Me:And the last time I did it, she left before I woke up.
Emma:I wonder why she did that?
Me:Something I hope she tells me after she offers to massage my sore muscles. After all I got injured in the line of duty today.??
Emma:You’re really selling this second date before stepping up for a first date.
Me:I’ll take that as a yes.??
Emma:We’ll see.
Little Squid:Bro?
Me to Little Squid:Fine
Little Squid:Pizza 2nite?
Me:Got a date and she has better legs than you
Little Squid:Swim meet?
Me:Wouldn’t miss it.
I should have invited Emma back to my place and had dinner delivered.
I should have relied on playlists rather than a live pianist.
I should have postponed our first official date until I could stand and walk without pain meds.
Instead, I barreled through with the date intent on showing Emma I’m more than the guy with a reputation, more than the jersey and the sponsors. I even left my phone at home to avoid distractions. A bold move, right? Turns out, bold isn’t the same as smart. But I’ll get to that.
I start off on the wrong foot, arriving ten minutes early, but find Emma already seated at a table near the piano. If only I’d arrived earlier, I would have asked for a different table with more privacy, but I didn’t want to appear like a dick. Not when she looks… incredible in a long white dress with a pastel floral design.
She’s so far out of my league. I mean, if I wasn’t a professional footballer, women would use me as their revenge fuck, but no one would break a nail to lock me down. And if I came with Little Squid as my package deal? I wouldn’t even find first base with a compass.
But Emma? She’s the girl next door. She’s the woman you take home to meet your mother. She is the mother of your future children.
Emma is everything, and I’m … still a fucked-up footballer with a well-deserved bad rep.
When she sees me, she smiles, and I feel like I’ve already won despite the elephants pounding in my head.
“You look beautiful,” I say, sliding into my seat. Really? She is the sun around which planets orbit, and I can only come up withbeautiful?Luckily, my business degree doesn’t require poetry.
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” she teases, her eyes sparkling. “I was expecting more than a black eye and cut cheek.”
“Oh, the damage is real, but you’ll have to strip me to find the evidence.” The banter flows naturally, and for a moment, I think I’ve nailed this.
At first, the ambience is charming. The pianist plays soft background music, setting the mood. But as the meal progresses, the songs get louder. Emma and I have to lean in to hear each other, which would be romantic if I didn’t have to practically shout every other sentence.
“What’s one line you’ve never used with a woman?” Emma asks as we trade bad date stories.
“SO, DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN?” I yell, wincing as my voice carries across the table. Of all the cheesy one-liners I could have yelled, this one sinks as comedic gold.
“WHAT?” Emma shouts back, cupping a hand to her ear.
“I SAID…” But before I can repeat myself, the pianist abruptly pauses, leaving my words hanging awkwardly in the sudden silence.
“DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN?” echoes loudly through the now-quiet room.
