Page 43 of Mr. Wrong Number

He looked perplexed, but went back to the buffet.

Me:I think if I had to choose between tongue-kissing someone who hadn’t brushed their teeth or knocking boots with someone who smelled a little rank, I’d pick the latter.

Mr. Wrong Number:The hell you say.

Me:I know but listen. It’s gross, but if it’s only straight-up sex without foreplay, maybe in a non-facing position, it would be better than licking someone’s furry teeth.

Paul sat back down and sighed. I smiled and rolled my eyes as if the person texting me was justsoannoying.

Mr. Wrong Number:I cannot believe I’m saying this, but you might be right.

“So what are you doing the rest of the day?” Paul wasn’t smiling as he scooped up a forkful of eggs, but he was attempting conversation. “Besides texting, that is.”

I stifled a laugh and wondered how many texts had been exchanged. Was Mr. Wrong Number close to being right? “I have to work most of the day, actually.”

Me:He just brought it up. How many are we at?

“That sucks.” Paul cleared his throat and gestured to my phone. “Are you in the middle of something important? Because we can do this another time if you are.”

Aw, hell. Even though I knew he wasn’t the guy for me, I realized he didn’t deserve this, either.

Me:I can’t do this. I can’t be an asshole. I’m just going to finish up the date.

“No.” I set my phone down and took a sip of myverycold coffee. “I apologize. I’m all yours now.”

“Is that right?” He slid into a grin. “Well, then, check, please.”

“Oh, my God.” I was pretty sure he thought he was funny, but I couldn’t even manage an awkward fake laugh. “Are you kidding with that?”

His smile slipped and he blinked fast as he said, “Yeah. Of course I was.”

“Oh. Good.” I cleared my throat and pasted on a polite, closed-mouth smile. “I thought so.”

•••

AS IT TURNSout, the number of texts doesn’t matter when you and your date end up getting into a heated argument. One minute things were okay and we were talking about restaurants, and the next I was loudly explaining to him how every guy who eats at places like Hooters and Twin Peaks are pigs.

“I’m not talking about the girls who work there, Paul.” Iknew I should let it go since the date was clearly the end for us, but this was a hot-button thing for me. Especially when he’d just said that the waitressesliked the attention.“If a girl wants to use her femininity to profit off the douchebags who are willing to pay to ogle her body, more power to her. But the men who specifically choose to go to a restaurant so they can get a quick peek at some young girl’s breasts while shoving food into their sexist faces are just pathetic.”

“Okay, I just told you I like the wings at Hooters, so what are you saying?”

I just gave him a look, because I didn’t want to say it.

“No, I want to know.” He was pissed now and done with pretending otherwise. “Do you thinkI’mpathetic?”

I looked at him, and it was clear that he thought I was going to say no. And since I’d already had one guy tell me to blow myself with pepper spray that week, I wasn’t going to poke the tiger by being honest. So I reached for my purse under the table and said, “Y’know, I should probably get going. Thank you so much for brun—”

“You’re not going to answer the question?”

I pushed back my chair and stood, ready to run. “It’s probably not a good idea.”

“Are you kidding me?” He shook his head and screwed up his face. “I don’t think you’re a very good feminist if you can’t even—”

“Oh, my God. Yes, okay?” I pushed my chair under the table and yanked my purse against my body. “I absolutely think you’re pathetic. Thank you for breakfast and goodbye.”

I walked out of the restaurant as quickly as I possibly couldand didn’t slow until I had a solid three blocks behind me. I texted Mr. Wrong Number as I walked home:Date ended with me calling him pathetic and him calling me a bad feminist. #winning.

Colin

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