Page 6 of The Quit List
HOLLY
“Hallie!”
The familiar, rude voice pulls my gaze off my phone screen and my relatively pleasant conversation about injuries-by-horse and there he is…
Keith is standing in front of me, his face glowing red like a beacon.
For such a nice establishment, this place has a real problem with pest control.
“Hello again, Keith.” I give him a flat smile. “And for the fifteenth time, my name is Holly.”
Instead of acknowledging this really, very simple fact, he leans towards me, getting into my personal space. I involuntarily shrink back.
“You don’t get to call the shots, missy,” he says, coating me in a cloud of his gross sour breath. On the bright side, “missy” is, at least, a change up from “Hallie.”
“Pardon me?” I look at him with what I hope are unwavering eyes because I don’t want to betray the fact that I’m quaking a little inside. Keith’s a large dude, and he’s angry right now. As little as I think of him, it’s difficult not to be intimidated. He’s purposefully leaning close to me, speaking quietly so as not to make a scene. Trying to both isolate and intimidate me.
“You think you’re above everything with your high and mighty attitude, acting like you’re better than me,” he spits quietly, venom lacing his tongue.
I force myself to hold his gaze, though it’s almost painful. Guys like this, who expect things from women and then use intimidation techniques when they don’t get what they want, are the worst kind of men.
Why did I go on this date again?
Ah yes, that’s right: desperation.
After ten straight terrible dates, I have decided that I hate dating with a passion. I hate the unknown of meeting someone new for dinner each week. Hate the cringey small talk bracketing awkward silences, the push-up bras and the heels that give you blisters.
But I’m in this situation because of my own sheer stupidity.
I’m almost thirty, I’ve spent the last few years of my life waiting for a relationship I now know will never happen, instead of putting myself out there. And on top of that, I’ve just been passed over for yet another promotion that I’m pretty damn sure I deserved.
Which led me to my New Year’s resolution for this year.
I had to quit wasting time and get over my (apparently unrequited) feelings for my boss. Quit letting life pass me by. Quit being afraid to step out of my comfort zone.
Instead, I would seize the day, and go in search of my happily-ever-after.
Of course, the only way to achieve such a thing is to, you know, date.
So, I’ve thrown myself to the wolves, so to speak, of the modern dating scene for the first time in literal years.
Though, so far, it’s less of a cool-and-trendy, cocktail-swilling at the bar scene, and more of a three-car pile-up, traffic accident scene. Complete with police cars, ambulances, and rescue helicopters.
But I have no idea how else to achieve my goal, short of sitting through all these dinner dates with men I meet online. Because unlike my sister, Mindy, I don’t have any attractive male friends I can fall in love with. And unlike Aubrey, I certainly haven’t ever had a doctor ask me out during a trip to the emergency room…
Although I do now have a habit of always wearing respectable underwear, just in case I ever get in a car wreck and my soulmate happens to be the surgeon who has to cut off my clothes before operating on me.
First impressions matter.
“I don’t think I’m better than you,” I tell Keith, though I am clearly the superior human in this situation. Though that doesn’t stop my voice from betraying me with a tremor.
“Oh, yeah?” Keith moves closer still, and I want to gag at the mingled scents of musky cologne and alcohol-tinged breath.
I’m trying to think of what my next move should be, what my escape route might look like, when…
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was terrible.”
I jerk my head in the direction of the deep voice. Is Keith expecting someone? Brawn backup, perhaps?
