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I’m nervously sitting at the bar of The Brick Store Pub, waiting for my date to arrive. All around me, there are people in motion; waiters carrying trays of beer and food out to the tables, customers heading to the bathroom or upstairs to the Belgian beer bar with the chefs peeking their heads out of the back to check out the crowd.

I’m dressed up, with stylish blood-red sailor pants and a cream-colored blouse. I suck my teeth, a habit that reappears when I feel like I’m at a disadvantage.

It’s 7:48, exactly eighteen minutes past when Jason and I agreed to meet. I’m officially nervous. I drum my fingers against the arched bar top, shaped like a large horseshoe. I contemplate ordering the drink I’ve been eyeing since I’ve been here for something like twenty-seven minutes.

Right as I’m about to wave to the bartender, my hand rising, Jason appears. I do a double take while he grins at me. His eyes are level with mine, and I’m five foot four. There’s no way he’s six feet tall, as it says on his dating profile.

He’s also paunchy and balding a little. His photos must have been REALLY old, like they were probably taken in college.

I swallow and extend my hand to him as he walks up, reminding myself that looks aren’t everything. Even though my photos are recent.

“Hi. I’m Grace,” I say, managing a smile although my mouth feels dry.

“Hey,” he says, ignoring my offer of a handshake. Instead, he crushes me to his body, hugging me forcefully. When he pulls back, his hands still on my shoulders, I’m a little out of breath. “I’m Jason,” he says with a grin, patting my shoulders before finally releasing me.

He’s wearing khaki shorts and a blue button-up, with fancy sunglasses peeking out of the pocket. He tosses his car keys on the bar, making sure the Porsche insignia is visible. From the look on his face to the air around him, this guy is cocky. I’m so shocked that my mouth is even hanging open a little, but I honestly can’t help it.

Alarm bells are going off in my head, telling me to get out, right now. He is nothing like the person I’ve been talking to. Jason has other ideas, though.

“How about a drink?” Jason suggests.

“Um, okay,” I say, reaching for the menu so I can order the special I wanted.

“No no,” he says playfully. “I’ll pick something you’ll love. I’m kind of a craft beer aficionado.” He grabs the menu, taking a seat at the bar before turning back to me with a charming smile and saying, “And I’m really good at guessing what people like.”

“Oh. Well okay.”

I try to talk myself out of the obnoxious first impression I got. I was just going to order something called a Burial Shadow clock, but maybe he'll know that. Or maybe he’ll introduce me to something I didn’t know I liked. I let out a bit of the tension in my body and take a seat next to him. I just need to stay positive. He’s not quite how I thought he’d be, but I’m sure the same is true for him.

He skims the menu, then calls the bartender over, ordering two stouts. The bartender asks him whether it’ll be cash or card, and Jason looks to me.

“What’ll it be?” he asks.

“Oh! Uhh… Visa, please.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment.

I turn and get my wallet from my purse, fumbling to get my credit card to start a tab. The tight smile stays on my face as I hand it to the bartender. It’s only when the bartender side-eyes Jason that I realize he’s not reaching for his card. Jason taps his hands on the bar top and looks past the bartender to the television screens behind him.

The bartender gives me a dubious look, then goes to run the card.

I’m a little put out that Jason just assumed I could pay for his beer, but unsure how to say so. I look at him, and he smirks.

“I like to let the woman pick up the tab,” he says. “Not that I can’t buy a drink. It’s just, you know, to put the gold diggers in their place.”

My lips curl down into a partial frown as I offer, “We could have split the check.”

“Yeah, but I want a woman who earns, you know what I mean? A woman who knows how to be aggressive about what she wants.”

I’m a little flabbergasted at that, and I know it shows on my face. Luckily the bartender shows up at that moment, setting two dark beers down in front of us.

