by KD Robichaux
Spanky83: Was just changing my oil. What do you have in mind?
VampBookBlogger: Idk, I’m kinda hungry, but need to eat cheap. College chick and all. Wait, have you even looked at my profile yet?
Spanky83: Um. Nope. Hold on…
I giggle stupidly and wait a few minutes before he responds.
Spanky83: WTF are YOU doing on a dating site? Is that like an old picture or something? Lol!
VampBookBlogger: I could ask you the same thing! And no, that’s from right before I left NC last week. I’m on POF to meet some new friends. I just always make guy friends because girls don’t like me. I’m too perky.
Spanky83: I like perky. How about some Denny’s, good food but cheap. Where are you btw?
VampBookBlogger: My brother told me to say I’m where “Beltway 8 is on the ground”.
Spanky83: Ah. Ok. That’s because Beltway 8 is all a freeway up in the air, it only goes on the ground in one part of the city, before it crosses 59 heading north. I know exactly where you are. So, Denny’s?
VampBookBlogger: Sounds yummy.
Spanky83: Just looked it up. There’s a Denny’s maybe 2 miles from you.
He tells me how to get there and we make plans to meet in an hour. This gives me enough time to put on a little makeup, pull on my dark blue flared jeans, a baby-pink tank top, and a light spray of perfume. I choose Lilu from PacSun. I’m kind of a perfume junky. Mark had wanted me to choose just a couple from my forty-three perfumes and body sprays—yes, I counted—to bring with me to Texas, but I felt like I was abandoning them, so I packed them all up and snuck them into my trunk when he wasn’t looking. With a quick swipe of my brush through my hair, I run downstairs to leave Mark and Kim a note telling them I went to Denny’s for some dinner. I leave out the part about meeting a guy there; they’d try to talk me out of it. I’ll tell them when I’m back at home without any bodily harm.
I actually find Denny’s without getting lost. I’m there a few minutes early so I go ahead and select a table. It’s right by the window facing the parking lot, so I’ll be able to see when he pulls in. I’ll get to check him out a little before he walks up to see if he’s as handsome in real life as the picture makes him look. A waitress who looks to be in her fifties with mocha skin, warm brown eyes, and bright red lipstick walks up to me and asks if I’d like to go ahead and order a drink. “Yes, ma’am. Sweet tea, please. Can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure, honey. What is it?” she says in her adorable Texas twang.
“I’m on a blind date. I was just going to ask you if I wave at you, will you call the cops?” I look a little nervous, I’m sure.
“Of course, honey! You wave and I’ll have a cop here so fast it’ll make your date’s head spin. But let’s just hope he turns out to be a gentleman.” She winks at me and bounces away to get my drink.
I’m fidgeting in my seat. I’m really starting to spaz out now. My heart is pumping and my hands are starting to sweat…my tummy is even beginning to get that nervous bubbly feeling. So not good. What the hell was I thinking? Only my naïve ass would move to the fourth largest city in the US and say “Awww, I’m lonely. Let me just jump on the internet really quick and meet a stranger for dinner. No biggie!” I should have called Mark and told him where I was going instead of just leaving the note. What if he finds it too late? What if I’m already raped and murdered and dumped in some ditch somewhere where alligators will eat my body? There will be no evidence; everyone will think I’m just missing and keep on looking for me for years and years hoping I’ll turn up. By the time the waitress returns with my drink, I’ve worked myself up so much I just blurt out, “Are there alligators in Texas?”
She looks at me like my eyes are looking a little squirrelly and rests her hand on my shoulder. “Sweetie. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you. He makes any sudden movements and I’ll tackle him my damn self.”
This makes me burst out laughing and some of the tension leaves my body. I sip my sweet tea and before I can work myself into a frenzy again, I see a bright red truck pull into the parking lot. It’s been lowered to just a couple of inches off the ground and the windows are tinted to the point where it’s probably illegal. I watch as it swings into a parking spot and the door opens.
