Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  At least I made it on time.

  It’s 7:48, exactly eighteen minutes past when Jason and I agreed to meet. I’m officially nervous now and I keep checking my phone to see if he’s messaged. I’m sure it’s just traffic. I drum my fingers against the arched bar top, shaped like a large horseshoe and stop myself from tapping my foot again. The red stilettos are too pretty to ding up over a date that never happened. I contemplate ordering a second glass after finishing the wine… or maybe a drink I’ve been eyeing since I’ve been here for something like twenty-seven minutes. Not that I’m counting.

  Right as I’m about to wave to the bartender, my hand rising, Jason appears. I do a double take while he grins at me. His eyes are level with mine, and I’m five foot four. There’s no way he’s six feet tall, as it says on his dating profile.

  He’s also paunchy and balding a little. His photos must have been REALLY old, like they were probably taken in college.

  He’s still cute though. I remind myself and force any hint of my thoughts off my face. Those pictures did not prepare me though.

  Deep breaths. We’re doing this!

  I swallow and extend my hand to him as he walks up, reminding myself that looks aren’t everything. Even though my photos are recent.

  “Hi. I’m Grace,” I say, managing a smile although my mouth feels dry. Oh my goodness my heart is racing with nerves out of nowhere.

  “Hey,” he says, ignoring my offer of a handshake. Instead, he crushes me to his body, hugging me forcefully. Oh, he’s a hugger. My inner voice sounds as shocked as I feel. The nervous laugh that leaves me probably gives that away. When he pulls back, his hands still on my shoulders, I’m a little out of breath. “I’m Jason,” he says with a grin, patting my shoulders before finally releasing me.

  He’s wearing khaki shorts and a blue button-up, with fancy sunglasses peeking out of the pocket. He tosses his car keys on the bar, making sure the Porsche insignia is visible. From the look on his face to the air around him, this guy is cocky. I’m so shocked that my mouth is even hanging open a little, but I honestly can’t help it.

  Alarm bells are going off in my head, telling me to get out, right now. He is nothing like the person I’ve been talking to.

  “How about a drink?” Jason suggests. I could use about a dozen right now to settle down, but my legs feel like Jell-O.

  I picture Charlie, my stool, a cool glass of something he whipped up for me.

  Oh, my gosh, I blink away my crazy. Pining after Charlie is literally insane.

  “Um, okay,” I say, reaching for the menu so I can order the special I wanted and pretend like I’m not hung up on someone so unavailable.

  “No no,” he says playfully. “I’ll pick something you’ll love. I’m kind of a craft beer aficionado.” He grabs the menu, taking a seat at the bar before turning back to me with a charming smile and saying, “And I’m really good at guessing what people like.”

  “Oh. Well okay.”

  I try to talk myself out of the obnoxious first impression I got, after all, Charlie makes me surprise drinks all the time. And there I go again… what is wrong with me?

  The drink I was eyeing up was something called a Burial Shadow Clock, but maybe he'll know that. Or maybe he’ll introduce me to something I didn’t know I liked. That thought eases me and I find myself smiling. I take another peek at Jason but find myself comparing his smooth jaw to Charlie’s stubbled one and suddenly I need that drink right this second.

  I let out a bit of the tension in my body and take a seat next to him. Staying positive is my main goal. Jason’s not quite how I thought he’d be, but I’m sure the same is true for him.

  He skims the menu, then calls the bartender over, ordering two stouts. The bartender asks him whether it’ll be cash or card, and Jason looks to me.

  “What’ll it be?” he asks.

  “Oh! Uhh… Visa, please.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment.

  I turn and get my wallet from my purse, fumbling to get my credit card to start a tab. I already paid for the first glass and stare at the empty glass, wishing it was full again. The tight smile stays on my face as I hand it to the same bartender as before. It’s only when the man side-eyes Jason that I realize he’s not reaching for his card. Jason taps his hands on the bar top and looks past the bartender to the television screens behind him.

