“…Yes, Mom. I’ll be there for Grandma’s birthday on the third.” I stare out the window of my corner office, tapping a pencil on my large oak desk as my mother prattles through the other end of my phone.
“I’m not trying to nag, but Aunt Carol wanted a head count.”
“No, no, I get it.” In front of me, an email notification dings on my laptop and I open it as my mom continues. One message is from GreatDane51—the other from Dan at Elite, and I groan as I scan the contents. Something about procuring a new vendor for the set of duplexes we’re subbing for him. Standard procedure, but oh my god, he is so annoying.
I send him a curt reply.
“Anyway, now that we have that out of the way, Simone and Dennis have someone they think will be perfect for you.” Simone is the wife of my dad’s best friend, Dennis. They’re great, down-to-earth people who look like the Beverly Hillbillies and have shit-loads of money in the bank like them, too. I trust them implacably. “His name is Adam, but they call him Killer.”
My ears perk up. “Killer?” I’m liking the sound of that—but I would never admit it out loud to my mother. “How come I haven’t heard this name before?”
“He just went through a breakup and wasn’t ready to date until now. Anyway, he was at Simone’s last weekend and they were telling him all about you.”
“Telling him what about me, exactly?” I cradle the phone under my chin as I send a quick reply to an email from a drywall contractor trying to win a contract. Boom! Another email done. “Please, I’m hanging on your every word.”
“Well, obviously that you’re single.”
“Obviously,” I respond dryly. “Did you also mention that my ovaries are almost dried up… single old biddy that I am?”
My mom clicks her tongue. “No need to have a smart mouth, Janine Elizabeth.” I hear her pop a piece of gum into her mouth and chew. “Anyway…”
My mother drops the word ‘anyway’ like it’s hot.
“They told him you’re in construction, and he’s remodeling his house, so you have a lot in common.”
Um, okay…
“Dennis showed him your picture, and he thinks you’re very pretty. Naturally, since you take after me,” my mom jokes with a chuckle.
“Naturally,” I agree. “So… why is his nickname Killer? Is he a badass or something?”
A lovely visual implants itself in my mind and I lean back in my desk chair, closing my eyes and picturing Killer: tall and broody with an armful of beautifully inked tattoos. Flames and a dragon, perhaps, and long, untamed mane of sandy-blond hair that he occasionally will pull into a man bun. Searing brown eyes and large, coarse hands, probably from his brief stint in county jail for driving his motorcycle too fast down a Dead End street.
He might have a badass moniker and be rough around the edges, but Killer is gentle. And a lady pleaser in the sack. The kind of gentle that tears clothes off your body…
I sigh blissfully. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
My mom laughs. “Don’t you want to know more about him first?”
I sigh again, but out of exasperation, not delight. “Ugh, fine. If I must.”
“Simone tells me he just bought a house, and he’s been remodeling it. He’s very family oriented. No kids. One dog.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, he has a new motorcycle—”
“—Whoop, whoop!” I shout into the phone. I glance up at a few of my co-workers, who are staring curiously at me from their cubicles through the glass partition of my office. “Yikes, that came out too loud.”
My mom ignores my outburst. “Dennis says he’s just hilarious. Always has them in stitches. My Janine loves a man with a sense of humor, I told Simone. Anyway, he’s not far from you, actually. He was asking Simone if Friday night would work for you.”
Hmm. Well, that’s a tad presumptuous, but exactly what I would expect from a guy nicknamed Killer? “Not wasting any time, is he?”
“No. Will six work for you? I can give Simone your address to give to Adam.”
“Please, Mother, call him Killer.”
“Janine.” My mother sounds weary.
“What? That’s his name!”
“That’s his nickname,” she corrects me.
“Whatever. I like it and that’s what I’m calling him. Tell Simone to tell Killer—” I roll my eyes again at how ridiculous this all sounds. What am I, in middle school? “Tell Simone not to bother giving him my address. She can tell Killer I’ll meet him at their house at six o’clock on Friday.”
