Page 33 of Kyle

“Zora?” I finally say.

She breaks her concentration long enough to glance up. “Oh, hey. It’s you.”

“It is.” I extend my hand. “Kyle. Nice to meet you.”

The bartender approaches, and I order a drink, standing next to her stool.

Before we can even begin to chat, she lifts her phone and leans toward me to take a selfie of us both. One would be fine, but she tilts her head and makes fish lips, snapping off shot after shot.

Then she takes a video. “Hey, everyone. This is Kyle, the guy I was telling you all about. Isn’t he gorgeous?” She turns and addresses me. “They all think you’re gorgeous, by the way.” Again, her attention turns to the camera. “He’s even better in real life than in his pictures.”

Hell, I don’t know what pictures she’s seen.

She squeezes next to me again, turning her body in ways where she can get me into the picture. “Don’t we make a cute couple, peeps?”

I find it sort of rude and annoying. It seems like the only thing she cares about is taking selfies and communicating to her friends and followers that she’s on a date. Her entire focus is to ensure that everybody in the world of social media knows she’s out with me.

She starts talking about the bar and how the restaurant is ultra-chic.

My drink is delivered, and not long after that, they announce our table is ready.

I drag her from her phone long enough to move to the restaurant and follow the hostess to our table.

The place is fancy, with tablecloths and dim lighting.

Immediately, she pulls out the phone again and comments on the restaurant like she’s doing a travel guide review of the place.

I don’t say much while she drones on, although she gives me the impression she’s used to guys lavishing her with constant attention. I’m trying not to cringe, and I’m in utter shock at how addicted she is to her phone. She’s more into the idea of creating a fantasy world rather than being in the moment.

The server comes with menus and rattles off the specials, which she barely listens to, but is all too eager to get the man in her shot.

“This is Gary, our server.”

Like the entire world cares. I guess some people live vicariously through these posts.

We order wine, and he fills two glasses while my date continues on her phone like I’m not even here.

I have to say something. “Zora, look, I’m not trying to be rude, but the phone has got to go.”

She blinks, uncomprehendingly.

“Can you put it down, please?”

She sets it on the table but doesn’t apologize.

There’s an age difference between us, and I’m really feeling it now.

“Have you been on a blind date before?” she asks.

“This is the first. You?”

“I’ve been on two. One ended with the guy ditching me at the restaurant, and the other one told me his last fling gave him genital warts.” She studies me over the rim of her drink. “You’re not going to do either one of those, are you?”

“No, ma’am.” Jesus Christ.

She straightens in her chair. “I have something important to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

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