Page 87 of Debugging Love

Savannah bends a knee and adjusts her strappy black heels, her muscular calf balling up as she flexes. My phone buzzes at the same time telling me our table is ready.

We follow the hostess to a table next to the stage, where a band is setting up their equipment. I’m not sure I want to sit this close to the speakers. But if Savannah and I have nothing to say to each other, it could work to my advantage.

“You picked a great restaurant,” Savannah says. “I love their spinach artichoke dip.”

When the waiter stops at our table, we order our food, and then Savannah says, “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

I don’t think anything of it. My dates often order a drink. It’s perfectly normal. Until Savannah orders drinks three and four before we’ve received our food. To be fair, the food takes forever.

While we’re waiting, Savannah tells me all about her job as an events coordinator for the City of Charleston. She tells me about several of her projects, including the jazz festival, Carifest, the Piccolo Spoleto Festival, The Charleston Moonwalk Parade where everyone moonwalks backward through the city, and the Bubble Wrap Stomp-a-thon.

“We lay out this huge field of bubble wrap and everyone goes wild stomping on it. And then people throw paint on us and we belly flop onto our stomachs and push ourselves around like penguins. Have you seen penguins push themselves around on their bellies? It’s soooo adorable. Oh! I went to Antarctica once. We snorkeled for potbelly pigs. You should go sometime!”

She’s drunk.

By now, the band is doing a sound check. My meal is in front of me, and the chicken could double as a hockey puck. It’s so tough I nearly chip a tooth, so I move on to my al dente baked potato while Savannah jabbers about her pet peanut named Nutty Buddy that hides in her pocket whenever she’s on a date.

“Here, let me show you.” She starts patting herself down. Her dress doesn’t have any pockets.

The band starts up and it issoloud, but I’m distracted by Savannah. She climbs onto the table before I can stop her and starts pulling down the straps on her dress. I spring into action, grab her by the waist, and yank her down.

“Ooo,” she says, liking it too much.

When I try to shake her off, she pulls me in tight, pressing every inch of her voluptuous body against mine. I jerk my head away before she lands a sloppy kiss. She keeps trying. I keep turning my head left, then right. Left, then right.

“I love a man who plays hard to get,” she purrs, her alcohol breath pouring from her mouth like dragon flames.

“That’s it,” I say, after I manage to extract myself from her clutches. The band is still the main attraction, but Savannah and I are a close second.

“She’s had too much to drink,” I say apologetically to anyone who will listen, which is no one because the band is too loud for anyone to hear.

I grab Savannah’s slim wallet and drag her outside.

“Where did you park?” I ask.

“Where doyouwant to park?” she slurs.

“No. I’m asking you where you parked.” Which doesn’t matter. I’m so flustered I forgot she probably won’t be able to drive for forty-eight hours.

I’ll call her an Uber. That’s what I’ll do. Uber drivers are trustworthy. They file background checks. She’ll be in good hands. Or I’ll just take her home myself. Whatever. I need to get this woman in her own home in her own bed.

I rifle through her wallet and find her driver’s license. Google Maps shows me the quickest route to her home address. Twenty minutes later, I’m pounding on Apartment 406 in Leeward Pointe. A guy in a beanie cap and a robe answers the door.

As soon as he sees Savannah on my arm, he sneers. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Do you know her?” I ask, desperately.

“I wish I didn’t.”

“Where does she li–”

The door slams in my face. I knock again. No answer. I keep knocking. And then I hear, “She’s all yours, buddy,” through the door.

Score: 0

I realize I’m not looking at JustInCase.xlsx, but I already know. This date is a big fat zero.

I drag Savannah back to my car. The instant she hits the seat, she passes out and starts snoring. I get back out, swing over to her side, and strap her in while wondering what to do with her.

---