I Wish You The Best

1 - Delilah

"So, you wanna head back to my place?"

I tell myself to smile, and look bashfully excited. He's asking to take me home, which translated to—can I take you home and fuck you on the first date? I tell myself to appear like the single sentence didn't disgust me and instantly decide my plans for the night—all of which did not include him.

I flash him a smile and pick up my almost-empty wine glass. "I have an early morning tomorrow. I'm sorry but I can't." Just smile Del, just smile. I hate that I apologized for saying that I can't come over but the worry that I might upset him and result in a scene lingered in the back of my mind. Along with the worry, all the horror stories that I've heard and seen when women reject men, are terrifying.

I watch the instant my words reach his brain and he realizes I'm not interested in sleeping with him tonight. As if I owed him some sort of favor and he expected me to just oblige. I specifically stated in our Tinder DMS that I am not interested in a hookup— apparently, he didn't get the memo.

"Oh." Disappointment is clear as he speaks. I turn my attention to the white napkin folded in my lap, picking it up and dabbing the corners of my mouth. The restaurant we had decided on was on the nicer side of the city. I took it as an opportunity to dress up for once, settling on my favorite red dress. It looks a little different on my adult body than it did all those years ago in undergrad, but I felt good nonetheless. What a waste it was tonight.

"I'm sorry, I gotta run. This was fun, Sam." His rushed movements cause me to drop my napkin and ignore the urge to roll my eyes at his lack of remembering my name. "You got the bill, right? I'm a little short on cash lately. Catch ya later." Tim, who works in marketing and is far too cocky for his own good, stands and grabs his jacket from the chair. Not only did the douchebag not remember my name, but he was also leaving me to pay the bill in full alone.

And they say chivalry is dead.

I nod silently knowing if I spoke I'd just cause a scene.

He flees the restaurant like his ass is on fire, people are too busy to notice except for our waitress who makes her way over tentatively, "Everything okay here, miss?"

I grip the corner of the table, tilting my head up to respond, "Yes. Just the bill please."

She nods her head, face full of understanding of what had just happened. Yes, I just got left at the table on a first date. Yes, it's because I didn't throw him a bone that I'd like to sleep with him and his potentially very sad attempt at making me cum. I'm twenty-five years old, too old to be going home with random men who only want to get in my pants. I should've known better than trying to give a man on Tinder the benefit of the doubt. Never again.

So I just smile up at her, silently asking her to leave and get the bill so my straight facade can break. What's one more bad date? It's not as if I'd been trying to get back into the dating scene for months now. I already had a handful of dating horror stories that I'm sure would get a crowd going, what's one more to add to it?

I pay the bill, all one hundred and thirty dollars worth plus tip, and high-tail it out of this place.

The second I reach the street I unlock my phone that's been silently buzzing all night with texts from what I can only assume is my girl's group chat. Ignoring the millions of messages and unanswered questions I open the ride-share app and order a car to my favorite bar—Old Joe's.

The September night air had me wishing I had opted for that coat on the way out tonight instead of this thin cardigan that was no real barrier. I could've at least used it as a comforting hug right now, god knows I need one.

"Miss, are you alright?" The same waitress from inside steps up beside me. She's a little bit shorter than I am but that's not unusual with my 5'9 height.