My first date with Rich was exactly the kind of date I liked to go on. It was at our bar. I was in a familiar setting. I felt safe. We sat at a table with all of Rich’s friends. There was no one-on-one. No reason for me to feel nervous. I needed that. I needed this.

Rich behaved completely different that night, he was a stranger. His booming voice was low, subdued. When he spoke to me he leaned in close, so only I could hear him. The Rich I knew wanted to make sure everyone in the room heard his jokes, his stories. I didn’t know this guy sitting next to me. Or maybe I did.

I had spent the weeks leading up to our date feeling him out through text messages. The Rich at the bar wasn’t the Rich in private conversation. He didn’t annoy the shit out of me, like I hoped. I would find myself smiling at my phone, getting a thrill when I saw his name there. I pushed our date off though. I made excuses, the way I always did. He called me out every time and I lied through my teeth. Redirecting the blame back to him.

When we finally set a date, he told me it was the last time he would ask or reschedule with me, so I stuck to it. I let him pick me up at my trailer. Rich never struck me as snobby, so I had no worries.

He opened my door and laughed when I struggled to pull myself up into his huge black pickup truck.

As the night went on I worried about my numb fingers, my smile that was on fire. The liquor mixed with his smile, it could be deadly. Our date was a midweek casual affair. I had to work the next day, so I told him I needed to be home by ten. When nine rolled around, I was regretting it. I wanted more time.

I looked over and saw his wrist resting on the table in front of him. He was turned away from me, talking to a friend, when I brushed my fingertips against his. The response was instant. He dropped his hand down and found mine. I knew I was in bad territory but I could not stop myself. Hand-holding on the first date? With a guy I always wrote off as a loud-mouth dick? It was the damn smile. The way his dark hair curled around his ears. He wasn’t conventionally beautiful, or my type. He had a scruffy beard that didn’t quite cover the acne scarring on his neck and jaw. He wasn’t as tall as most of the guys I went after. When he smiled it made my stomach dip. It was different from the other times he had used it on me. He was enjoying himself with me. Enjoying the fact that I was having a good time, wondering if I was wrong about him.

When he dropped me off that night, I didn’t ask him in. We sat in his truck and talked for a half hour past my self-imposed curfew. I couldn’t stop chatting. I wanted to kiss him and I had to figure out how to initiate it. He was leaning back in his seat, angled toward me, but keeping his distance. All my instincts had told me he would be all over me if I went out with him. He was proving me wrong and it only made me want him more. I needed to taste him.

I told myself I had one more question and then it was time to woman up.

“So, you were pretty quiet tonight,” I said, eyeing my porch light through the windshield.

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry. It felt like you were a completely different person. Which one is the real you?”

“Both,” he laughed. “I just had a lot on my mind all night. I’m sorry if, for any moment, you felt like I wasn’t having a good time. I’ve had the best time with you tonight. I almost canceled on you. I know you tried to cancel a million times though so I couldn't do it.”

“Wait, why did you almost cancel?” I crossed my arms, but I wasn’t pissed. I wanted to mock him, but the look on his face stopped me.

“I needed to get out of the house tonight. That's why I didn’t cancel. My grandmother died this morning.”

“Fuck, Rich. I’m so sorry. Seriously, you didn’t have to go out with me tonight. I would have understood.”

“I didn’t want to though. It was a shitty ass day and I wanted at least one good thing to come from it. I've been wanting to see you and have this date for so long. And I’m glad I did. I had a great time tonight despite the shit in my head.”

I leaned forward, untangled my arms, reached for his hand. I liked the way it fit into mine. It felt natural. Everything with him felt natural tonight. It was so unexpected, I wasn’t sure where to go with it.

He looked at the clock on his dash and into my eyes. “You need to get inside, beautiful girl. You have to be at work early tomorrow.”

“I know,” I groaned. I attempted to pull my hand from his but he squeezed, pulling my gaze back to his.

“Thank you for taking my mind off of everything.”

“No problem.” My words were an awkward mumble. He had that look in his eye. I blushed and looked down at his lips. Full and pink. When he leaned forward, I came to him. The kiss was surprising. I felt it in my center. It kept going, and I felt my fingers curling into his shirt. When I pulled away, I didn’t worry over embarrassment. “What the fuck?” I whispered.

“What?” he laughed, knowing.

“I didn’t know you could kiss like that.”

Rich and I didn’t work out. The sex never thrilled me, never moved me the way his mouth did. I could kiss him for hours on end, but the chemistry stopped there.

“I’m going to be a disappointment,” he said, as I straddled him on my rickety new bed. I shut him up with my lips, pulled his hair. “Just shut up and let me fuck you,” I replied. I wanted to see if the drinks I had in my blood would make his dick as exciting as his mouth. It wasn’t.

Jealousy was an issue too, control.

Our relationship evolved slowly into a beast with no name. We weren’t lovers, but some nights he would come over and crawl into my bed. We would make-out, touch each other, I’d get him off if I was in the mood.

Then, one night I picked him up from the bar and took him to his house. It was bare bones, a mattress on the floor. I look back on moments and wonder who can be trusted. I remember his weight on me, the press of my palms to his shoulders. He passed out eventually. My clothing was never removed, he never moved inside of me. He didn’t rape me; there was no damage done, I thought.

I could feel it building up, this resentment inside of me, for everyone, every man.

I stopped taking his calls for a while, then felt guilty. His pleas were desperate, I was cold, and I convinced myself that my wild imagination was the enemy.

One night a mutual friend called me. He said Rich had been going on about me all night. They were both drunk and needed a ride home. So I hopped into my little hatchback and picked them up. Rich was all hands and poison. He told me I was a demon, that he couldn’t stop thinking about me, that it wasn’t his fault he could never be Connor. He told me he should have listened to his sister when she warned him away from me.

When I replied under my breath that his sister could kiss my ass, he lost his mind.

He told me that a cunt like me needed to keep his sister’s name out of my mouth. That’s when the wheels of my little car stopped moving, when my foot hit the brake.

I left him on the side of the road, took his friend home, and cried on the way back to my trailer.

It’s such a silly thing, the way we let foolish boys fool us into thinking we are fragile, breakable, by their words. Our tears sometimes prove them right.