Page 33 of Girls Will Be Girls
I stutter a second before finally sitting. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”
He taps the table one more time and turns to the bar. I eyeball him again, especially his perky butt, as he walks away and my heart flutters a little before taking off at dangerous speed.
Is this a date? Is thisthedate?
I’m not sure I’m ready to make this decision yet.
Do I want to date Lou? I don’t know.
I think so, but also, no?
I mean, especially after today, the way that guy responded to my job, what if the same thing happens with him? I know Lou isn’t a slimeball like that guy, but I also barely know him. He could be a quarter-slimeball for all I know, and I’m just not ready to find out. Maybe that whole interaction was a big sign to avoid him.
Aubrey fromPitch Perfect, she sang about seeing signs, and then she puked everywhere, so clearly that was a cautionary tale about not seeing signs. Right? All I know is I’ve dealt with enough puke this week as it is.
I want to live in my beautiful bubble where Lou is this perfect enigma and isn’t some creep, or a journo bro, or a Nice Guy TM, but an actual nice guy.
I’m so preoccupied with deciding what to do about thisdate,I barely notice him slide into the booth.
“This isn’t a date, by the way.” He takes a gulp of his beer.
I look down at the matching glass in front of me, then back up at him. I’m genuinely slightly terrified by how he always seems to know what I’m thinking.
“It’s not?” I ask.
His lips tilt up. “There is no way I’d take you to a dive bar for hot wings on our first date.” He sips again. “As nice as this place might be.”
My brain seems to be batting away emotions like I’m about to win the World Series. I’m equally disappointed this isn’t a date, relieved it’s not, and excited by the prospect of seeing what he’d do on a real date, but terrified if he asks me again.
“What’s wrong with hot wings?” Is all I can manage as a response.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “I feel like that’s more date five, date six territory, not date one.”
“What would date one be then?” I prod.
He tilts his head with that sly, playful smirk painted on his lips. “Easy way to find out.”
I swallow a large mouthful of beer as if I’m trying to internally drown the bad ideas.
“Nice try.” I squint.
He just shrugs, bringing his glass back to his smiling lips.
“So.” I start. “What’s this called then?” I gesture between us.
“This?” He copies my gesture. “Just two neighbors having dinner.”
“Right.” I laugh.
There’s a moment of silence as he stares at me with that knowing smile again.
“Do you go on lots of non-dates with yourneighbors?” I ask pointedly.
“No.” He says. “They have to be areallygood neighbor. How about you? Had any dinners withneighborsrecently?” He asks.
“Dinner isn’t really in the cards when something’s casual,” I say.
“Is that what you’re looking for? Casual?” He asks earnestly.