I sit up a little straighter and practically press my nose to the window as a man unfolds his over six-foot-tall frame from the lowered truck. The picture on his profile was spot on. He could be a stunt double for Paul Walker, especially with the way he just drove that truck. His blond hair looks like it was gelled back this morning but has loosened a little, maybe from running his hands through it a few times. He still has a killer tan and I can see how bright blue his eyes are all the way from here. He shuts his door and walks—no, prowls—to the door of the restaurant.
Before he opens it, I call to the waitress, “Scratch that! He can have his way with me if he wants!” and we both giggle as he steps inside.
He glances around the restaurant and when he spots me, his face brightens. He walks over in that smooth way I noticed a second ago when he was walking from his truck, and flashes me a sexy grin with those perfectly white teeth and eyes so blue they almost don’t look real. “Oh, thank God,” he says as he slides into the seat across from me.
“Um, thanks?” I smile back at him; my heart is thumping so hard I’m sure he can hear it, or at least see it through my pink tank top.
“Oh, sorry. It’s just that I’ve met quite a few women on that website and none of them ever look like their picture. I was seriously starting to think about deleting my profile; now, I’m really glad I didn’t.” He makes a show of letting his eyes wander over me from the top of my dark hair down to my waist where it disappears under the table. I know he sounds like a pig, but I’m instantly turned on. I’ve always had a thing for assholes, after all.
Our waitress comes over to the table and turns her back to him, looks at me and makes an O-face and fans herself. I keep myself from busting out laughing as she turns back to him and asks him what he’d like to drink. “A coke, please, ma’am.” And there it is…that Texan accent that instantly melts my panties right off my ass. I manage to keep myself from drooling as he opens up his menu. “I don’t know why I even bother lookin’ at this thing. I always order the same thing every time.”
“And what is that?” I ask, genuinely curious. “I know this is going to sound kind of crazy, but I’ve never actually been to a Denny’s before.”
“The hell is wrong with you, woman? How have you gone…wait, how old are you?” he interrupts himself.
“I’m twenty,” I say, completely amused. I knew that would get a rise out of him, just like when I say: “I’ve also never seen Terminator or been camping before.”
“I know you said you just moved here, but from what planet?” he jokes.
“I’m from North Carolina. Land of the Waffle House and a few IHOPs, but no Denny’s. At least in my town.”
“And you’ve never seen Terminator...or been camping. What, they don’t have Blockbusters or tents in North Carolina?” He’s a witty one, isn’t he?
“I don’t really know why I’ve never seen Terminator, but I’ve never gone camping simply because no one’s ever taken me,” I shrug.
We joke back and forth as we give the waitress our order and wait for our food. I ordered a Grand Slam with fried eggs over medium, bacon, white toast with an obscene amount of butter, and pancakes. He ordered the club sandwich with French fries, and specifically asked for a giant bowl of ranch, even indicated how giant by making a big circle with his hands. His very large hands...that were as tanned as the rest of him, and looked to be rough and calloused like he used them pretty often and not just to write with. A shiver goes through me and I ask, “So what do you do, Gavin?”
“I’m a finance student during the day and work at a high-end furniture store in the evenings. What about you?” he asks.
“I’m an English major about to start at Kingwood College next week, and a blogger.�
� I shrug. Most people think I’m a nerd when I tell them about my blogging.
“What kind of blog do you have?” he asks, seeming genuinely interested.
“Well, it’s kind of a mix. I’m a book blogger; I’ll read a book and then write a review about it. I’ll interview the author. I’ll find pictures off the internet of celebrities that I visualize playing the part of the main characters, and I’ll make collages with quotes from the book. But not only the book stuff, I also make posts about stupid stuff I think other people might like to read. Just random rants or raves, mostly girl stuff I think others might feel but not have the guts to talk about. I’ll post something and then the comments people leave are almost always of women going crazy, saying, ‘OMG, I thought I was the only one!’” I realize I just went off on a tangent and blush a little. “Sorry, I like blogging.” I smile shyly. Now he’ll definitely think I’m a dork.
