It’s been a couple of pathetic weeks since my date with him, and it seems he was a needle in a haystack. I’ve been on four dates—yes, four—since then, and every one of them ended with the line, “So, you wanna go back to my place?” No, I really don’t, Brad.
I realize that may sound hypocritical, but they weren’t even subtle about it, which turned me off immediately.
Dan was right, though—I’m not going to find the love I want on the stupid little app. So, finally, I deleted it and decided I would wait for fate to make something happen for me.
A silly part of me was hopeful that I would hear from Dan again, but he kept his word and has probably slept with another dozen women already. That should warn me away. It should, yet here I am weeks later still dreaming of him and our night together.
Dan was the ultimate package—gorgeous, funny, and smart—and something about his shyness made me want to wrap him in a hug and not let go. There’s something seriously attractive about a man who’s good-looking and not a showboat about it. He never once acted like he was better than me or anyone else. When he paid our tab, he tipped the bartender generously and waved it off like it was no big deal, but I could tell it made that guy’s night. It was something tiny, simple, yet huge to me all at the same time.
I continue to fold the shelf of clothes in front of me, cleaning up the kind of mess that can only result from a customer who is in a hurry and, frankly, a jackass who thinks they are too good to put the clothes back properly. I move from station to station, doing my job, and I’m just glad to not have to deal with returns today, even if folding laundry is something I barely even do for my own clothes.
When the time comes for me to leave, I walk out of the department store and onto the busy city streets. It’s a welcome hum compared to the quiet lull of the Celine Dion songs they play in the store. I mean, I love Celine as much as the next person, but even she’s got to get tired of her own voice eventually, right?
I’m passing my favorite coffee shop when I suddenly feel like someone is watching me, an eerie sensation that crawls up the back of my neck. I glance over my shoulder and see a man in black walking behind me, a hand to his ear, but from what I can see, he’s not holding a phone.
Strange…
I continue on my way home and wait a couple blocks to see if he’s still following me. When I look, I don’t see him again, and I release the pent-up breath I was holding. Then, I get yanked into an alley that smells of rotten fish.
Before I can scream, a hand is pressed over my mouth, and I bite down on it. I kick my offender and then finally get a good scream in.
“Margaret, quiet!” The offender pulls me farther into the alley then bends down behind a dumpster.
“Let me go!” I yell. I’m not about to let this dude tell me what to do. If I’m going to get raped, I’m going to do it on my own terms!
Wait, that’s not right…
“Get off me, you crazy psycho! I know kung fu!” Do they teach that anymore? Not that it matters—I’ll just play it up until this person believes me.
“Margaret, it’s me, Dan,” the man whispers in my ear. We’re still crouching behind the dumpster, his hold on me not so tight that I can’t move, so I take a chance and glance back. Huh, look at that. It is Dan.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you were a crazy rapist!” I shove out of his arms and take a step back.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let anyone see me.” His eyes are peering into mine, his skin is pale, and he’s panting like he can’t catch his breath. He looks awful.
“What? Why? Are you on the run?” I gasp and cover my mouth. “Are you a rapist?”
“No! Look, it’s complicated.” I stand up and walk backward, but he follows me and pulls me back down. “You can’t be seen.”
“What? Why not?” I crane my neck to look down the alley, suddenly sure a mob of men in black will walk over and steal me away. I’ve got to get ahold of my imagination.
“Because the man who got to me may be after you as well.”
I think I’ve lost the ability to comprehend what he’s saying because I just sit there and stare at him.
“Look, can we go to your place? I need your help.” He grimaces, and I crinkle my brow.
“Why? What is going on? Who’s after me? What do they want?” The questions spill out of me without pause, and I think I’m about to go into shock.
“I’ll tell you everything eventually, I swear.” He gasps and clenches his side; I noticed he’s been holding it. “I just need some help.” His eyes show his desperation, and I feel myself start to soften. “Please, Margaret.”
I know this is a bad idea. I realize this—I have seen Dateline. I know the risks, and yet here I am, about to aid a hot guy because…why? I don’t even know.
“Okay.”
He closes his eyes and sighs in relief. “Thank you.” He reaches to the ground where a hat is lying. I’m guessing I knocked it off his head in my haste.
I walk toward him, and he clutches his side again. “Are you hurt, Dan?” I may be terrified, but I’m still human.