I pull open the heavy front door of Eight Zins Wine Bar and step over the threshold into the softly lit entry. It’s seven o’clock on a Thursday night, so the place is still packed with remains of the Happy Hour, upwardly mobile crowd.
I tuck my purse under my arm, elbowing my way purposefully towards the bar, my pupils slowly adjusting to the dim light as my eyes run the length of the room. Yuppies occupy every chair, their conversation loud and constant, and by the looks of it, many of them have been here since the end of the workday.
I tug at the neckline of my black wrap dress, the soft cotton hugging my curves and drawing attention to my modest cleavage.
I continue seeking out Mike101098, who, in my opinion, could have been a little more creative coming up with his profile name, and who, from his message, will be waiting for me at the bar wearing a baby-blue dress shirt and striped navy tie. From his detailed description of himself, Mike101098 has brown hair, striking blue eyes, chiseled features, and an infectious smile.
Yes. He actually called his smile infectious, and even though he spelled it infection, I knew what he meant.
To say that I’ve been looking forward to this, my first online dating date, for the last four days would be an understatement. I need a date, a glass of wine, and to be romanced.
The workweek sucked. My boss decided to take a quick getaway with his trophy wife, leaving me in charge of six toddlers over the age of forty-five. And to top it off, Dan from Engel Elite Homebuilders has been a colossal, grade-A pain in my doublewide ass. Such a pain that today, for the first time ever, I was tempted to get in my SUV and pay him a visit. Becky said I was overreacting, but something about the guy was starting to get on my nerves.
Like most guys in his field, Dan is stubborn. Alpha. Set in his ways. On the other hand, Dan is obviously lonely and enjoys exchanging friendly banter. Not only with me, but also with the receptionists, who screen my calls before I receive them.
As much as it shouldn’t bother me, I’m getting tired of listening to Bonnie say shit like, “Dan is on line one for you, Janine. Such a nice man! So handsome! Did you know he’s taking classes to get his pilot’s license? Such a charmer, that one. Divorced, but that’s neither here nor there…”
Oh my god, Bonnie—who honestly gives a crap if Dan has been divorced and is so handsome? Just tell me if he has the spec plans done for the subdivision he’s generaling, and when he’s getting his list of subcontractors to the foreman.
Dan “the charmer” is wasting everyone’s valuable time by being charming, and it is starting to piss me off.
I shake my head to get him out of my mind, and dig in my purse for my phone.
With no Mike in sight, I quickly tap out a text to Becky, who is on standby this evening, in the event that Mike needs to be kicked in the balls.
Me: I’m here! No Mike yet but the place is packed.
Becky: He’s probably watching you from a dark corner.
Me: Um… Not cool, and totally creepy. Thanks for the paranoia.
Becky: THANKS FOR THE PORN CLASS!
Me: That was NOT a porn class. It was exercise. Your kegels will thank me later. You and Jeremiah may send me an Edible Bouquet when you’re finally having sex all over the house.
Becky: On top of toys, clutter, unfolded laundry
Me: Yes. Laundry. Go throw a load in and screw on top of the washing machine while it’s on spin cycle.
Becky: People do NOT do that. Do they? Is that a thing???
Me: YES, Becky, spin-cycle sex is a THING. You should try it.
Becky: Why don’t you go look for Mikey Mike and leave me to my dirty dishes.
Me: SCREW THE DIRTY DISHES and go SCREW YOUR HUSBAND. Go have some foreplay. Lather each other up in the shower. Have a glass of wine. Dust the house in your trampy little maid’s outfit.
Becky: You have issues.
Me: Uh, yeah—more issues than Vogue.
Me: Shit, I think I see him. TTYL
Becky: Text me! Or call! I expect the full report. Good luck!
I lock my phone and shove it back in my purse when I catch sight of a man wearing a baby-blue button-down dress shirt. He watches me from above the rim of a highball glass he has raised to his lips, but he sets it down on the bar top when I tip my head in his direction.
“Mike?” I mouth across the crowded room, and he stands.
