“Miss?”
I look up to find the bartender returning my card. “What’s wrong, was it declined?” Shit. I paid this one off last month. It definitely still has room on the balance.
“No, miss. It’s just that the gentleman on the far end has covered your tab.”
I glance down the bar to find Mr. Shirtless Bathroom Selfie himself lifting a glass in my direction.
Okay, so maybe he’s not the worst. There could still be hope.
I pick up my drink and head down the bar to meet him. “Rich?”
He leans in for the cheek kiss/one-armed hug and I awkwardly shuffle my drink to avoid spilling it down his shirt front. “It’s Dick, actually. Rich was my dad’s name.”
Probably should have stuck with it anyway, I think unfairly, as I take the bar stool beside him. “Dick. I’m Clove.” Not like I have room to talk anyway.
“Also a family name?” He stays standing beside me, leaning against the counter. His knee brushes mine, in a not entirely unpleasant way. At least, at first.
“Nope, one and only.” I lift my glass in a mocking toast.
He taps his to mine, eyes sharp and zeroed in on me. “Oh, I can see that.”
“Should we get a table or…?”
He shrugs and leans on the back of my stool. He’s so up in my personal space that if I try to lean backward, I’ll land in the lap of the woman beside me. It’s hard to even lift my drink to take another sip because his chest is pressed against my whole right side. I switch hands and lean on the bar instead, trying to put some breathing room between us. His knee, meanwhile, is nearly crushing my leg.
“I’m good here,” he says. He glances over my head at the selection. “Besides, not like we’ll be here long.”
You could say that again. I clear my throat, resist the urge to bolt off of this stool here and now. There is no man hot enough to make up for the way his breath smells either, like stale beer and sour cream and onion potato chips. “Busy day at the office?” I ask, following his gaze mostly so I can turn away from him.
He leans harder against my leg. My toes tingle, starting to go numb. “Huh? No, I had the day off. Just got back from the beach. Hey, bartender?” He snaps his fingers. Actually snaps them, until the bartender glances back at us and, with an apologetic glance in my direction, heads our way.
“One more scotch on the rocks,” Dick says, and now I can see why he prefers this version of his name. It really suits him.
That task done with, he turns to me and brushes my hair back over my shoulder. “So, Clove…”
Realizing that I can’t keep staring at the bar forever, I turn to face him, trying on a smile.
“Damn you’re gorgeous. You get that often?”
“I, uh… Thanks, I guess.”
“How about we get out of here, huh? Enough small talk for one night, am I right?” He winks at me.
Enough small talk being what, all five sentences we’ve exchanged? I suck in a deep breath. Mm, l’eau onions. “Listen, Dick, you seem really nice and all…”
“Of course, so let’s skip the boring part and head straight to my place.” He downs the second scotch he ordered in one large gulp, then catches my arm.
“It’s been a really long day for me, actually—lot going on at work. I’m just going to head home.”
“That’s cool, we can go to yours.” He leans in, brushes my hair back from my forehead, and we’re suddenly way too close, only inches between us.
I execute a tricky side twist off the barstool to grab my purse. “I think I’m just going to head back alone. Thanks for the drink.”
“Seriously?” His expression shifts now. I don’t know if it’s the drink or the rejection that’s injuring his frail masculine ego, but either way, I don’t like the look in his eye. “Wait, wait, wait, Clove.” He catches my hand in his. His grip is strong. Too strong. “We got off on the wrong foot. Let me make it up to you.” With a single tug, he pulls me closer and leans over me, eyes intent on my face. “It’s just, I didn’t expect you to be so… You know. Hot. From your profile, you sounded like a book nerd, so—”
I wrench my hand from his with effort. “Dick, I have to be honest, I’m starting to understand why you prefer that nickname.” I shoulder my purse. “I’m leaving.”
“Don’t be like that! Come on, we can have some fun.”
“Goodbye, Dick.” I stride past him, out of the bar.
Of course he jogs after me.
“At least let me call you a cab,” he insists.
“I’m fine on my own, seriously.” But he ignores this and jogs ahead of me to the corner. He flags down a tax, and I watch him lean in the window talking to the guy. God only knows what he’s saying.
He opens the back door of the cab for me, but I hesitate, looking over my shoulder.
“You take this one, I’ll call another,” I say. But a glance up and down the street shows there won’t be another cab for quite a while—Wall Street tends to be dead at this hour.
“I insist.” Dick holds the door open a little wider.
With a sigh, I climb in.
He keeps the door open, blocking it with his thigh. “You know, if we go to mine, I can fuck you properly, Clove. It’s been a long time since anyone’s bent you over, hasn’t it?” He smirks.
It has, actually, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Thanks for the offer.” I yank on the door handle, trying to close it. That proves futile with him in the way, but hey, it’s worth a shot.
“You aren’t gonna get a better one.” He leans down and I get another strong whiff of onion breath. “A girl like you should be jumping at the chance to let a guy like me bone her.”
I cast a glance at the front of the taxi, but the driver is studiously ignoring this conversation, deeply concentrating on the one in his own wireless headset. “Again, I said thank you but no thank you.” I tug on the door, hoping against hope that Dick will finally let this drop.
Behind us, another taxi pulls up, and to my immense relief, Dick waves at it. It pulls over and he casts me one last long, dark look.
“You’ll regret this,” he says as he steps away from the door.
Regret what? Missing out on a total creepiest? I don’t think so.
I slam the door closed between us without responding. I’ve learned by now that as fun as snappy retorts are, sometimes it’s better not to antagonize the crazy people.
I lean up to tell the taxi driver my address, then collapse against the seat with a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh.
Well. That was another unqualified disaster. I close my eyes for a minute, then pull out my phone to text my coworker.
Halfway through typing a message about how she was so very wrong about this new app being better than the others, my phone begins to buzz.
Crap. It’s Dick.
I hit ignore, wait for it to go to voicemail, then keep typing.
And now, on top of the last 5 disasters, I’ve got this creepy guy
who told me I’d “regret” not going home with him, who’s trying to call me.
I hit send and my phone buzzes once more. Dick. Again.
I hit ignore again, then, on second thought, shut my phone off completely. I’ll deal with figuring out how to block his number in the morning. Not like I haven’t already done that a few times for other creeps in the last couple years I’ve been trying this online dating crap.
Sometimes, it doesn’t seem worth it. Sometimes, I think it’d be better to just continue my life without a guy in it. After all, everything else is going great for me. I just got another promotion at work—I’m only 29 and I’m a marketing manager with five people working below me. I work at publishing house where I’ve been since I graduated college and landed my dream job. I love my team, my boss, my coworkers. I love my job, promoting great literature to avid readers. I love that I get to travel, go to conferences where I meet cool authors whose books I love, and I get to help them make those books even more successful.
Plus, I have my friends. They keep me going through it all.
No, on the whole, my life is pretty great.
So why does it still feel like something is missing?
I shake my head. Ignore it. I don’t need a guy, especially not a guy like Dick. If it’s the choice between him and staying single forever, I’ll take the latter happily.
The taxi pulls up outside my building and I pay the driver, then push the door open. For a second, I just lean back to gaze at my building.
I was lucky as hell to score this place a couple years ago during a slow season and a market down-turn. I got it hella cheap; rent control, too. It’s the first time I’ve ever been able to afford a one-bedroom apartment by myself, and in a building with a doorman, no less.
This is how I know I’m finally moving up in the world. Finally making something of myself. I love this building and everything that it stands for—the progress I’ve made in my life, the goals I’m achieving.