“Don’t apologize. That’s pretty awesome. A hot chick with a brain…who woulda thunk.” His amazing eyes sparkle at me. “What kind of books do you read?”
Now I feel like my face is on fire. On the internet, I’m anonymous; nobody knows my real name and I can be as explicit and raunchy as I want. My blog is like my alter-ego. There are a few people I’ll talk openly with, the way I do on my website, but normally, I like people to think I’m just a sweet girl who likes to read. But the way Gavin is gazing intently into my eyes with a look on his face that tells me he wants to get to know the real me, I go for it. “Well, mostly I read paranormal romance, like the vampire that falls in love with a human and in the end he turns her and they live in their HEA, or happily ever after. In order for me to like a book, it has to have an HEA. But recently, I got into BDSM romances. They are few and far between, but when I actually find one, I usually inhale it in one day.” I watch his face trying to judge his reaction.
“BDSM, as in like, whips and shit?” he asks as the waitress brings our order out. My eyes grow to the size of saucers as my face jerks up to see if she heard what he’d said. What a spot in our conversation to walk in on. She gives nothing away if she did, so I decide to pretend we weren’t just talking about naughty books with elements of dominance and submission. The grin he gives me when he realizes my embarrassment completely distracts me. I forget all about the close call and focus on not drooling on my pancakes.
“So what do you like to do for fun?” I ask lamely.
“I like to fish, work on my truck, play computer games, and I play pool a lot. Me and my best friend are kind of addicted to pool. We go to a bar called Legends Billiards on our side of town almost every night.” He picks up a section of his sandwich that’s been cut into quarters and dips the entire thing in the cereal-sized bowl of ranch dressing she’d brought out. I watch as he shoves the whole thing into his mouth and starts to chew, his clean-shaven cheeks pooching out with all the food inside.
I raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice and continues to keep chowing down like a starving man. I pick up my fork and tear little holes in the tops of my fried eggs, allowing the yolk to ooze out, then I dip my buttered toast into them and take a bite. Heaven. My granny always fixes my eggs like this for me. No matter how hard I try, I can never get eggs into a pan to fry without the yolk breaking, which totally ruins them for me. I try my best to ignore Gavin as he picks up five fries at the same time, dips them in the ranch, and devours them all.
“I’ve tried to play pool a couple of times at one of my brother’s shows. He’s a drummer in a band back home. They always play at a place called Jester’s Pub and it has a few pool tables. I suck at it though.” I nibble on my piece of bacon as he proceeds to grab a piece of his own that had fallen out of his sandwich, uses it like a spoon to scoop up more ranch dressing, and shoves it in his mouth.
This guy is a pig, I think to myself. I can’t be choosy though; I have no friends in Texas yet, and he is totally hunky. I figure I can overlook the fact he eats like one of the hogs at the farm we passed by on our way home from seeing my school campus. There are random grassy acres surrounded by barbed-wire fences all over the place here, all filled with various colored cows, and even a few horses milling around. You wouldn’t imagine so, but it looks completely normal to drive past a high-traffic area with restaurants and stores, and right next door are a few acres of open field with the large animals hanging out like it’s no big deal. I guess they’ve grown accustomed to all of us noisy humans with our honking horns and backfiring vehicles.
“Maybe if you ever come to my neck of the woods, I’ll take you to play,” he says, leaning back in his seat and taking a giant gulp of his Coke. As soon as he sits the condensation-covered glass back down on the table, he lets out a belch that makes me jump from its tremendous volume.
I’m barely able to keep my nose from wrinkling in disgust as I reply, “That sounds like fun. I haven’t really been anywhere since I moved here, except to check out my campus. I’m ready for school to start next week; I’ve been bored out of my mind.”
We finish up our dinner, which I manage to keep down, even with his horrid dining manners, and after he pays the check—score one for him on that, at least—we walk outside and stroll to his truck. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and uses a shiny silver Zippo to light it, then whipping it in the air between his fingers to close the lid.
