- Lucy -
I knew my date was going to end in sex. I could just tell by the messages he’d sent me. It was so obvious. They were sexually suggestive, but not in a way that made it sound like the guy wasn’t getting any.
And I didn’t mind. I liked knowing what to expect. That’s the biggest problem I had with Cory- okay, maybe not the biggest- but he acted like he was up for a casual date when he was really trying to meet The One.
If he’d been more upfront, it would’ve saved us both a lot of time.
Brad, however, was being very clear that he was looking to meet up to have some fun. There was no mention of love or even dating. Now I know there are a lot of girls who wouldn’t dream of sleeping with someone they just met, but I wasn’t one of those girls.
I liked to have a good time, and I didn’t take sex too seriously. As far as I was concerned, it was a healthy recreational activity.
Cory would probably say this was because I didn’t value myself highly enough, but that’s not true. In fact, I’d say it’s the opposite. I valued myself too highly to pretend I wanted a relationship just because it might make the rest of society more comfortable.
I mean, it’s not that I didn’t believe I deserved love. It’s just that I believed I deserved sex, too, and the latter happened to be a lot easier to get.
And it’s not like I would just sleep with anyone. I had standards. I had to be physically attracted to the guy and believe he might actually put in a little bit of effort to get me off. I’d be damned if I would let him get away before I got mine.
And he had to be clean and not a douche. However, if he passed my initial inspection and wasn’t a complete tool, I didn’t see why we couldn’t use each other.
The other thing was- Tinder adventures aside- I liked sleeping alone. I relished never having to compromise on what movie to watch or what take out to order. And while I know I was too young to be set in my ways, that didn’t change the fact that I was in no hurry to open my heart up to strangers.
Just my legs. If they were lucky.
And when I saw Brad, I could tell he was a winner.
He looked like an Abercrombie model, too pretty to date, but not too pretty to fuck. In fact, as soon as I sat down, I could tell by his gorgeous complexion that we could never have anything serious for the simple reason that I wasn’t willing to share as much of my bathroom counter as he would need for his products.
“Brad?” I asked, trying not to sound overly hopeful, though it was a relief when people actually resembled their Tinder photos.
He stood up from his chair and rose to press his cheek to mine. “You must be Lucy.”
“Guilty,” I said, pulling out the café chair across from him. The sidewalk on the other side of the glass divider was bustling with the lunch rush.
“I like the pink,” he said, gesturing to my hair.
“Really? I was thinking of going purple,” I said, picking up the menu.
“Don’t. The pink is hot.”
I smiled. “So what’s good here?” I asked. “Since you suggested the place.”
“They’re known for their wraps.”
“I see.”
“I wish I could recommend a few options, but I go for the pulled pork every time.”
I nodded. “Creature of habit?”
“You could say that.” He poured two glasses of water from the jug on the table. “So what do you do, Lucy?”
“I’m a hairstylist.”
“I should’ve guessed.” He pretended to run his hand over his hair but let it hover slightly above the mousse barrier. “How am I doing?”
“Great,” I asked. “Your stylist did a good job. Can I ask what kind of mousse you use?”
“The one in the blue bottle. Mr. Suave, I think?”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed to know what kind of mousse you use in front of me, Brad.”
He smiled. “What should I be using?”
“Mahalo’s a good brand. It’s a little more expensive, but they don’t test on animals.”
I could tell by his face that he wasn’t going to switch.
“Are you guys ready to order?” the waitress said, appearing with a notepad poised at the ready.
“I’ll have the pulled pork wrap,” Brad said.
“Make that two,” I added.
“And to drink?” she asked.
“Two raspberry lemonades,” Brad said, turning towards me. “Trust me on this one.”
I nodded and the waitress disappeared.
“So what do you do?” I asked.
“I’m a personal trainer.”
“Cool,” I said, trying to picture him naked. “Where do you work?”
A smile spread across his face. “In the hotel across the street.” His eyes dropped down to my cleavage before rising back up to my face.
I looked across the street at the four star hotel. It was the type that had its own flag over the entrance and men in charge of opening the doors so no one smudged the spotless glass.
“Interesting,” I said. “What kind of job perks do you get working in a swanky place like that?”
“The right kinds.”
It felt like I’d known him forever. I glanced at his hands. His fingernails were clean. I let my eyes travel up, admiring the way his sleeves squeezed his arms.
A few minutes later, the waitress returned with our wraps and drinks. I went for a sip of the raspberry lemonade first.
“That’s delicious,” I said.
“They brew it here.”
“I suppose being a personal trainer means you watch what you eat?”
Something flashed in his eyes. “Oh yeah. I have a very particular diet,” he said, picking up his wrap. “And a very healthy appetite.”
I laughed. I thought maybe he’d used up all his innuendos in our messages before the date. Not so apparently. “And I guess you’re on Tinder because you want to meet your soulmate?”
He covered his mouth and laughed.
I waited for him to finish chewing.
He swallowed. “Of course. Isn’t that why you’re on it? So you can meet the father of your unborn children?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “If anything I’m on it to weed out the people I definitely don’t want fathering my children.”
“Perfect,” he said. “When we’re done eating, I’d love to show you all the reasons I’m an unsuitable candidate.”
“Where?”
He nodded towards the hotel.
I’d done worse, but I didn’t want to answer him just yet.
“It’s funny you mention that actually,” he said, ignoring the straw and drinking his lemonade from the glass. “A few weeks ago, I went out with a girl who was looking for the man God intended for her.”
“But it wasn’t you?” I asked with a crooked smile before taking a bite of my wrap.
“She wanted to wait for marriage.” He set his glass down. “I actually felt kind of bad for her when she told me she was having a hard time lining up second dates.”
I swallowed. “I went out with the perfect guy for her last week. He was born again. Thought between him and Jesus, they might be able to save me.”
“I think you seem fine the way you are.”
“This wrap is delicious,” I said, setting it down for a second.
“I’m glad you like it.”
I wanted to ask Brad what he thought about the revolutionary speed dating app. I wanted to know if he thought the technology was dangerous. I mean, what if Fiona was right? What if young people today are so programmed for instant gratification that they don’t actually have the patience to let a relationship develop naturally?
For example, Brad seemed like a nice guy- despite the fact that he was too pretty for me in real life- but even if I wanted to build something with him, how could I when I knew that as soon as we went our separate ways, he was just going to start swiping again?
Why would I even try to compete when I knew the universe was going to match him up with new women who- if only for the reason that he hadn’t met them yet- were more exotic than I was?
Like what’s the point of trying to build anything with anybody when technology is perfectly positioned to tear it down?
But in the end, I didn’t give a shit what Brad thought in his big head. I only cared what he could do with his little one.