  The bartender gives me a dubious look, then goes to run the card. Shake off the unease. It’s fine. I’ll get the drinks and I bet he’ll get dinner. Maybe that’s the way it works normally? Or maybe… maybe he’s thinking something else, I don’t know.

  Shifting uncomfortably on the stool, I try to shake it off. I’m a little more than put out that Jason assumed I could pay for his beer as I watch the bartender pour it, but unsure how to say so. I glance at him, biting down on my lip, and he smirks.

  “I like to let the woman pick up the first tab,” he says. “Not that I can’t buy a drink. It’s just, you know, figure out if they’re gold diggers, you know?”

  Gold digger? One drink. No dinner with this guy unless things change around tremendously. Making myself that promise I glance between the second pint the bartender is filling and my date.

  Jason stares at me expectantly, like he really wants a response to his comment. My lips curl down into a partial frown as I offer, “We could have split the check.”

  “Yeah, but I want a woman who earns, you know what I mean? A woman who knows how to be aggressive about what she wants.”

  I’m a little flabbergasted at that, and I know it shows on my face. Luckily the bartender shows up at that moment, setting two dark beers down in front of us.

  This has got to be new-date-jitters. I couldn’t have been so wrong about this guy.

  “Oh,” I say, looking at the beer’s dark chocolate color. It reminds me a bit of chocolate milk for some reason. I don’t normally drink beer, but when I do, I’m a pale ale kind of girl. Feeling my stress level climb higher and higher, I purse my lips a little and wonder what I’m doing here.

  “What’s wrong?” Jason asks, drawing my attention to him.

  Oh so much is wrong, but I stick with the polite answer, “I don’t usually care for dark beer much, but I’m excited to give it a try.” A small smile slips onto my face when he grins at my statement.

  “You will,” he nods, picking up his pint glass for a toast. “What should we toast to?”

  “How about to new experiences?”

  “No, no,” he corrects me. “To us.”

  He clinks his glass against mine, and it spills a tiny bit of the beer over my hand onto the bar top. I can practically hear him guzzling still after I take a sip of the beer, ignoring the spilled beer and simply laughing it off. Two small square napkins is enough to clean it up anyway. The bitter taste in my mouth sits on my tongue. Yup, nope, I don’t like dark beer.

  Sitting easily on the stool as I take another sip of the beer. It’s indeed like chocolate milk… if chocolate milk is rancid and bitter.

  I take yet another sip, thinking that maybe I just need to close my eyes and let it wash over my tongue…

  Nope. I sit my beer down and push it away, relegating it to the far edge of the bar.

  “Not to your liking?” Jason asks.

  “Not so much,” I say, reaching for the menu. “You can have it if you want?”

  Jason grabs the menu again before I can get to it. “Let me choose again.”

  Railroaded isn’t something I’m used to feeling, but that’s exactly how I feel now and I can’t help the frown that I know is revealed in my expression.

  I stare at this man and I don’t know what to do. I’m not used to being such a shrew on dates, not that I’ve really been on many, but that’s exactly how I feel. Then again I’ve never been treated like this. My lips part to say as much, but he’s already waving the bartender down and ordering another beer.

  “I like Belgian wheat beers, if that helps,” I say to the bartender, as soon as Jason’s done talking. I didn
't even listen to what he said.

  “Just bring her what I asked for,” Jason says pointedly.

  The bartender senses the tension between me and Jason, so he just backs off and pours another beer. On my tab, I presume.

  “So, first date formalities,” Jason says, as though none of that ever happened.

  I have been on so many shitty dates in college. They didn’t really matter though as I wasn’t actually looking for a forever Mr. Right. Just a Mr. Right now. I watch Jason as he talks and realize this one is probably the worst start to any interaction with any individual I’ve ever had. Including some of my worst clients. Probably.

