Page 56 of Shame

I give him twenty minutes, then my phone rings. It’s actually an alarm I set, but he can’t see my screen and doesn’t know that. I turn off the alarm, pretend to answer a call, and get the hell out of there.

On my way home, I pick up a bottle of expensive red wine and a takeout order of lobster mac and cheese. While it heats in my oven, I have a shower and wash off the failure of my first date in eighteen years, and think about all the reasons why I can’t just send Luke a picture of me in pigtails and see what happens.

At nine o’clock, I send a mean text message to Luke. Mean, because I purposefully leave a lot of doubt as to how my evening is going.

It feels good.

Grace: Had my first date tonight.

It takes him a few minutes to reply.

Luke: Okay.

Jackass. This was his idea. I don’t care if he doesn’t like it. Actually, I care a great deal. I don’t want him to like it.

I put my phone on do not disturb mode and flip to Tumblr. I’m having sex tonight, even if it’s just by myself. I’m going to have a lot of sex tonight.

Red wine and lobster fuelled sex, so it’s probably going to be weird.

* * *

The second dateis five days later. This one smells good. A little spicy and warm. He smells like a stranger. He smells exciting. And when he touches me on the arm, guiding me from the bar to our table, it feels good. It feels a little wrong, too, but mostly it feels good.

This is a secret pleasure that's just for me. From the first inhale of his peppery cologne, I knew this date would only be one night, but it might be a very good night.

And so I shake off every fear I can’t quite name, and revel in how good it feels to have big rough hands touch me. He’s handsy, this guy. Likes to touch my fingers across the table, bump his leg against mine.

After dinner, we take a walk, and before I get in the cab, he kisses me good night in a way that makes my thighs shake.

When I get home, I text Luke again.

Grace: Second date.

Luke: Same guy?

Grace: No.

Luke: Good.

* * *

It isn’tuntil I’m getting ready for the third date that I realize my variation of Luke’s plan doesn’t actually work. This guy’s name is Javi, and he’s a military pilot. He’s not in the city that often, doesn’t live here, but he’s looking for a hook-up.

And I am not.

I’m pretending that I am, but that’s a lie I’m telling myself, because as fun as these dates are, they don’t hold a candle to what Luke and I did on his couch.

Fuck.

If I’m going to try dating, I actually need to have sex with one of these guys, and Javi seems like a good enough option.

And then, at the last second, he cancels. Work, he says.

Sure, I bet.

And so I quietly shelve the dating plan. I don’t tell Luke about it. He doesn’t ask. And another week rolls by. The days are warmer now, we’re well into spring, and the whole city is starting to bloom.

I still feel like I’m covered in a layer of permafrost, but I’m not tempted to try the dating apps again.

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