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She’d probably tell me to get over Mason at this point. To read the signs as sayingDo Not EnterorRoad Ends in 500 Feet.
She would also tell me to get out of Ronald’s car, which I’m still sitting in.
I grab the door handle and try to muster up a smile.Neverwould be too soon to see Ronald again, but I don’t want to be rude.
“Thank you for dinner,” I tell him. “But I think it’s probably best if we don’t—”
“See each other again?” he interrupts.
I laugh, and it feels as unnatural as it sounds. “Yeah.”
Ronald nods. “I couldn’t agree more. You have some of the qualities I’m looking for, but ultimately fall short of my standards.”
Wow. Way to let a girl down easy, pal. Also—what kind of standards do you have, you mansplaining, fascist otter-ruiner?
I'm not sure I want to know.
“It’s not that you’re unattractive,” Ronald continues. “I’m sure some guys would go for this … look.”
Thislook?I glance down at my dark jeans, boots, and blue sweater. I'm neither over- nor under-dressed. I’ve perfected a low-maintenance that’s cute and comfortable. My makeup is natural and my hair is soft and loose around my shoulders.
It was a mistake to waste a minute of my time getting ready on you, Ronald. Since we’re speaking our truths.
I don’t say that, of course, and instead force a smile. “I didn’t know dates were supposed to end with a report card.”
“Knowing our flaws can be a helpful step on the path to growth,” Ronald says, leaning over to pat my hand. “Don’t worry. I'm sure there’s a guy out there somewhere for you. I lined up my next date on the app while you were in the bathroom at the restaurant, so I’m sureyoucan find someone.”
Lay it on nice and thick, Ronald. You are going to be excellent for some poor woman’s self-esteem. I sure hope your next date sets you on the path to growth by telling you how terrible you are.
“Thanks,” I say flatly, because my only viable choices at this point are flat or sarcastic.
“Before you go …” Ronald pauses, chewing his lip.
“What?” If the one word comes out a little snappish,who can blame me?
He laughs and runs a hand through his red hair, a nervous habit he’s done all through dinner. He must have extremely sweaty hands—thankfully I don’t know from personal experience—because as the night wore on, his hair darkened. It looks much greasier and lanker than when he picked me up.Yuck!
And yetthisguy—this amazing specimen of man right here—has another date lined up already, while I’m the one with flaws.
First-date curse, I tell you!
“I was actually wondering,” Ronald says, “if I could come up.”
My eyebrows exhibit a NASA-worthy liftoff. He wants toWHAT, NOW?
I open the door and put one foot out. “Let me get this straight—you don’t want to date me, but you want tocome upstairs?”
Ronald’s eyes go wide. “Oh, no! Not for—no. I’m definitely not interested in hooking up with you.” He laughs again, maybe a little harder than necessary. “I meant, come up to see Mason. He’s a really cool guy, and I thought maybe we could hang out. He really liked my otters.”
Ronald, my otter-loving, greasy-haired date, isn't interested in me but wants to hang out withMason?I didn’t think the night could get worse. But it found a way.
Although …
A wicked idea comes to mind. Normally, I might not even consider it. But after what Mason has put me through, last night and then again before my date, he’s got some serious karma coming his way. But not thanks to the universe. Thanks tome.
“Mason told me he was heading out tonight,” I lie. “But I’ll give you his number. He loves to talk on the phone.Lovesit. Also, he’s really into social media, so he alternates between texts and DMs. He loves nothing more than carrying on a conversation via text while also talking about something else over Facebook messenger. I’ll give you all his info so you guys can chat all day long. He’s been lonely with my brother gone. He needs a friend.”
I had to explain my living situation and who Mason actually is at dinner. Apparently, Mason left out the particulars when he met Ronald.
