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I wonder if I can run out of the restaurant and go home. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to spend the evening with this man. This is a disaster. I think to myself that it’s almost what I deserve. I don’t really deserve it, but maybe this is punishment for letting Colton have his wicked way with me so many times. Not that I’ve been complaining.
“So, my parents are from Sicily, initially. Well, not really,” he says, laughing.
“They’re from Sicily, or they’re not?” I ask as we have a seat.
“Well, my great grandma, who I call Nona, I mean, hold on. Wait. She’s my grandma, not my great grandma. My Nona, she’s from Sicily.”
“Cool,” I say, nodding, not caring. “So, I realized that I meant to meet my best friend in an hour, so I might not be able to get an actual full meal but an appetizer.”
“Yo, I was hoping you’d say that, man. I don’t make that much money. You hear me? Yo. Just because you’re honey.”
“It’s okay. I can pay for my own appetizer.”
“But I like to be a pimp, P-I-M-P. I don’t know what you can take that from me. Yo, hold up. That didn’t really make sense, did it?”
I just stare at him. I don’t want to tell him that almost nothing he has said has made sense.
“So, you are a bod-y,” he says, looking me up and down, “with a capitalB.”
“Thank you,” I say, not knowing if that’s a compliment.
“Yo, so I know that on Tinder, a lot of girls want to hook up right away, and I normally say, ‘Yo, I’m not down with that. Zevo ain’t no ho,’ but baby, if you want to take me to your crib tonight, just let me know, ’cause I can pow, pow, pow, pow, pow. You hear what I’m saying?”
I press my lips together. This is not going well. I hear my phone beeping, and I pull it out of my handbag and look at the screen. It’s a message from Colton. I’m about to close it, but I open it instead. My jaw drops as I see what appears to be his penis.
Colton: Like it?
Me: That is disgusting. How could you?
Colton: You want to eat it?
My jaw drops. I cannot believe him. I’m about to go off when he sends another photo. And I realize that the first photo was not of his cock, but a hot dog. I start giggling.
Me: You are really stupid. You know that, right?
He sends back a smiley face.
Colton: I can tell your date’s going well.
And I put my phone back in my handbag. He’s right, obviously. Obviously, my date is not going well if I’m texting him. I look back up at Zevo. He’s staring at me, a wide grin on his face.
“Yo, you want to hear this rap I wrote last night for you?”
“Not really,” I say honestly. He looks slightly sad. And I take a deep breath, “But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“Yeah. So, listen to this. Emma. Emma. You are thick like a themma, themma. No, I did not say femma, femma, because you don’t have a beema, beema.”
I hear my phone beeping as he’s rapping, and I grab it. I don’t even care if Colton thinks I’m having a shitty date because I am having a shitty date, and I cannot believe I’m here with Zevo, the idiot.
Colton: So, I was hoping we could talk about the designs for the recreation area for the new community. I think you really have talent.
I stare at the message, and I feel myself growing warm. As much as I can’t stand Colton, and as much as he gets on my nerves, I really am appreciative of the way that he’s nurturing my talent. And if I’m honest with myself, Isabel was right. There’s a really fine line between love and hate, and as much as I dislike him, I really do look forward to his messages as well.
Me: Sounds good. I’m really grateful for this opportunity.
Colton: I’m glad. I’m really glad.
He then sends a photo of himself without a shirt, and I shake my head.
