Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,14
would I start a long distance relationship with a guy I barely know? It’s fun chatting with him, we seem to have things in common, but I need to keep my options open.
Not that the option Kelsey is currently presenting to me sounds particularly inspiring…
“You’ve met someone? On the app?” Kelsey asks excitedly. When I nod, she starts doing a little hopping dance, clapping her hands. Making a scene and reminding me of myself. “That’s so great! What’s his name? When are you seeing him? Have you already met him?”
“We’ve just chatted for a bit.” I shrug, suddenly feeling bashful. Secretive. I can actually sense my cheeks heating, like I’m embarrassed. “He’s very nice.”
“Nice? Come on, you have to give me more than that.”
“What more could you want? We’ve been talking, our conversation flows, and he seems really…nice.”
“Has he sent you a dick pic yet?” Kelsey asks, dare I say, hopefully.
“No, oh my God!” I send her a look, jerking my head in the direction of the poor frazzled lady who’s glaring at us. I’m sure she’s still mad at us for making her drop the magazine. Realization slowly dawns and I lower my voice. “Why…has Paul sent you a dick pic yet?”
“Maybe.” Kelsey shrugs, but I can tell from the shit-eating grin on her face that yes, Paul has most definitely sent her a pic. Of his dick. “It’s large.”
“Uh huh.” I know they pull tricks. It’s all in the pose. And the grip. You can make that thing look like a monster with a few select angles and expert shadowing.
“Don’t be such a doubter. Seriously, it’s big. Eight inches.” Kelsey holds her hands out, keeping at least a foot between them. Terrifying. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent-sized penis.”
I offer a weak smile over at the older woman who is now blatantly glaring at us before I grab Kelsey’s arm and steer her toward the front of the salon. “It’s time for you to go.”
Kelsey laughs, the jerk. “Don’t like my dick talk?”
“More like the clients don’t.” I try to sound angry, but I can’t help but laugh with her. Kelsey means no harm. She enjoys riling me up. She does the same sort of thing to Candice. I suppose we’re both easy targets, especially me. I overact to everything, even when I know I shouldn’t. Plus, I’m just awkward. I know it.
“So.” Kelsey turns to face me right at the reception desk. “Are you going with me to dinner this Friday?”
Ugh, the pressure. “Fine,” I say with a sigh. “But if it’s a total nightmare from the get-go, I’m out. Don’t try to convince me to stay through the entrée.”
“You can’t bail after the appetizer and the first round of drinks! Come on, be real.” Kelsey mock pouts. “Stay through dinner.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll do dinner, but that’s it. No drinks afterward. No walks on the beach in the moonlight either.”
“Ew, no. Definitely no walks on the beach. Only psychos want to take you out to the beach, where they’ll attack you and leave your body for dead, hoping the surf takes you away before the morning comes,” Kelsey says, with ever the vivid imagination.
“Someone’s been watching too much true crime TV,” I tell her as I escort her to the front door.
“See you Friday?” Kelsey smiles brightly.
“Yes.” I nod, withholding the weary sigh that wants to escape. “Friday.
We meet at a French restaurant in Monterey, Bistro Moulin. I drive myself there, refusing to ride with Kelsey or heaven forbid, have Theodore pick me up. My own car means I can make my escape when necessary. It also means I’ll control my alcohol intake, because I have to drive myself home.
The moment I enter the cozy restaurant, I see that it is quite romantic. The tables are mostly for two, and every single one of them is filled. Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, the walls are painted a warm gold hue, and there’s an entire wall of shelves filled with bottles of wine. Impressive. Too bad I can’t get my drink on. Though the smells emanating from the kitchen are promising.
At least I’ll get a delicious meal out of the date. Hopefully.
“Eleanor!” I turn to spot Kelsey standing beside a table where two men are already sitting. She waves me over and I smile at the hostess standing behind the podium.
“My friends are already here,” I tell her.
She smiles, though it’s vague, her gaze already shifting to the couple who