Disasters in Dating

by Danielle Allen

  “Wow, a year and a half. No wonder you’re frustrated. I just want to put this out there. If you need me to take care of anything…”

  I laughed. “You wanted me to confide in you and I’m trying, but you’re over there making jokes.”

  “No, seriously, Desiree, listen to me. You have to understand that you can do or not do whatever the fuck you want to do now. If you want to have sex with someone to get you back on the horse, give yourself permission to do that. If you want to wait until you meet the right man, you can do that, too. Now, I might be fucking up my chances of hearing you moan in person”—he chuckled—“but gorgeous, you run this shit. If you want something to happen, make it happen. There’s not a damn thing anybody can say to you about how you live your life. So, what do you want?”

  “I want to wait until I meet someone who wants the same things as me. I just figure if I’m having sex with someone, there’s the potential I could get pregnant. I’m too old to be fucking with anyone that I couldn’t see myself in a relationship with or worse, having a child with.”

  “Then that’s your answer. Now, I’m here to help anytime you need advice, sexting, phone sex…oral sex, you name it and I got you.”

  “Oh, my God!” I put my hand over my face and rolled over as I laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Be true to yourself and have fun. Dating is supposed to be fun. Hell, fucking is definitely supposed to be fun. But you need to do both on your terms. Now was that it? You just needed to get off so you called the one man you knew could handle the job.”

  “Honestly… yes,” I laughed as he whooped and hollered.

  “I knew it!”

  “Anyway, that was where the sexting came from.”

  “So, the date was okay?”

  “Actually, no. It was a great time. I didn’t feel any chemistry or love connection, but it was a nice time… Until he pulled his dick out under the blanket and put my hand on it.”

  “What?” Charles barked into the phone so loudly, I winced. All traces of humor and amusement were gone from his tone. “He forced himself on you?”

  “Well, not in the way I think you’re thinking, but he didn’t have my consent when he relocated my hand. It wasn’t like we were making out and touching each other or anything. We hadn’t even kissed. He kissed my hand, my cheek, and the top of my head. Our lips never met. Our bodies weren’t entangled. He just—”

  “He just thought he could whip out his dick and strong arm you into touching it.” He let out a scornful laugh and I heard a door slam. “What’s his name?”

  “I handled it. I promise. I told him about himself and then I just got out of there.” I paused, putting my hand to my chest. The protective side of him made my heart flutter. “Thank you for having my back though.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I handled it! I swear, it’s done. He won’t be contacting me anymore.”

  “If he does, let me know.” His voice was firm, forceful.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, dad.”

  “And don’t you ever call me dad again.” He paused. “But if you want to discuss calling me daddy…”

  SOS: Charles In Charge

  Name: Charles

  Age: 35

  Relationship Status: Single

  Looking For: Dating

  Children: 0

  Occupation: Firefighter

  Bio: No one ever accused me of being boring or predictable. I like to stay active. I’m honest, assertive, and protective… which is probably why I have the careers that I do. I’m a man of my word and I’m all about follow through.

  Anything else you want to know, just ask.

  Chapter 9

  “So, you’re not going to tell me anything else,” I replied as I sat in my cubicle at work. Twisting my desk chair back and forth, I had a huge smile on my face. “At all.”

  “No, no, no,” Miles answered with a laugh. The hint of his accent made everything he said sound so sexy. “Just meet me at CAGE on Thursday at two o’clock.”

  Contemporary Art Gallery and Exhibition was one of the coolest places in Richland with its cool vibe and ever-evolving display of art. It was a mix of local artists and more famous works. I’d been several times, but never on a date.

  Excitement bubbled through me. “I’ll be there.”

  “Okay, I’ll finalize the plans, and then I’ll hit you up later.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  We said goodbye, and I clicked open my work calendar to confirm there weren’t any meetings added in the last two minutes.

  “Out of office,” I whispered as I typed, blocking off Thursday afternoon.

  “It’s Monday. You’re starting your weekend early already?” Sheila asked, startling me.

  I gasped a bit and continued closing out my computer applications before grabbing my stuff to leave.

  The bottle blonde with the mean girl vibe had been working at Urbane for five years and she hated that I was one of the highest paid writers on staff with the most popular column. While I was getting paid the same as those reporting the news, Sheila’s never advanced from her entry level position of researcher. Instead she was transitioned to a proofreader position. Whenever I’d see her, her disdain for me was evident, but she was usually fake about it since everyone else at Urbane loved me.

  “Sheila… looking over my shoulder yet again. You should probably not do that. The partition is there for a reason, and you’re kind of creepy.”

  I was being nice. It was decidedly creepy as hell.

  “Creepy? Me? You make it into the office so infrequently, it’s always a surprise when you’re actually here.” The saccharine sweet tone of her voice made me want to throw something at her big bobblehead. “It could’ve been anyone in there meddling with your stuff. Until I really think about it, I forget that you work here from time to time.”

  As my computer powered down and I put miscellaneous papers in my locked file cabinet and my important stuff in my work bag, I let out a steady breath.