How’s that for a mouthful?
We disconnect and I open another email. This one is from GreatDane51. The mere sight of his email handle sends a flutter to my stomach, even with my looming date with a certifiable stud.
How are you, NinaHas9Lives? I added a few new pictures to my profile, so when we’re finally able to view each other’s pictures, you’ll know what I look like. I was out on the lake this past weekend with a few buddies from college, so I included one of me from that. We do an annual fishing trip—just for two days to catch up. Any more time than that is dicey; everyone is married or has kids, and we’re not young like we used to be. Anyway—
I smile at the ‘anyway’ as I read. Dammit, Mom!
So, that question you asked in your last email: Would you rather… Make your date pay for your entire meal on a date OR let her split the bill? No way would I ever let my date pay for an entire meal on a date. I also wouldn’t let her split the bill. But since I have to choose, I say split the bill since that’s the lesser of the two evils.
I’m stuck in the office today, and looking out this window is torture. Man is it nice outside. Do you enjoy the outdoors?
As I mentioned, I love the lake, fishing, and hiking. I own a cabin on Lake Ketchikan, so I’ve outgrown camping, but sometimes my daughter likes to pitch a tent and sleep in the yard. Huge fan of s’mores and campfires, even in the winter.
Wow. This email is longer than I had intended. So, tell me more about yourself.
–GreatDane51
Flexing my fingers, I smile and hit REPLY.
GreatDane51, I’m so glad to hear from you. Let me start off by saying that I like hiking… but only if there’s a picnic table and food at the end of the trail. Your idea of cabin camping sounds divine, especially the part about melted marshmallows and chocolate. Which… makes me sound like a total piggy. First three sentences are all about food? Oops. Let’s see. More about me… more about me… I do like the outdoors, and if there’s a hammock and a book involved, even better.
Shoot, I have to cut this short. I’m at work and someone is waiting outside my office.
–NinaHas9Lives
I click SEND and motion for Rob Taylor, an architect, to step into my office and take a seat as my email notification dings again.
“Just one second, Rob.” I apologize, because I cannot resist the temptation of reading the new message GreatDane51 just sent through.
NinaHas9Lives, Remind me to hang a hammock at the cabin. Haha. Have a great afternoon. Reply tonight when you have free time.
Oh. I will. Don’t you worry about that.
I pull into Simone and Dennis’s driveway, careful not to block in the black Yukon Denali sitting out front. It’s big, sleek, and black, with shiny silver trim, and has a bumper sticker on the tailgate of a white skull and crossbones.
So badass.
Giddy with excitement, I grab my purse off the passenger seat and slide out of my car. Since we’re meeting in a neutral spot, I kept my outfit casual. I smooth down the front of my skinny jeans that are tucked into my knee-high brown heeled boots. For all I knew, Killer was going to whisk me away on his chrome hog, and I didn’t want to be stuck wearing a dress on the back of his motorcycle.
I’ve always been insightful like that.
I inspect myself in the beveled glass window of Simone and Dennis’s front door, running a nervous hand through my long, dark hair, and am puckering my glossy lips when Dennis comes around the corner.
The door pulls open and I step inside, embracing my dad’s best friend in a hug.
“Janine!” Dennis bellows. “Simone, Adam—Janine is here!”
Okay, Dennis, tone it down a notch. And let’s get the show on the road here; point me in the direction of my one true love. Or, if he’s lucky, his one-night stand.
Killer.
Who comes around the corner and is…
A dork.
I look around, waiting for someone else to appear—someone large and smoldering and badass. But they don’t. It’s just the four of us, and Simone pushes a man at me who’s wearing a short-sleeve, button-down plaid shirt and mom jeans.
Mom jeans.
As my good friend Tami would say: What. The. Actual. Fuck.
The guy has sandy blond hair and can barely look me in the eye. Simone and Dennis are watching with breathless anticipation, their expressions hopeful, so I wedge my purse under my arm and hold out my hand for a shake.