“Oh,” I say, looking at the beer’s dark chocolate color. It reminds me a bit of chocolate milk for some reason. I don’t normally drink beer, but when I do, I’m a pale ale kind of girl, when I do drink beer. I purse my lips a little, feeling my stress level climb higher and higher, wondering what I’m doing here.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asks, drawing my attention to him.

Oh so much is wrong. But I stick with the polite answer, “I don’t like dark beer much.”

“You will,” he says, picking up his pint glass for a toast. “What should we toast to?”

“How about to new experiences?”

“No, no,” he corrects me. “To us.”

He clinks his glass against mine, and it spills a tiny bit of the beer over my hand onto the bar top. I can practically hear him guzzling as I take the two small square napkins and clean up the spilled beer. I try to sit easily on the stool as I take a sip of the beer. It’s indeed like chocolate milk… if chocolate milk is rancid and bitter.

I take another sip, thinking that maybe I just need to close my eyes and let it wash over my tongue…

Nope. I sit my beer down and push it away, relegating it to the far edge of the bar.

“Not to your liking?” Jason asks.

“Not so much,” I say, reaching for the skinny menu.

Jason grabs it again before I can get to it. “Let me choose again.”

I frown, staring at this man and not knowing what to do. I’m not used to being such a shrew on dates, but then again I’ve never been treated like this. I open my mouth to say as much, but he’s already waving the bartender down and ordering another beer.

“I like Belgian wheat beers, if that helps,” I say to the bartender, as soon as Jason’s done talking. I didn't even listen to what he said.

“Just bring her what I asked for,” Jason says pointedly.

The bartender senses the tension between me and Jason, so he just backs off and pours another beer. On my tab, I presume.

“So, first date formalities,” Jason says, as though none of that ever happened.

I have been on so many shitty dates since I got my job. I look at Jason as he talks and realize this one is probably the worst start. Probably.

“Let’s see… I’m in finance, but I won’t even begin to explain it. It’s nothing you would understand. I’m from Atlanta, but left for college.” Jason doesn’t look at me as he recites what’s probably a rehearsed introduction, motioning with his hands in between drinking the beer. “I went to Westminster, of course. Followed by Columbia and Yale, for business school. Came back to help my father run his firm. I’ve been everywhere. You name it, I’ve been there. I spend my weekends on my boat. And you?”

He finally looks up at me. I take a breath, my fingers tangling in my lap.

“Well… I’m from Atlanta, too. I went to Decatur High School—”

“A public school?” he interrupts.

I wait a moment to answer him, my body heat rising. “Yes. I also went to Brenau University—”

“You went where?” he asks, his nose wrinkling.

“Brenau? It’s a women’s college—”

“Oh, a girls’ school,” he says, tapping his hand on the bar top and leaning back some on his stool. I smile thinly.

“It’s actually a private college.” It’s where I went before Rhode Island School of Design. Both are damn good institutions, and I’m proud of the fact I was able to go to them.

He actually rolls his eyes as he takes another drink of the beer, the one I paid for, and says, “Yeah, okay.”

I seriously need to get out of here.

He takes a moment to savor his beer. I stand, shouldering my purse. Anger is just simmering beneath the surface. I’ve never been treated so poorly in my life.

“Where are you going?” he asks, surprised.

“I’m going to go ahead and leave,” I say.

“Wait— you can’t just leave like this, in the middle of our date!”

I wave my arm frantically at the bartender. “I’d like to close out.”

The bartender must see my frustration from where he’s pouring drinks down the bar because he says, “You’re all set, it’s on the house.”

“Thanks!” I call.

Once I get outside, I’m shaky. I rush to get inside my car and pull out of the parking lot. I feel completely sick over what just happened.

I blow out a breath as my car hits the interstate. I’m almost on autopilot driving through evening traffic while my mind is elsewhere. I settle into my seat and try to calm down as I look at the time on the dashboard.

I don’t want to go home and be alone after that bullshit. I know there’s only one place I want to be right now, and only one guy’s smile I want to see… I just hope Diane decided not to go there without me.