Riley had taken the plunge into online dating—grudgingly. He wondered if that was even the right term anymore? Wasn’t ‘online dating’ like Match.com and those kind of sites, he wondered as he was getting ready to go to dinner with a girl he’d never seen outside of a profile picture. He was nervous about it, despite himself. He’d followed Noah’s advice and been honest about all the things that he found attractive in a woman. He felt like a chauvinist asshole for eliminating who-knows how many women by clicking certain boxes that listed their height, weight, or jobs, but he figured that honesty was the best way to actually find a woman he’d be compatible with. He hadn’t dated in a long time, nothing serious anyhow, and his job made it difficult to keep any serious relationship going for much longer than a few dates.

He’d had his share of short term relationships, or whatever you might call them, mostly with girls that were either a little too young for him and looking for just a fling, or the women who fetishized cops a little too much. There had been three in the last year, and Riley was starting to feel like one of those serial monogamists, only his average relationship running time was about four months or so. Dating was fun, but he was over being with the wrong girl for any length of time. It was time for the right girl. Hopefully this Rachel person would be the one, but he was only cautiously optimistic. 

Riley got to the place first, a little Brazilian joint in Queens that had gotten some amazing ratings on Yelp for the quality of their food and friendly service. He was the adventurous sort, and that included trying new things that he was completely unfamiliar with, like Brazilian food. He wasn’t sure what the hell anything was, but the music and the smells in the place were enough to make his mouth water, and they almost made him forget how nervous he was. Almost. A few minutes after he’d arrived and ordered a drink, he heard a notification on his phone. NY Singles did push notifications whenever a person ‘checked in’ at the place you were meeting them for a date. Riley had given Rachel his actual number through a DM, but apparently she felt more comfortable using the app to contact him. He jumped up from his table and made his way to the front of the restaurant to meet her, and as he walked he checked his phone one more time to memorize her profile picture so he could pick her out in the rapidly growing crowd gathering by the entrance. 

Holy shit, he thought. There she was, standing near the front of the place, close to the bar, and looking even more beautiful than her profile picture could have done her justice. Somewhere, in the more pessimistic part of his brain, Riley expected some hideous troll-lady to be waiting for him. They never looked exactly like their pictures, Noah had told him, and they sure as fuck never look better! Riley had expected the usual cliché of a picture that was at least five years old, but Rachel looked good. Really good. Surprisingly good. He smiled ear to ear and waved in her direction. As soon as Rachel made eye contact she smiled and her face lit up the room as she walked towards him. 

“Riley?” she asked, the sound of her voice the perfect accompaniment to her beautiful face.

“That’s me. Rachel?”

She nodded and shook his hand. “You’re even better looking than your picture.”

“Wait,” Riley said, smiling back at her. “You’re taking all of my best lines. I think I’m supposed to say that to you.”

“Thank you,” she said back. “You’re sweet.”

“Sometimes,” he joked. “I have a table waiting, why don’t we go sit and get away from this crowd?”

“Sure, sounds great” she said. “Just one second, though, I want to grab a drink. It’s been one of those days, you knw?”

“Yeah no problem, of course,” he answered, turning back towards the bar and following her over. “And trust me, I know those days all too well.”

“Oh right, you’re a cop, aren’t you?”

“Detective, yeah,” he answered. “Homicide.”

“Oh, wow. You didn’t include the homicide part in your profile. How come?”

Riley walked to the bar with her so that she could order her drink. He didn’t answer the question right away because he was deciding how honest to be at that moment. The real answer, which he didn’t know if he wanted to give to her just yet, was that there were all sorts of cop groupies that existed out there, and the last thing he wanted was some crazy woman with a morbid obsession with homicide detective work, so he usually kept the details of his job close to the vest until he really trusted someone. It was like one of those movies where the secret millionaire tried dating a bunch of women before revealing that he had money—Riley wanted to make sure they liked him for him, and not his job. He wasn’t about to say all that, so he went with, “Did you put all the details of your job in your profile?”

“Absolutely not,” Rachel said, taking her rum & coke from the bartender. “Point taken. But still, that’s pretty cool.”

Pretty cool. It was a strange expression. She was reinforcing his point about not telling people about his work. Riley blamed the media for shit like that. He knew it was unreasonable for the general public to understand what cops—especially homicide detectives like him—actually did and saw every day of their careers. In fact, the only reference that most people had to go on were what they’d seen in movies and bad TV shows. It had to be that, because if they really knew the types of things that homicide detectives saw on a daily basis, the words ‘pretty cool’ would never be used to describe them. 

“Thanks,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “Let’s go sit, the food here looks and smells amazing.”

