Help. This date is weird AF. Missionabort.
Her reply arrives a minute later.What up? Is he gettinghandsy?
The complete opposite,I type.We’re at a bar with a piano player and he won’t talk at all while the guy’s playing. He’s literally been sitting there with his eyes closed for three wholesongs.
Alice’s next text pops up on my screen.Is it, like, a pianoshow?
No,I write back.Everyone else istalking.
Oh shit, girl,she answers.You’ve gotta get out ofthere.
I send her a message of agreement and head back into the bar. Scooting into our booth, I find Drew at least has his eyes open now, sipping his old fashioned as he listens to the smooth sounds ofjazz.
“Drew,” I whisper, thinking he might be more likely to engage in conversation if it’s done quietly. “Something came up. Apparently there’s this, uh, plumbing issue in my apartment and my roommate needs help sorting it out, so I have togo.”
“You’re going?” he asks, in the voice of someone waking up from adream.
“Yeah, there’s water all over the floor and she’s freaking out. Sorry to cut our night short. Should I flag someone down for thebill?”
He waves a hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry you couldn’t hear more of themusic.”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it enough for the both of us,” I reply, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice as I standup.
He reaches for my hand and kisses it again. “Goodnight, Christina,” is all he says before turning his attention back to thestage.
I’m too stunned to be mad that he’s not even bothering to walk me out. Stepping onto the sidewalk outside, I let out a sigh that turns into a laugh and then fades back into a sigh. Alice might call me the Queen of Picky, but right now the Queen of Bad Dates sounds a lot moreaccurate.
