Eleven Dates [COMPLETE]

Chapter XIX: in which he comes to the rescue

"You look just like Eva Braun, Hitler's wife. Such beauty."

What.

The.

Fuck.

Honestly, I didn't expect less, and I didn't mean the part in which I apparently look like Hitler's wife. No, I meant the part in which my tenth and last date sucked. At this point I wasn't expecting some surprising great guy to show up. I had even talked with Trevor about canceling and he encouraged me to do it. He said that if I wasn't feeling like going I should cancel. However, I didn't cancel because my conscience and OCD didn't allow me to leave the goal of ten dates unfinished.

"Thank you, I guess, but Eva Braun was blonde." I wasn't sure what else to reply.

"Yes, you're right. Still, you are just as beautiful." He shrugged.

I didn't know if I should take it as a compliment or be offended by the fact that he was associating me with the man responsable for the greatest genocide in history.

Our waiter arrived with the food. I had ordered chicken breast covered with mushroom sauce and Hans, my date, ordered a steak. Hans dismissed the waiter without a glance. He leaned to grab his drink and exposed a swastika tattoo on his wrist.

Oh, God. I was dining with an extremist.

I remained silent. The last thing I needed was to start a conversation that would lead to delicate topics, and in consequence to me starting an argument. I forced a smile and ate my chicken.

"You're quiet."

"Just enjoying the food." I replied.

"I'm enjoying your company."

"Thanks." I felt so awkward. I just wanted to go back to Trevor.

"It is so hard to find a girl these days that is worthy of my heritage."

I tighten my hold on the fork and knife. This guy was living on the last century.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Your fair skin, red hair, the way you manage yourself and your table manners are extraordinary." Hans sighed.

I couldn't believe it, he was actually talking about race.

"Are you Irish?"

"No. My grandfather was British."

"Interesting, I have no doubt that you have some Irish blood."

What the hell was happening?

"Maybe." I didn't want to disagree with him. The more he talked, the more anxious I felt. This wasn't a matter of anger at someone who clearly followed certain ideals, it was about getting out of this unharmed. My grandfather was British and Jewish. His parents fled Germany in World War I when he was a kid and then he moved to the USA. If Hans kept talking I wasn't sure if I'd be able to keep quiet.

"You'd be a sight to see pregnant."

This was too much. I was scared. I texted Trevor asking him to come look for me.

"Who are you texting?" Hans sounded angry.

"My mother, sorry. I'm asking her it we have any Irish family." I lied.

"Oh, good." Hans nodded. "Let me know what she tells you."

"Yeah..."

I finished my food in silence waiting for Trevor. Hans kept throwing comments such as "woman's duty to bear children" and my "optimal fertility age". I didn't know how I was able to keep my mouth shut.

Ten minutes later my phone vibrated on my thigh. Trevor was outside.

"What did your mother say?"

My mother? Oh, right, my mother.

"It looks like my dad has Irish roots." I improvised. "Would you excuse me? I have to go to the lady's room."

"You haven't finished your food." Hand complained.

"I really have to go." I grimaced.

"Okay, sure."

I was grateful that his back was facing the door of the restaurant. I walked in the direction of the restroom and without a second thought bolted to the exit. Trevor was just outside waiting for me. I felt instant relief. He must have seen something on my face because when I almost tackled him with a hug he asked.

"What's wrong?"

I shook my head. "Can we go somewhere?" I anxiously turned to the restaurant on my back.

"You're worrying me, Koda." Trevor pushed me at arm's length.

On my insistence Trevor finally said. "There's a bar across the street.

"I'm under aged. They won't let me in." I protested stepping back.

"You're with me." He grinned cheekily. "The won't put up a fight with me."

"You're so full of yourself." I rolled my eyes feeling lighter with our usual banter.

"I'm Trevor." He replied as if that explained everything.

"And I'm Dakota. What's your point?"

He came closer, hugged me to his side with one arm over my shoulders and stirred us to the bar. "Dakota and Trevor. The only one that puts up a fight with me is you."

Something inside me marveled at the way Trevor said our names together. It felt oddly satisfying and right.

"That's because you can never outsmart me." I teased.

"I let you win." He smirked.

"As if!" I pushed him away.

He grinned at me. We had made our way to the bar and Trevor opened the door for me. "After you."

I walked past him to hear him add. "I do let you win."

I turned around inside the bar and sticked my tongue out. "You just can't admit that I'm better than you."

Trevor laughed stepping inside. "I bet I can beat you at pool."

I turned to the only empty pool table out of three. I was useless at pool and Trevor knew it. I could count in a single hand the times I've played it, but I was not about to step down from a challenge. Specially against Trevor.

"You're on. What do you want to bet?" I smirked to hide the grimace at my sure doom.

"For every game you win I take a shot and the other way around."

"Are you out of your mind? Do you want to get me drunk?"

"How about this, when we finish a game in which you manage to keep the white ball I take a shot. If you loose the white, then you drink."

That sounded fair. I wasn't the best at pool, but neither the worst. This could actually work and even help me forget my dinner with Hans. Had he realized that I left? I reminded the part of me that felt guilty that he was talking like a Neanderthal during dinner. Instead I smiled at Trevor.

"Okay, game on."

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This is a slightly shorter chapter. What did you think about Dakota's last date?

Regards,
A. L. Pecka