After she grabbed her drink they made their way back to their table and ordered appetizers. Riley just pointed at the pictures that looked good to him and Rachel did the same. Neither of them spoke a word of Portuguese, obviously, so visual aids were a must if they were going to eat there. Riley didn’t much didn’t care what food came to their table; he was just happy that his first date in a while seemed to be going well. About a half hour went by with drinks, appetizers, and some much needed discussion. It turned out that Rachel was a trauma nurse who worked at a local Manhattan hospital. That day had been a bad one, she told him. “A ten car pile-up had left four people dead and twice that many wounded. It was a disaster. Literally.”

“Jesus,” Riley said as she gulped her drink down. “It really was one of those days, huh? Much worse than mine.”

“I’m used to it,” she said. “It sounds detached and crazy of me, I know. But I’m not some monster, I’m just used to the absolute insanity that a trauma room brings every day.”

“I didn’t think that you were a monster, don’t worry. Trust me, I understand exactly what you’re talking about. I remember the first time I—”

“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, interrupting him. “Don’t mean to cut you off, but can you flag the waitress down? I need another one.”

“Another what?” Riley asked innocently.

“Another one of these! Didn’t you hear my story. you want one?”

“No, I’m good,” he answered, judging her choices a little bit. “I don’t really drink that much. I like to keep a clear head most days.”

“I wish I could say the same. I’m not sure how to not drink on days like this.” It’s really easy, Riley thought to himself. Just don’t drink!

“Didn’t you just say most days are like today was?”

“Exactly!” she yelled, a little too loudly. She was laughing a semi-drunk laugh, and her face contorted into one of those smiles that was a little too happy given the situation. Riley flagged the waitress down and as soon as the girl got near the table, Rachel reached out, grabbed her by the apron, and pulled her closer to the table. “I need a refill,” she said, holding her empty glass up to the horrified waitress. “ASAP!”

“Of course,” the waitress said. “Right away, miss.”

“I don’t think she likes me,” Rachel slurred. 

Riley could handle a lot, but too much drinking wasn’t something he tolerated well. Another fun fact of his life that wasn’t on his profile was that his father was an abusive alcoholic, a real bastard who used to beat him, his mother, and his little brothers when he drank too much, which was all the time. The sight of drunk people was a trigger that immediately changed his state of mind, but he was doing his best not to be too sensitive about it. After all, it was only her second drink and she’d had a rough day. She was entitled to let loose, right? He was willing to ride it out a little longer. 

“Now it’s your turn. Tell me all about being a homicide detective.”

It was the last thing he wanted to talk about, especially on a first date, but it was a distraction that he welcomed given that the alternative was watching her slur through another horror story of the ER while drinking like she was on Spring Break. As he started telling her a little bit about his job the waitress brought the refill. Riley started telling her about his work in the Bronx, and Rachel guzzled her second drink down in record time before he could finish three sentences. “Maybe you should slow down a little,” he suggested, sounding more like a concerned friend than her date. “I know you had a bad day and all, but still, you’re going a little fast with that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” she yelled. People turned from their tables to stare at the screaming drunk woman, and Riley was fucking horrified by the looks. It was pretty rare for him to get embarrassed, but Rachel was doing the perfect good job of it. 

“Look,” he said, getting more annoyed. “Do you even want to be here with me? You’re getting obliterated and our entrees aren’t even ready yet. At this rate they’ll be pumping your stomach by the time we’re ordering the goddamn tres leches!”

“I see,” Rachel slurred. “You think you’re better than me, huh? Mr. High-and-Mighty Police Man? Well who the hell are you to judge me, huh?” Her words were barely recognizable as English, and Riley decided he’d had enough of this shit. Drunk halfway through a first date was bad enough, but rude and drunk on a first date was a red flag that he wasn’t willing to look past. So far the app was 0-1, and now Riley had to figure out how to disengage. He decided on the direct method.

“All right,” he said, standing up from the table. “I’ll leave you and your booze alone. Enjoy. Best of luck to you.”

He dropped money on the table and walked out of the restaurant as fast as he could. His real disappointment was in not being able to stick around long enough to try all of the delicious smelling food. I can come back for takeout next time I’m in Queens, he thought, but it’s not worth staying around with that drunk. He stepped out onto the street and just started walking. He was disappointed, but not too much. He really did miss the food more than he missed her, and he was annoyed that he’d wasted his time like that. He stopped a few blocks down and pulled out his phone. 

“Strike one,” he texted Noah. 

“Crazy?” he wrote back.

“Drunk.”

“Oh shit, that sucks,” Noah wrote. “But, at least she didn’t get you to try to join a cult.”

No, Riley thought, I guess there’s always a silver lining.