I sat in my office eating lunch with Jean and Michael, telling them the events of last night. I chomped into my double bacon burger, “and he still wants to see me again tonight!” I concluded to the guys.

After ruining the best game of the season for him and then getting him punched in the face at the movies I thought for sure this guy was going to be a goner by now.

“Seriously?” Michael looked at me in bewilderment.

“Seriously. He called me right after our date when I got home.” I took another enormous bite of my burger right as Lane approached my desk.

“Andy! I am loving your notes for this piece!”

“Thanks Lane,” I said with a mouth full of burger.

“What is next for you two?” He asked with a daring look in his eyes.

“I’m going for dinner at his house tonight,” I managed to say while trying to swallow the last of my bite.

He took the pencil out from behind his ear and waved it at me, “I have a good feeling about this one Andy.”

“Thank-you,” I pounded my chest slightly to relieve the indigestion I had just caused from talking and swallowing at the same time.

Lane turned to walk away and then stopped himself, “and if I were you, I would take smaller bites at dinner tonight,” he slipped the pencil back behind his ear and walked out of sight. The three of us burst into laugher and I took an extra-exaggerated bite of my burger to mock Lane’s advice.

I was bringing more than just my appetite for tonight’s dinner at Ben’s. If he wasn’t going to run from a needy jealous omega I had to pull out the big guns now. Lane said it himself, he had a good feeling about ‘this one’, maybe this article would be the last How To column I would have to write. Maybe I could start to write about what I really wanted to write about.

I showed up at dinner with a box full of items, inappropriate for a third date, to leave in his house. I was going to omega-fi his house, mark my territory, and make him absolutely mortified.

He answered the door, looking incredibly sexy with an open dress shirt and a dishtowel slung over his right shoulder. He was glistening slightly from the kitchen heat and his hair was slicked back perfectly as per always.

“Just in time,” he told me after a quick peck on the cheek. He then returned to the kitchen just as quick to continue chopping away.

“Wow,” I exclaimed after stepping into his apartment and seeing his romantic set up for two with candles, red wine, and a delectable scent wafting from the kitchen. The TV was even tuned on to tonight’s Knicks game.

“We got tip off in ten and dinner in five,” he announced proudly.

“Oh great,” I yelled back aimlessly as I walked my box full of things through his apartment, placing items all around the place.

I put multiple pictures of myself in each room, I replaced his sports magazines with old issues of Glam-O, and I filled his bathroom with products for contraception to really freak him out.

After filling his house with unwanted items I shimmied my way back into the living room where the table was set for the two of us. I watched him come out from the kitchen with a steaming pan of what smelt like roasted lamb. My mouth began to drool but I didn’t let on. He placed the pan on the table and looked around eerily.

“Those are some nice pictures of you…” he said, clearly horrified.

I said nothing and kneeled next to his music player. I browsed around until I found the most annoying song I could find, I landed on 1000 Miles by Vanessa Carlton and began to lip sing dramatically while I ignored his mentioning of my new things in this apartment.

“Alright,” he pulled out the chair for me. Clearly he was trying to handle my annoyingness with dignity, “two minutes until game time.”

Still pretending to be an airhead omega flouncing around to the music I sat in the chair he pulled out for me. He turned the volume up on the TV, patiently waiting for the song to end. Once I was seated and the music came to an end, Ben lifted the lid of the pan he’d brought to the table to reveal a perfectly cooked roast lamb and began to cut into it.

“And on tonight’s menu, roast lamb with mint glaze,” he lifted the tender meat and placed it on the plate in front of me. Show time.

I began to whine with a squeaky high pitch sigh and clutched my chest pretending to hold back tears.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s wrong?” Ben asked as he saw my face change.

“Nothing, nothing,” I choked, “It’s just…I don’t eat meat.” I began to dramatically fake cry. “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb,” I sang as a sobbed over top of my dinner plate. “Please get it out of my face before I vomit,” I told him.

I convinced him to abandon his extraordinary meal and comfortable living room with the 72” inch plasma playing the Knicks game to go to a horrible vegan restaurant I’d promptly found on my phone, but claimed to him it was my all time favorite.

The restaurant itself looked half decent upon first glance. It was a cute, casual atmosphere and there were half a dozen people or so dining when we arrived. However, everyone dining was bathed in patchouli and dressed in hemp.

The menu was what made the restaurant turn foul. Everything was plant-based and featured random herbs and spices I couldn’t even pronounce. Maybe this would appeal to some people but I knew for lamb-eating men, like Ben and myself, it would not. I picked an all green tofu dish that seemed dreadfully bland, told Ben it was the best thing on the menu, and ordered two.

When the plates arrived my stomach growled in anger. I attempted to eat it but the smell was too revolting. Instead, I pushed the food around on my plate then excused myself to the bathroom. On my way to the bathroom my stomach growled again and I decided to duck out quickly to grab a slice of pizza. I didn’t mind if Ben waited a moment or two, I’d come up with an excuse.

The pizza shop was just a block away. I munched a slice of pepperoni and managed to catch the end of the Knicks game just in time. I checked the time. It had been about fifteen minutes. I decided Ben had suffered enough. Poor guy must really hate me now for making him eat grass and wait on me for 15 minutes.

I sat down at the table casually but when I saw the worried look on Ben’s face something inside me softened a little and I felt guilty.

“Is everything okay?” He asked sweetly.

I immediately hardened after hearing his sweet tone. No way I can fall for this guy, it’s just a job, I reminded myself once again.

I was about to make up an excuse, telling him I’m sick or something of the sort when the waitress conveniently walked by and noticed I hadn’t touched my food at all. “Is everything okay with your food Mr.?” She asked seeming concerned. I seized the opportunity, crying out in anguish, and started on my next dating faux pas, being an insecure omega.

I squished my face into a terrible ugly crying face and began to wail once again, “No…it’s just…” I let out a whimper, “My boyfriend thinks I’m fat!” I cried as I flung a fork full of food across the room.

The waitress looked at Ben with disgust as I turned my fake tears on heavy. “I can’t eat in front of you!” I screamed in his face and stormed off from the table and back to the kitchen where I scarfed down the rest of my meatball sub, giggling at my performance and watched the Knicks lose their first game of the series.

I returned to the table with a smile on my face. He must think I’m crazy now I thought to myself. There is no way he’s going to carry on through this night, but to my dismay, he paid the bill and left me dumbfounded when he invited me back to his apartment once again.