I looked at the crumpled sheet of paper in my hand. Dinner was on Thursday. Four days away.
"Shit," I muttered. There was no way I was getting out of this.
Grace
I looked good.Or...presentable, which was usually good enough for me. But I'd gone out of my way a little bit tonight. After all, it was my first date. I'd hoped it would be my only one, but Portia had gotten a little cagey when I mentioned it. So...maybe he wasn’t the only person I'd have to date, but I hoped I wouldn't have to catch too many frogs. I was ready to catch a prince.
Well, within reason. No one prettier than me. That would be a deal breaker.
I smoothed down the sides of my royal blue a-line dress, fluffed my hot rolled hair and leaned in to the mirror to make sure my eyeliner hadn't been smudged. I'd gone for an almost nude lip because I'd done a smokey eye and a light blush.
I didn't quite look like myself, but I was okay with that. Didn't everyone try their hardest on their first date?
The doorbell rang and I let out a deep nervous breath before I slid into my perfectly appropriate pumps and sailed to the door.
I opened it, a wide, excited smile on my face, only for said smile to sag and eventually droop into the carefully practiced blank face I'd perfected over the years.
"Well," I said to the man standing at my doorstep, "it appears I'm overdressed."
I'd been assured the man I was set up with was both cultured and handsome. Maybe he had the potential to be handsome. But right now, he looked like a cross between Paul Bunyan and the Unabomber. He wore a faded red and black flannel, half untucked and ripped at the bottom. The pair of jeans he had on were stained all over and had a large hole in one of the knees. He wore a beanie, but I could tell his hair was blond. And he had a beard so long I wondered if he had to tie a napkin around his chin from ear to ear.
He grunted at me.Grunted. Like I was a pack horse or something. "I'm sure it's fine," he said in a rolling baritone, not unsuited to his unorthodox appearance.
"Right," I said, even though there was a lot that was not right with this situation. I wasn't even sure I wanted to invite him in. Or share a car. Or...anything.
I pushed down my worry and told myself that Portia was famous for putting some road blocks into her dating tricks. So...maybe he wasn't an uncouth lumberjack or serial killer. Maybe he was a...farmer. Or socially introverted. Or...something besides terrifying. I squashed my fear down and held open the door. "Come on in for a minute. I'll put something else on."
The man stared at me with his deep, dark eyes. Totally blank. "You look fine," he said.
"Fine?" My gaze narrowed. I'd spent two hours on my makeup and hair and bought a special dress for tonight. And I even managed to find comfortable heels. What a douche canoe!
My date, if you could call him that, shrugged. "Good enough."
One thing people didn't realize about me until they did something to wrong me was that I could occasionally be passive aggressive. In a massive way. I didn't mean to be. But...sometimes I couldn’t help myself. Especially when I’d get pissed off. And right now, considering the effort I'd gone to getting this date, I was very pissed off.
I made an effort to widen my smile, but I put a little bit of grit behind my voice. "No, I insist. I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable with me wearing heels and you wearing...boots that look like they've been well acquainted with cow patties."
A flash of something sparked behind his eyes. Was it amusement? Annoyance? I couldn't tell. Nor did I care. Now I was just in this thing because he'd managed to greatly annoy me.
“Also, take your boots off, please.”
He obliged and when he stepped in, the first thing I noticed was that he smelled good. Even through the faint odor of cow poo. Super good. Okay. So not a strike two yet. I shut the door behind us and led him into the living room where I told him to sit. "I'll be back in just a couple of minutes." He sat down, his large frame almost too big for my couch, and I hurried to the bedroom and did my best not to slam the door behind me.
I shucked off my dress, kicked my heels into the corner of the room, wiggled out of my support garments (which pissed me off even more because those were not easy to get into) and rummaged through my closet looking for the worst outfit I could put together in minimum time.
I stepped out in less than five minutes, admittedly looking much worse for the wear, but also way more comfortable than I was.
I noticed, with great satisfaction, that his jaw fell open before he closed it with a soft click.
"There," I said with a sigh, "that's much better." I grabbed my purse, noting with delight that it didn't even match my outfit a little bit, and motioned for him to follow me.
I heard him get up and I grinned all the way to the door wearing my paint splattered teal and pink Converse. I'd had to go into the deep recesses of my closet to find my acid washed overalls, and I'd paired that with an old Van Halen t-shirt. I'd washed my face free of makeup and tied my hair up in a high ponytail.
I looked positively ridiculous.
Just like my asshole date.
