The Dating Proposal(24)
I want to pump a fist because this date is starting off so much better than the waterworks one.
He gestures to my top. “That’s pretty.”
“Why, thank you. It just arrived, and I’m already a little bit in love with it.” Yes, this date is worlds better. Everything is working.
He squints, studying my appearance quizzically. “But . . .”
I barely have time to brace myself.
His voice is clandestinely sweet as he says, “I wouldn’t let you wear that out with friends.”
I blink, shaking the water from my ears. Surely they must be clogged. What did he say? “Excuse me?”
There’s that deceptively affectionate tone again. “It’s lovely for a date with your man, but you can’t wear that if you’re out with friends or going to work.”
I force a laugh because surely he’s joking. “You’re right. I’ll save it for the house.” I practically slap my knee so he knows I’m totally in on it too.
He clucks his tongue. “Good. Because it’s too appealing. I don’t mind that you’re wearing it on our first date, because you don’t know better.”
I slam on the brakes. “I don’t know better?”
He smiles, and it’s not sweet. Not even saccharine. It’s condescending. “That’s only because we just met. But now you know how I feel. And I couldn’t let you dress that provocatively if we’re together. Other men would be drawn to you.”
The number of things wrong with what he’s saying are nearly too high to count, but I start simple. “First of all, if I’m with someone, I’m not drawn to other men.”
Dan shakes his pretty head adamantly. Why, oh why, do the good-looking ones have to be so kooky? From Steven to Dan, the universe is drawing wildly handsome cards for me and then turning them into complete wackadoodles.
“Of course you wouldn't be drawn to other men. But men are animals, and I wouldn’t want to put you in that position.”
“Gee. Thanks for the chivalry.”
He smiles, thrilled I finally understand, simpleminded female that I am. “Exactly. A man’s job is to keep a woman safe, to make sure she’s treated wonderfully, and to ensure no other man would even attempt to go near her.”
“Perhaps a leash could help in that regard?”
He chuckles. “A leash is hardly necessary if you’re wearing appropriate clothing. Only I’ll know what’s underneath. Not the whole town. Have you considered turtlenecks for daily wear?”
I cringe, every fashion-loving bone in my body mortally offended. I am two-hundred-six-bones-worth of pissed at Dan Duran.
But just to be completely, absolutely certain he’s not putting me on, I ask, “You’re definitely not joking?”
His face is stony. “I’m serious.”
I paste on my best smile as I fold my napkin and set it on the table. “Thank you, Dan. I appreciate your candor. And the mushroom risotto sounded delightful. But I’m afraid I have a low-cut top and tight jeans to wear when I saunter around the city tomorrow.” I adopt a frown, like I’m abjectly sad at this turn of events. Then I dip my hand into my wallet. I toss two twenties on the table. That’ll cover both of us.
“Goodbye, Dan Duran. This girl dresses herself. And sometimes, call me crazy, I pay for dinner too.”
I walk out.
“How can I put this tactfully? He wasn’t exactly a raging feminist,” I tell my sister as I take another drink of my Purple Snow Globe, a new drink Julia is testing out on me. I’m at her home away from home, Cubic Z in the SoMa neighborhood, where she tends bar. With raspberry juice, gin, and sugar crystals on the rim, this drink is exuberantly delicious. “And I don’t need a feminist per se. But he was more like the anti-feminist.”
“He didn’t pull out your chair or hold the door?”
I nod savagely. “Jules, he did all that. The problem was he wanted to do that and put me in my place,” I say, then explain what went down at dinner.
Julia mimes dropping a ball then kicking it far, far away. “Ouch. No man is winning a Bell woman with that attitude.”
I place the martini glass on the counter and look straight at her. “Exactly. And even though I’m not looking for a boyfriend, and I’m definitely not looking to get serious”—I flinch momentarily at the memory of how such a relationship could go belly-up in one fast weekend away in Vegas—“I don’t want to date someone who thinks he’s better than, oh, say, my entire gender.”
Grabbing a cloth, she wipes down the bar, nodding in solidarity. “I hear ya, sister. R-E-S-P-E-C-T is where it’s at. I see no reason to waste time with any guy who doesn’t see eye to eye on such basics.” She tosses the towel onto a hook. “But it does raise some interesting questions. Have you thought about what happens when you go on a few dates with someone who does see eye to eye with you?”
I take another swig of the heaven in a glass, savoring the sugary finish. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re into the whole ‘let’s see how this goes and have fun,’ which is awesome, and exactly where you should be at. But what if the next guy tickles your fancy, curls your toes, and stimulates your mind. What then?”