Playing It Safe(2)

I put down my fork and sweep my blunt blond bangs away from my forehead. They cascade right back into place as if I hadn’t done a damn thing to move them. Carefully, I forge ahead. “And what does that mean, exactly? How can I not work too hard when I own the company? The fate of my employees rests on the sole fact that I do work hard to ensure they get a paycheck every other week.”

He puts his hands up in defense while chuckling. Ugh, I instantly regret selecting option number two; I should have just played dumb when I had the chance. “Julia, that’s not what I meant. I simply meant that when you work too hard, you don’t get to enjoy the other things in life. Like this.” He motions his hand between us to drive his point home that he means “us.”

Is he shitting me? There is no “us.” I’d rather watch paint dry than be here on this date with him. Thankfully, the waiter comes before I can respond, and he asks if we need anything else. Dick doesn’t even ask me; instead, he tells the waiter to bring the check. Normally, this would bug the hell out of me since it’s another pet peeve to add to Dick’s ever-growing list of cons, but tonight I’m glad he did it because it means I’m that much closer to never having to see him again.

After he signs the check, which he makes a big deal out of since the final tally of our dinner is somewhere above the hundred-dollar mark, I stay silent and just put on a tight smile while we walk to his car. The drive back to my house is even worse. He blasts Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” over the speaker system the whole way home.


Seriously?! I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.

And it’s right then that I have a moment of clarity. An epiphany, if you will.

Why am I putting myself through the torture of another date that never goes anywhere? I’m not a conceited person by any stretch of the imagination. I think I’m halfway decent in the looks department, pretty goddamn funny, and successful enough in my own right that I could afford several dinners that this prize just paid for on my behalf like he was doing me a favor.

The answer sneaks up on me just as he pulls into my driveway. I don’t need to put up with guys like Dick over here, ever. In fact, I don’t think I need to bother with men at all. Maybe what I need to do is take a complete and total break from dating. They do say when you’re not looking for love is when you’ll find it magically appearing on your doorstep. He’ll appear with a pretty red bow on his beautiful, perfectly coiffed head. Mind you, nobody knows exactly who “they” are, so this theory is still up for debate. But still, I think it’s worth a shot.

“So, are you going to invite me in?”

I turn in my seat to face Dick, who is trying his damndest to grin in a sexy way. Instead of being sexy he looks more like an overeager twit.

“Thanks for the date, Dick.” Still funny. “But yeah, um, I don’t think so.”

He actually has the nerve to look surprised. “Come on, Jules. The night doesn’t have to end so early. I can make it worth your while.”

Rule number one that I should put out as a disclaimer for everyone who meets me: never, under any circumstance, call me Jules. Anger infiltrates me to the point that I’m this close to smacking him upside his head for calling me that, especially since he knows I hate it with a passion.

I have to take a deep breath and exhale before I say anything back. “Listen closely, Dick. On what part of this date, or the one before it, did I lead you to believe you were going to ever get inside my pants? Did you think that just because I agreed to a second date that I was a foregone conclusion? A sure thing? Better yet, did you think because you paid for dinner that it gives you the right to assume I’d let you inside my home to have your way with me?”

His mouth drops open to say something, but I’m on a roll now. “You are a pretentious, overeager *. There is no scenario in the world where this date ends with you in my bed. I’d much rather pleasure myself with my battery-operated boyfriend for the rest of my lonely existence than have you attempt to find my G-spot.”

“You use a vibrator?” he asks with an obvious smirk in his tone, like he didn’t hear anything else I just said to him.

“Good night, Dick.”

“Wait! I just meant—”

I don’t even wait to hear the rest of what he just meant. Opening the car door as he’s still bumbling to form a coherent string of words that would closely resemble a sentence, I make my way to my front door. Once inside, I slam it behind me and turn the dead bolt for good measure. I heave a sigh of relief that that’s all over and done with, and this new phase of my life can immediately begin.

One thing to know about me, I’m pretty big on lists. And this occasion lends itself to a list for the ages. Feeling resolved in my newfound singledom, I kick off my heels and toss my purse and keys onto the floor before making my way to the kitchen, because this list calls for a big-ass glass of wine.

“Ha! I can’t believe he actually thought he was going to get some,” I say out loud to absolutely no one. Ever since my old roommate and best friend, Sabrina, moved away about a year ago, sometimes I forget that there is nobody here to listen to me rant. We keep in touch often and Skype frequently. So much so that her boyfriend, Tyler, thinks we’re completely and utterly nuts. I miss her like crazy, but I’m so happy for her because she’s found the love of her life, and more than anyone I know she deserves it.