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“Thank you. I’ll pop them in some water.” She turns to walk away, but quickly turns back.

“Sorry, Patrick, this is my friend Brad. Brad, Patrick.”

Patrick holds out his hand, and I reluctantly shake it, only doing it for Gabriella’s sake. He’s dressed like a typical rich preppy boy. Blue eyes, blond hair, and hands so soft it tells me he’s never done an honest hard day's work in his life.

“Good to meet you,” Patrick says, never breaking eye contact. I say nothing.

“I better head out. Have fun.” I wave to Gabriella and Ali, ignoring Patrick, and walk right by him. There is a little niggle in my chest. It’s irritating and uncomfortable, but I can’t figure out why it’s there, so instead of trying to work it out, I ignore it, lock it away, and move my thoughts to my evening routine because letting myself feel never ends well.

Chapter Four

Gabriella

“… and Larry reckons if I continue, I could make partner in the next two years,” Patrick mumbles around forkfuls of food.

All I can do is nod and smile. “Wow, that’s incredible,” I say, trying my best to sound interested.

“It’s rare for someone of my age to reach…” His words fade as my brain zones out. I’ve been on this date for nearly two hours, and all this man has done is talk about himself, his job, his high school, lacrosse career, and I am pretty sure he’s checked out his reflection in his spoon on a few occasions. God, he really is a self-absorbed prick and so different from how he was with me at the country club. Why, why would my mother think he would be a good fit? I don’t think he has asked me one single question.

“Gabriella, are you okay?” I shake my head and blink rapidly.

“Yeah, sorry, that’s… that’s really an incredible achievement, Patrick. You should be so proud.”

He straightens his spine, his pearly white teeth on full display as he smiles arrogantly.

I want to roll my eyes, but refrain, and instead stab my fork at the seabass on my plate, which thankfully has been over-seasoned and therefore slightly palatable. But seriously, who takes someone out for fish of all things for a first date? I’ve had to fight to not dry heave the entire evening. It’ll take me at least three washes to get the smell out of my hair.

“So, what is it you do?” he asks before taking another forkful of food and shoving it in his mouth.

Wow, finally, he asks me a question.

“I teach Pilates at a studio near Central Park. I love it, it’s–” I don’t get to finish because Motor Mouth Mike uses it as his golden opportunity to talk about himself again.

“Ah, the Serenity studio. I’ve heard of that. I go to the gym round the corner. I’ve been going for a few years now. My trainer says if I continue I could…” And, I’m back to drowning him out. I reach for my glass of wine, draining its contents as I continue to smile and nod.

Get me out of here.

It’s 9.30 pm and we are thankfully heading out of the restaurant from what I can safely say is one of the most boring dates I have ever been on, and that’s saying something after Adam. At least he asked me questions. I honestly think Patrick would have had a better time alone with a mirror.

“So can I take you for a drink, or we can head back to mine for a nightcap?” Patrick suggests as he slides his hand in mine, as he walks me towards my car. I flinch, pulling back my hand.

I’m sorry, were we just on the same date?What part of it gave him the impression I wanted to go anywhere else with him? I think I uttered maybe six words. The rest was him just talking about himself.

“Oh, I’d love to, but I have an early morning class and I need my beauty sleep,” I say apologetically.

“Fair enough,” he replies, not sounding overly bothered, and I can’t decipher if that pisses me off or makes me feel relieved.

We reach my car and I get my keys out of my purse, turning to Patrick, and that lead weight in my stomach appears. I hate ending a date, especially when it’s been a real dud.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I say, trying to avoid eye contact. He closes the space between us, and I recoil.

Oh God, please don’t kiss me.

“I had a great time,” he drawls, his tone low.

“Yeah, m-me too,” I lie.

He leans in and I move my head to the left, praying he’ll land on my cheek, but then he moves the same way, so I move the other and then it happens again and we are in this awkward exchange of head bobbing.