Grinning, because he looks exactly like I imagined him to, I push my way through until I’m standing next to Mike. Mike, who stands a head taller, has crystal-blue eyes, sooty black lashes, and dark, sexy stubble from the day’s growth.
He’s gorgeous.
I know it’s rude, and cliché, but I look him up and down from head to toe; and boy, do I enjoy the view.
With narrow hips and broad shoulders, Mike is a walking wet dream. He gives me a lopsided grin, flashing his bright white teeth as if he knows the directions my thoughts have turned.
But it’s a sweet smile, not sleazy.
Hello, Mike101098, come to mama.
He extends his hand, and I slip mine into his slowly. As he’s pumping it up and down, I wonder how on earth this perfect specimen of a man is single.
We lean into each other, instant attraction cracking in the air between us, and he kisses me on the cheek. I briefly let my eyes flutter closed as his lips linger on my skin, enjoying the contact.
Plus, he smells like I want to fuck him.
That is, until…
He opens his full, perfect, kissable mouth.
“I assume you’re Janine?”
Ugh, his voice! No! Mike, no. Nasally and whiny, the sound coming out of beautiful, sexy Mike101098 has me wanting to cry.
I want to cry. And cringe. And slap him.
The mystery of Mike’s relationship status becomes all too clear.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I trail behind him as we’re shown to a table, giving a little whimper at the inevitable loss of his taut wide shoulders and firm, grippable ass.
I politely sit through a flight of lovely vintage wines while nibbling graciously on aged cheeses. Mike carries the conversation for both of us, and I fight the urge to stuff a rolled up napkin into his mouth to shut him up.
It’s torture.
Evading a goodnight kiss by sidestepping his looming mouth, I get the hell out of Dodge as soon as “High-Pitched Mike” pays the bill.
Date No. 1: Mike101098
Overall impression: Totally panty dropper.
Cons: Sounds like Mickey Mouse.
Verdict: Dead on arrival.
“You know, if you’re just going to sit and laugh at me, I’m not going to tell you any more shit,” I whine into the phone to Becky, whom I can’t even understand over the gasping.
“Oh, shut it. Don’t be a baby. You owe me a good laugh after what I told you yesterday at the gym. Not to mention that stripper class you signed us up for.”
“Yeah, but this is different,” I pout. Taking a cotton ball out of my top bathroom drawer, I start blotting at my eye make-up.
“How is this different?” Becky asks sarcastically.
“Because this is me.”
She laughs on her end. “Alright, quit wasting time and keep talking. Jeremiah isn’t going to be in the shower forever, and I don’t want to be on the phone when he comes out of the bathroom.”
“Alright, alright, alright,” I placate. “So, I already told you Mike was crazy good-looking. Like, GQ. I swear, I would have banged him in the men’s bathroom.”
Becky snorts through the phone. “Yeah, right, big talker.”
I sigh. “Okay, fine. I wouldn’t have, but I’m trying to illustrate his hotness. I couldn’t even tell you if he was a nice guy—that’s how terrible his voice was. Ugh, I feel awful. I just could not get past it.”
“Poor Mike…”
“Poor Mike? No! Poor Janine! I think the waitress even felt sorry for me. It was some of the worst table service ever. She hardly came by and when she did, she couldn’t look him in the eye. And it’s not like she seemed picky. I saw her flirting with a table of old-ass dumpy trolls.”
“Lots of waitresses flirt with dumpy trolls.” Becky groans and I hear her face-palm herself. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that. Shoot me now.”
I rest a hand on the counter and stare into the mirror. “The trolls were women, Becky. Women. Two of them had mustaches.”
“Um… I have no response for that.” I hear her shuffle around and close a cabinet door.
“My point is, Mike is a one-hit wonder.”
The worst part of that was he sent me a message after our date through eSoulMates.com checking to make sure I arrived home safely, telling me again how beautiful he thought I was, and asking if I would see him again.
Ugh, seriously. My life.
I sigh.
Becky, ever the mother figure, tsks at me. “You’re never going to find anyone if you don’t give anyone a second chance.”
“Okay, Mom. But it’s not going to be Mike.”
“On to the next one, then?”
“Yup. On to the next one…”