  “Let’s see… I’m in finance, but I won’t even begin to explain it. It’s nothing you would understand. I’m from Atlanta, but left for college and then came back.” Jason doesn’t look at me as he recites what’s probably a rehearsed introduction, motioning with his hands in between drinking the beer. “I went to Westminster, of course. Followed by Columbia and Yale, for business school. Came back to help my father run his firm. I’ve been everywhere. You name it, I’ve been there. I spend my weekends on my boat. And you?”

  He finally looks up at me. I take a breath, my fingers tangling in my lap. Everywhere? He’s been everywhere? Irritation claws at me.

  “Well… I’m from Atlanta, too. I went to Decatur High School—”

  “A public school?” he interrupts.

  I wait a moment to answer him, my body heat rising. “Yes. I also went to Brenau University—”

  “You went where?” he asks, his nose wrinkling.

  “Brenau? It’s a women’s college—”

  “Oh, a girls school,” he says, tapping his hand on the bar top and leaning back some on his stool. I smile thinly.

  “It’s actually a private college.” It’s where I went before Rhode Island School of Design. Both are damn good institutions, and I’m proud of the fact I was accepted to them.

  He actually rolls his eyes as he takes another drink of the beer, the one I paid for, and says, “Yeah, okay.”

  I seriously need to get out of here.

  He takes a moment to savor his beer. I stand, shouldering my purse. Anger is just simmering beneath the surface. I’ve never been treated so poorly in my life.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, surprised.

  “I’m going to go ahead and leave,” I say.

  “Wait— you can’t just leave like this, in the middle of our date!” He has the nerve to raise his voice loud enough to get the attention of the men around us.

  I wave my arm frantically at the bartender, not because he doesn’t see but more than likely because of the nerves racing through me. “I’d like to close out.”

  A night with Diane would have actually been better than this.

  The bartender must see my frustration from where he’s pouring drinks down the bar because he says, “You’re all set, it’s on the house.”

  “Thanks!” I call to him and wish it came out less shaky. He’s literally my hero right now for not making me wait another second with the jackass who has already turned his back to me to ask a woman a few seats down if she wants a drink he just paid for.

  I don’t even bother to correct him; he isn’t getting another second from me.

  Rushing to get inside my car, I pull out of the parking lot, feeling completely sick over what just happened. Did that even happen? That was real, wasn’t it?

  Disbelief consumes me as I blow out a breath and my car hits the interstate. I’m almost on autopilot driving through evening traffic while my mind is elsewhere, trying to forget what a miserable first date that was. I settle into my seat and try to calm down as I look at the time on the dashboard.

  I don’t want to go home and be alone after that bullshit. I know there’s only one place I want to be right now, and only one guy’s smile I want to see…

  Charlie

  I found the perfect woman for you.

  She’s going to be at the wedding.

  Leaning forward on the bar with my head in my hands, I groan when I read my mother’s texts. I wish she’d just leave it alone. I don’t have the time, or the energy. I’m not ready for anything serious. She’s already text me twice since I left my parent’s house to come back to work.

  “Well.” The barstool on the other side of the bar squeaks as she continues. “You look like you’re having an even worse day than I am.”

  Grace’s soft voice makes a grin play on my lips. I raise my head slowly, still resting my forearms on the bar, and peek up to see the pretty blue eyes I knew would be there staring back at me.

  “You have no idea,” I tell her as I push off the bar and stop mid response to my mother.

  Grace turns her shoulder to me, the smell of her perfume wafting toward me. Her long hair falls off her shoulder and exposes more of the bare skin of her slender neck. All I can hear is the rustling in her purse while she looks for her card. This place is packed, but seeing her after dinner tonight… it’s like no one else is here.

  A small huff of a laugh comes from deep in my throat. Grace has a few habits, and one of them is that she always puts her tab on her card when she’s ordering food.

  “The special?” I ask her. I walk backward toward the double doors that lead to the back.

  She looks up at me, still hunched over her purse and smiles wide. “Of course.”

  Chicken tenders and fries. It’s our special on Tuesdays, and Grace always gets the special. I call out to the back, pushing the doors open, then I grab her card to put the order through.