“Hi, Adam, I’m Janine.” I refuse to ever use the word killer in any sentence, ever, ever again.
Ever.
Limply, Adam shakes my hand; it’s clammy and little and boney and I hate it. I’m pissed and I want to call my mother and go wild.
But of course, I can’t. Because I’m polite.
I fake a smile so big it actually hurts my cheeks. “Sooo…”
Awkward silence from Adam ensues until Simone jumps in. “Adam was thinking of Applebee’s tonight; isn’t that nice, Janine? You two should run along to beat the crowd.”
Applebee’s? Apple-fucking-bee’s. Not to sound redundant, but what the fuck?
I mean no offense to the family food chain beloved by many families—but for a first date? Seriously?
But it happens. Oh, yes, it happens.
Seated across from me in a booth tucked away in the dimly lit franchise, Adam stares at his menu, studying it like he’s cramming for a test. The ride here was torture enough; now I have to endure an entire meal.
“I think I’ll have the chicken tenders,” Adam tells the waitress when she comes to take our orders. “With honey. For dipping.”
Oh my god, just… no.
I clear my throat and gaze off into the distance, handing the waitress my menu. “I’ll have the chicken tortilla salad. And water.” And a disguise? And could you bring me a side order of get me the hell out of here?
“The dressing on that tortilla salad is really acidic,” Adam informs me when the waitress strolls away, stopping at another table along the way to check on them. I shrink down a little on my padded bench.
The plastic squeaks from my shifting weight.
“Acidic. Really.” I drawl my words. “I’m not really all that hungry, and the salad looked good.”
I’m such a liar. What I wanted to say was I lost my appetite the minute a hot biker failed to walk through Simone’s effing foyer.
“I only know that because I have really bad acid reflux, and the last time I was here, I had gas all night when I ordered a salad.”
“You don’t say…”
“I was reading about acid reflux online, so I started drinking apple cider vinegar. Just a cap full. You can mix it with honey and water, then you drink it. Just once a day. It’s really helped.”
Um…
I clamp my lips shut.
Then, moments later, I open them to say, “Could you excuse me? I have to run to the ladies’ room.”
He picks up a napkin and blows his nose at the table while I walk away. So gross. I can barely wait until I reach the stall before my fingers start flying across the keyboard on my phone.
Me: I am going to kill you.
Mom: What’s wrong, dear? Why are you texting? Aren’t you on your date with Adam? Simone called me when you left. She said you two make such a beautiful couple!!!!
Me: NO, MOTHER. NO. WE DO NOT. NO. I’m hiding in the bathroom. Adam is AWFUL. I repeat, AWFUL.
Mom: Oh dear.
Me: YEAH. OH DEAR IS RIGHT.
Mom: Why are you yelling?
Me: Ugh. Forget it. I have to send a note to Becky. She’s gonna eat this shit up.
Me: Worst date ever. This guy is terrible.
Becky: Oh no!!!!!!! Tell me.
Me: Well, I’m hiding in the bathroom at fucking APPLEBEE’S and he has acid reflux. And I get to hear all about it.
Becky: I… can’t… stop… laughing…
Me: This isn’t funny. This is DEFCON 5 shit. I think the waitress thinks I’m on a pity date. He’s wearing a short-sleeve plaid shirt, for god’s sake.
Becky: Jeremiah has plaid button-down shirts.
Me: FOR WORK. NOT FOR DATES. OMG. Stop defending Adam.
Becky: Why are you yelling?
Me: First my mother, now you. I have to go back out there now.
Becky: Well, you can tell me all about it when we have coffee tomorrow.
Me: Fine. But brace yourself.
Becky: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Date No. 2: Adam (aka Killer)
Overall impression: His only redeeming quality is his nickname.
Cons: Horrible. Nasally. Plaid. Acid Reflux. Verbal diarrhea. TMI, TMI, T.M.I.
Verdict: No. Just… no.