He uses the handle to drop the tailgate of his lowered truck, and then turns around to plop down onto it, patting the metal next to him for me to sit. When I do, he offers me his cigarette with a raise of his eyebrow, seeming almost like he’s testing me. I take it from him, take a long drag, blow it out, and then give it back to him with a smirk. I don’t smoke regularly, but I do socially. I gave into peer pressure while hanging out with Anni and her roommate, and after that, since I hung out with them practically every day, it just became the norm.
“Do you want to go somewhere? I know of a couple pool halls up here on your side of town. It’s still pretty early,” Gavin asks.
“Sure, I’ll follow you,” I reply, and after we finish sharing his cigarette, I make my way over to my Malibu and hop in.
Kayla’s Chick Rant & Book Blog
Blog Post 1/16/2005
Good evening, everybody. My name is Kayla, and I’m a ho.
How did I come to this conclusion, you might ask? Well, after meeting Gavin for the first time at Denny’s after only speaking to him over AOL Instant Messenger for two-point-five seconds, we went to a little hole in the wall pool hall down the road from Mark’s house. All the tables were taken, so we didn’t get to play, so we just hung out at the bar and played on the touchscreen video game for a couple hours while we chatted. Conversation came easy with him. He’s equal parts good-natured gentleman, and pigheaded misogynist. A conundrum, I know.
He managed to win me over a little by making me laugh the entire time, so at the end of our date, when he walked me to my car, I didn’t slap him when he said, “Okay, so in the personality and looks department, I’ve decided I definitely like what I see, but the final test is a goodnight kiss. You cool, or are you gonna be one of those ‘I don’t kiss on the first date’ bitches?”
By now, I’d come to the realization his word vomit wasn’t meant to be mean; he just really didn’t think before he spoke, or he really didn’t believe what he was saying was rude, like it didn’t dawn on him at all.
I had been admiring that amazing smile and those achingly beautiful eyes all evening, so I decided it wouldn’t hurt just to throw caution to the wind and kiss the guy. I had never kissed someone so tall before, so it made me feel extra small and feminine as I stepped up to him and reached up high to wrap my arms around his neck, giving him the go-ahead to lay one on me. As he leaned down, he dipped me a little, showing he had experience kissing with such a height difference and knew how to make it more comfortable for the chick.
And boy could he kiss.
All the food-smacking, huge belching, and choke-on-my-drink-worthy things that came out of his mouth throughout the
night went right out of my head as he worked my lips and tongue like a champ.
When it ended, he stood me back up straight and held me steady as I wobbled a little, and then grinned as he said, “Yep, you pass to the next round.”
I told him, “Uh, yeah. You too,” and then laughed when he threw his fist in the air Breakfast Club-style.
We made plans for me to drive down to his end of town the following day, where I’d meet him at the high-end furniture store he works at and then follow him to his house to hang out.
This is where the I’m-a-ho part comes in.
After chatting with him all day long on Messenger, I met him at his work as planned, where he introduced me to all his coworkers, and then proceeded to show me all the mattresses in the showroom, informing me which ones were ‘the best for fucking’. Apparently, you can’t have one that’s too soft, because you can’t get any leverage when your knees sink too deeply into the memory foam, but a pillow-top mattress is fine, as long as the underneath part is firm. I managed to keep a straight face until he tackled me onto one and started bouncing with his knees on either side of me, saying, “See? This one is perfect!” sending me into a fit of giggles.
See what I mean? He’ll do something that makes me think, ‘What the hell is wrong with this guy?’ and then turn around and do something cute and funny.
When I followed him back to his house—actually, his grandparents’ house, who he’s lived with since he was little—we grabbed some fast food to eat in the middle of his bed while we watched an action flick on his big screen. I felt really comfortable with him after having talked to him all day online, and he was just so stinkin’ good-looking, so when we were done eating, we got under the covers and cuddled up to watch the rest of the movie.
I’m sure you can imagine what happened next…
NO! Jeez! Not that! Gah…