  “I could say the same thing” I put the strap of my bag onto my shoulder before I turned to look at her. “But I seriously never think about you.”

  “Must be nice to not be a real journalist and be able to write fluff pieces from home or where ever else.”

  The snarky tone of her voice gave me pause as I turned to look at her. “How many articles of yours are published?” I asked as I backed out of our cube area. I narrowed my eyes at her and watched her struggle to come up with something to say, but she wasn’t quick enough. “That’s what I thought.”

  “You think you’re special because you give out advice. I mean, what makes you qualified? You’re not a real life coach.”

  I gave her a look. “As someone who would greatly benefit from one, you would know.”

  Turning on my heel, I walked away from her wearing the Urbane t-shirt that everyone else was wearing that day paired with a black pencil skirt and black pumps.

  That’s always her best insult… that my job isn’t a real job and that I’m not a life coach. Who the hell is she? Hell yeah, I’m a life coach. And? I rolled my eyes as I strolled out of the office building. I’m tired of people giving me shit about my column. I wonder if people gave Dear Abby shit?

  It didn’t take me long to get home, but for whatever reason it took me forever to get ready for my date with Charles. I didn’t want to get too dressed up, but I didn’t want to be too casual. I knew I didn’t plan to fuck him, but I also knew that no one had ever turned me on like he had—and that was just through text. I didn’t know how it was going to be in person. I was nervous about our chemistry. I was nervous I wouldn’t like him or worse, he wouldn’t like me.

  And what’s proper protocol for meeting a man you’ve sexted to the point that he’s brought you to climax?

  I stared at my reflection. Although I was bottom heavy with full hips and rounded ass, my skin tight dark denim jeans and sheer black tunic highlighted all of my curve
s. With black and metallic sandals and my hair pulled up into a ponytail, I looked cool, sexy, and not at all like it took me two hours to put my look together.

  “Okay, here goes nothing,” I whispered as I grabbed my metallic clutch and walked out of my apartment. When I got to my car, I sent Charles a text.

  Desiree: I’m on my way.

  Charles: It’s about damn time.

  I laughed to myself and glanced at the time. If I left right then, I was going to arrive on time.

  Desiree: See you soon.

  Charles: Drive safely. You’ll see my car on the side of the building nearest a side door. It’ll be unlocked for you.

  Twenty minutes later, three minutes after our planned eight o’clock date, I parked beside a black Mercedes Benz on the side of an older firehouse that appeared to be out of commission. I took a deep breath, and then I climbed out of my car and strolled to the side door.

  I walked in and as soon as the door closed behind me, I froze in my tracks. Our eyes met and my heart stopped for a second before hammering in my chest.

  Holy shit.

  The man I’d been talking to, the tall, dark, and handsome man in the photos, the sexy firefighter with an obsession with me sliding down his pole, the man I met on SOS paled in comparison to the man who stood on the other side of the firehouse.

  Holy. Shit.

  My thoughts were cut short as this God amongst men started walking toward me. In fact, my thoughts, my breathing, and all other vital functions seemed to stop as well.

  With a rich brown complexion and short black hair that had a slight wave to it, his pictures didn’t do him justice. His shoulders were broader, his jawline was more chiseled, and his lips were even fuller than his photos could capture. I was immediately attracted to him. But it wasn’t just the fact that he looked like Adonis dipped in chocolate. It was the way he moved, the energy that surrounded him, and the way his presence demanded my attention that made my stomach flip.

  As he got closer, a slow, easy grin showed off his perfect white teeth. His entire face lit up giving him a boyish charm as he smiled, but his chiseled features and muscular body were one-hundred percent man.

  He knew what he was doing in his heather grey Richland Fire Department t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and defined biceps. His jeans fit him extremely well, but looked too fashionable for work. He wore grey and black sneakers that made his trek from one side of the empty firehouse to the other virtually silent. His walk, his body language, and the way he carried himself all oozed with self-confidence. But when I met his gaze again, I could tell that he felt what I’d felt.

  And my stomach flipped. Twice.

  My attraction to him was stronger than I expected, and my body’s reaction to the sight of him was immediate. The photos of Charles were in standard definition while the man who made his way across the room toward me was in high definition.

  “Desiree,” Charles greeted me as he stopped two feet in front of me.

  For his eyes to be so dark, they held so much light.

  I swallowed hard and held out my hand for him to shake it. “Charles.”

  He chuckled to himself and took my hand. He shook it for a second before pulling me into him. I collided with his hard chest and before I knew what was happening, he’d engulfed me into a hug.

  “Hey!” I yelped in surprise, unintentionally gripping his shirt at his sides. I allowed my body to melt into his embrace.

  Ignoring the pitter-patter of my heart, I brushed off the anomaly as just a delayed reaction to my strong attraction.

  That’s all that is.

  He was about a head taller than me so I had to look up at him. When I did, our eyes locked, and I could feel his breath on my face. Even though my belly quivered in a way that shook me to my soul, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how loudly my body was calling for him.

  He smirked. “I think we’re beyond a handshake.” He cocked his head to the side and gave me a suggestive look. “If I know what you sound like when you—ow!”

