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Houston didn’t seem to notice as we got to the car. He didn't open the door for me, which I realized I've been coming to expect after only a week with Tyler. And we weren't even dating.
I needed to get a grip. I couldn’t date Tyler, and even if I could, he clearly could care less that I was going on a date with someone else. In fact, he’d barely even looked up from his paper long enough to tell me “have fun.”
No, I was here with Houston. He’d gone through the trouble of picking me up and bringing me flowers, and I needed to give him a real chance.
I got in, and the car smelled nice. It was clear Houston cared a lot about it by how clean it was. That, at least, was something we had in common.
He took me out to dinner at a steakhouse I hadn’t been to before near his work. The food was good, and Houston kept the conversation going, talking about his job, the investment property he owned in eastern California, his family, and basically anything a person could want to know about him. I tried to give him some slack for talking so much because first dates can be awkward. And some people got chatty when they were nervous. But then his foot bumped mine under the table. And when I pulled my foot away, he moved his again so our ankles were touching.
I glanced up at him, wondering if he was having a spasm. Instead, there was a suggestive glint in his eyes.
Houston wasn’t nervous at all.
He was playing footsie with me.
And that made me even more nervous. I thought footsie was something that only happened in movies. Yet, here I was, on a first date, with Houston’s ankle rubbing against my leg.
Was this supposed to be hot?
Because I didn’t feel turned on. In fact, I felt... his ankle on my leg. Just like the way he kissed my hand yesterday, there was no spark. No excitement like there had been when Tyler gripped my hand on the table.
Oh god.
Did I have a complex?
Was I only attracted to unavailable men?
I was mid-spiral when Houston asked, “Do you want to go get a drink? There’s a bar I like near here.”
And just to prove I wasn’t pathetically attracted to a man I could never be romantically involved with, I took him up on the offer.
We drove to a bar nearby, the kind I’d only ever gone to with my brothers to play pool. Smoke made the air hazy, even though indoor smoking had been outlawed ages ago. A few pool tables lined the back area and a small dance floor, and an untouched jukebox that charged $5 per song cast colorful beams over the dimly lit area.
Houston walked up to the bar, and he ordered two rum and Cokes before I had a chance to order my usual mai tai. But I’d drunk Cuba libres before, so it wasn’t the end of the world. He started a tab, and the bartender handed him two drinks that were more rum than Coke.
He brought them to a standing tabletop and said, “Let's dance.”
I cringed, the drinks sounding good for the first time. “I really have two left feet,” I said. The most words I'd said all night, really.
“You just have to follow me.” He took my hand, swinging his hips as he pulled me toward the postage-stamp-size dance floor. Then he dragged my hand to his shoulder and made himself far too comfortable, gripping low on my hips.
My stomach churned. Someone braver would grab his hands and pull them back up to where they belonged. But he was bigger than me, stronger, and I didn’t want to set him off. That was until he grinded his hips against mine, biting his bottom lip suggestively.
Did he really think I was going to be some cheap date? That he could buy me some flowers and hook up with me in a seedy bar?
I wanted to go home, but I didn't have my car, and the odds of him giving me a ride to anywhere but his bedroom were nonexistent.
“I have to pee,” I blurted.
He chuckled low. “Eager for me to join you in the bathroom?”
The greedy way he studied me made me want to puke.
“I'll just be a few minutes,” I said and hurried to the bathroom at the back of the bar. I slid the lock shut, and taking a few deep breaths, I had to plug my nose at the stench. It clearly hadn't been cleaned in a long time, and I doubted any amount of cleaner would even touch this smell regardless.
For good measure, I locked myself in a stall in case he decided to follow me, and then I quickly pulled up my messages to text my friends. Hopefully Mara or Birdie could come rescue me, and soon.
Henrietta: This date is horrible. He’s getting really handsy, and I think he's going to try something. Can you come get me?