lot, don't you?"
I paused, looking up with a mouthful of noodles at Harry on the other side of the table. "Hmm?" I hummed, chewing at the spicy Chow Mein as fast as I could with my hand over my mouth, hoping for a response that would give me enough time to cover my slipping manners.
We'd been in the restaurant for about a half hour, and in that amount of time I'd managed to swallow down around four plates of food that covered a wide range of variation of what was on offer, and neck three bottles of Budweiser. The first few plates were a breeze. I'd managed to keep myself clean and tidy - I was even capable of using a fork and knife. But somewhere in between the second and current bottle of beer; I'd lost it all.
I wasn't drunk, I'd just became somewhat of a savage.
Harry smirked and shook his head, resting his elbows on the table with his chin in his hands. "At least you're getting my money's worth." He commented, his hues glued to mine - until I dropped the eye contact to pray away my blushing cheeks.
"Sorry." I apologized, blinking away a few tears from the hasty eating of the super spicy noodles that must've been prepared in the pits of hell. "Haven't had Chinese food in a long time."
"You haven't?" He asked. "From the way you've went on about it, I assumed it's the only thing you do eat."
I shook my head, washing down the remainder of the food in my throat with the last swig of my bottle. "That's just me in general. Food, food, food. All I talk about." I began, babbling - something that occured along with the excessive eating.
I'd been a bag of nerves all throughout the meal. On top of losing my control in my manners, I'd spent whatever time I had in between focusing on spooning large servings of food on to my plate to try and figure Harry out. His intentions, his motives, the lot.
And it probably sounds really soon and crazy to be thinking about something like that on the first date, perhaps. But actually being on the date put me in a whole new perspective. I knew what I wanted out of it, but I didn't know what he wanted. I just assumed what he wanted. What if he actually wanted more? What if he wanted less? I'd be happy with a fuck and maybe save him as a booty call in my contacts. But in the long run, I just wanted to know... I felt like an obsessed stalker. But I hadn't really had a serious fling in a while. And the way me and Harry had been getting on - even though I was beaming with nerves - it was going swell. He didn't cringe at my slobbery eating or my intake of alcohol. He just kept up the conversation the whole time. It was starting to play off as an actual... Well, date.
"That's not all you talk about." Harry told me, waving his hand in the air for a passing waiter's attention. "Same again?" He asked, pointing at my bottle. I nodded.
"Well, no. But I felt like it's all I've talked about so far." I said with a shrug.
"Why don't we talk about something else, then?" Harry suggested, running a hand through his soft hair.
"Like what?" I asked, pushing my plate to the center of the table and deciding I was done with food... For now.
"You." He said. "You know a lot about me. Where I work, where I live. You even know my Dad's name." He continued, chuckling.
"Well, you told me all those things by choice. I didn't ask!" I said, defending myself.
"You strongly suggested that I tell you those things." He grinned. "I have the texts to prove it."
I smirked and shook my head, accepting the fourth beer from the possibly concerned waiter who was giving me a straight glance as I took the cold glass bottle. I looked away and went back to Harry. I never had a good experience with staff. Last night's endeavor with the barman being a prime example. "Maybe I did."