  “What’ll you have to drink, sweetheart?” I ask, looking up at her from across the bar. I have to raise my voice, and I see a few of the men look over at me and notice her.

  They’re regulars, and they go back to their food and drinks in no time, but I still feel a subtle rise of emotion. I don’t know what the emotion is, but I ignore it when she answers that she’ll have a pale ale.

  “You got it.” I move to the bottled beers. She likes the lighter variety with a bit of citrus. One night she went through nearly every pale ale on a mission to find her favorite. The cap pops off, and I toss it into the trash before handing her the cool bottle.

  “You want a glass?” I offer even though I’m sure she doesn’t.

  Shaking her head, she answers “Nope,” and reaches for the beer. Her fingers brush against my hand, and a shock goes through me. A heated current, lights my blood aflame. There’s no reason for it. It was only the barest of touches, but holy hell the sparks were there.

  A violent blush heats her face and I wonder if she felt it, too. I wait a second as she clears her throat and looks away, shier than normal, despite being dressed to the nines in some sexy outfit I've never seen before, some dark red pants and a light cream blouse.

  “Charlie!” I almost flinch at the sound of my name, snapping me back to the present. Frankie calls my name from down the bar. He’s at the very end, but he didn’t have to yell so damn loud.

  “Yeah?” I have to turn away from Grace to stride toward him, which is probably good all things considered with the how she looked away when our fingers touched. My skin feels hotter with every second that passes. I want to turn around and I can feel her gorgeous eyes on me, willing me to look at her.

  “One more?” he asks me, rather than tells me.

  I lean against the bar and shrug. “Whatever you want.”

  He nods as he pushes his empty beer bottle toward me. It takes me less than a minute to get him another drink.

  The back doors creaks behind me, signifying Maggie coming out of the back, letting the one double door swing open and shut carelessly as she balances Grace’s order in her hands.

  I'm quick to grab the plate with both hands to help Maggie out.

  “I got it,” I tell her even as the skeptical look hits her eyes and tilted brow. Maggie wipes both of her hands on her apron and nods, the look not leaving her even as she leaves me to go back to the kitchen.

  The smell of th
e fries and chicken and bacon wakes me right the fuck up. I’m still full from dinner, but I’m definitely going to snag a few fries from Grace.

  A smile crosses my lips as I set the plate down in front of her, remembering the first time she ordered the Tuesday special. She practically threatened me if I didn’t eat a few fries with her.

  It was the second night she came in here. I remember the first because she came with a friend. She’s almost Grace’s opposite. I remember thinking it didn’t make sense that the two of them would be friends. There was a third one with them, but she left early. Leaving the loud blonde and an embarrassed Grace.

  The next night, Grace came back alone, and I have to admit I was curious about her. She must’ve overheard me tell someone I hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

  That happens a lot when you’re managing so much. Time just slips by.

  She called me over and said it was too much food for her. I politely declined, but she wasn’t having it. This sweet little thing told me I had to eat, and she’d tell my manager on me if I didn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so wide before.

  She really is a sweetheart.

  “So you’re having a bad day?” I ask her. I pull my barstool over to her, grateful to sit down and think about something other than work and my mother’s text. If she’s not here by 6 maybe 6:30, I assume she’s not coming by. Sometimes she surprises me with a later arrival, like tonight. She’s here a little earlier than the rush and thankfully James actually came in tonight. I’ve got time and now a spare man for tonight. There was no way I was going to put him on the schedule without having back up in case he didn’t show. I told him there’s a three strike system now, he’s already got one down. He’ll either shape up, or ship out.

  Grace rolls her eyes before grabbing a chicken tender. As she starts to talk, I realize I forgot the salt. That woman likes her salt.

  “So I went out on a date tonight.” She lets out a heavy sigh as I leave her for all of three seconds to grab the salt and pepper, even though she won’t use it, and I feel my jaw clench a little tighter at the word, ‘date.’