  I glared at him as he held his side where I sucker punched him. “Strike one! I’m leaving,” I announced in amusement before dramatically spinning on my heel.

  He laughed and grabbed my elbow, pulling me back into him.

  I was prepared for it that time and gracefully fell into his arms with a smile. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He rubbed the back of his hand against my cheek. “Are you ready for a night you won’t forget?”

  I leaned into his touch, but rolled my eyes. “I’m ready for this picnic on the roof you told me about.”

  “You are so difficult! You said you wanted to see my moves so let me move you.”

  “I’m about to move my car from this parking lot to my parking deck at home.”

  He held back a laugh. Narrowing his eyes and deepening his voice, he barked, “Let me seduce you, woman!”

  I stepped away from him and looked around.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked, a grin on his face.

  “I’m looking for who the hell you’re talking to?”

  We laughed and joked our way to the stairwell and made our way to the roof. We’d had an easy friendship from the beginning.

  “Oh, wow…” I breathed when I saw the set up.

  Candles flickered around a plush blue blanket with a wicker picnic basket positioned in the middle.

  “Yeah, I know,” Charles said cockily as he took my hand and pulled me behind him. “Have a seat here.”

  I sat down on one end of the blanket. “Thank you.”

  He smiled, but remained silent, taking a seat on the other end of the blanket. Opening the basket, he pulled out two champagne flutes and handed me both. Cracking open the champagne, he poured the bubbly liquid into our glasses. He took his out of my hand and clinked it against mine. “To an unforgettable night.”

  My heart fluttered.

  “I swear to God if you pull out an engagement ring, I’m leaving,” I threatened to mask the tingly feeling I got from being around him.

  His head dropped down as he snickered as I took a sip.

  I swallowed the first sip, but the second gave me pause. The crisp liquid felt funny on my tongue and my taste buds started to freak out.

  The champagne tastes funny.

  Am I being drugged?

  Charles and I had an easy chemistry. On a fundamental level, we got along like childhood friends. We joked on each other and with each other. He could tell when something was wrong with me, and he was there to pick up my spirits. I could tell when he was agitated and needed a distraction, so I would tell him about the assholes I’d meet on SOS. We’d become fast friends who just so happened to send sexy messages back and forth sometimes. But as panic swept through me, I realized that I’d only met him two weeks ago. I didn’t know him know him.

  He didn’t drug me. He didn’t drug me. He didn’t drug me.

  “What’s wrong?” His eyes were wide with concern as he set his glass on the hard roof surface.

  “What is this? Is something in this?” I asked, my voice squeaking with anxiety. “Why does it taste like this?”

  A crease appeared between his eyebrows as he reached for my glass. He took it and then poured a gulp into his mouth, swallowing the beverage without a second of hesitation.

  “I don’t taste anything.” He looked around. “Do you think it could’ve been…” He looked back at me and shook his head. “I don’t know what it could’ve been. What did it taste like?”

  His confusion and the fact that he drank from my glass immediately removed all suspicion that I’d been drugged. And then I felt bad for even thinking he would do something like that. But just that quickly, I stopped feeling bad, reminding myself that people are crazy and I’d only known him for two weeks.

  “I’m sorry,” I sighed. “It just tasted funny and my mind took a dark turn.”

  He grabbed the bottle and studied the label. “I don’t buy this often, but eve
ry time I’ve had it, it’s always tasted the same.” He handed me the bottle. “You’re not allergic to anything in it, are you?”

  “Sparkling cider. Made with white grapes,” I read, feeling more and more ridiculous by the word. I looked up at Charles. “So, this is non-alcoholic, sparkling wine?”

  A smirk played on his lips as he took the bottle from my hand. “Yeah… I am working.”

  I held in my laughter for as long as I could before I covered my face and let it out in gasping bursts. Every time I looked up at him to try to say something, I started laughing all over again. It got to the point that he started laughing too, which only furthered my amusement. Tears streamed down my face.

  I’d finally gotten myself together and I wiped my cheeks dry. “I’m sorry.”

  “What was so funny?”

  I looked at him—his face open, welcoming, undeniably handsome—and I debated if I should tell him what I really thought was going on.

  “I thought it was champagne, and then I tasted it and thought…” I winced. “I thought something was in it.”

  The humor drained from his face. “You thought I was going to drug you?”

  I saw that I’d hurt his feelings and I scrambled to explain. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I really thought you could do something like that. It was just my kneejerk reaction because the taste didn’t compute to cider.”

  He was quiet for a minute as he finished the rest of the cider in his glass.

  I watched him intently. My heart started beating faster as I thought about the situation from his point of view. I basically assumed the worst of him and laughed in his face that I made that assumption. The air left my lungs in a rush as I realized that he could seriously be mad at me, and he would have every right to be.

  He could decide he doesn’t want to be…friends with me anymore.

  My eyes widened as just the thought of that hurt. I’d come to rely on his words of wisdom and his unfiltered perspective in the short fifteen days we’d known each other.