Dating By Numbers. Jennifer Lohmann
also knew how to flatter people and make them feel good. Most of the time, he was sincere about it. But then there were nights like tonight when habit kicked in and Allison was smiling up at him, pleased that he was going to listen to some boring story about Muffin, and he wished he could be a dick, toss money on the table and leave.
As soon as he rounded the corner of the bathroom, he pulled a random waiter aside and asked him to get their waitress and their check. He needed to be done with this date. He and Allison had met for coffee earlier in the week and that had gone well. But the more she drank, the more she talked, and the more she talked, the less well everything went.
In the safety of the bathroom, he pulled out his phone and thought, for a moment, of texting Marsie to tell her that not all dates were fun. He’d run into a wall of chatter, he’d say. She’d be amused by that. Smile that superior smile of hers where the corners of her mouth lifted a hair and her cheekbones looked extra sharp. When she smiled like that, he knew she was trying not to laugh at him or his story because she thought it wasn’t fitting, but secretly—or maybe with people she felt comfortable with—she would burst out in a full gut laugh.
Or that’s what he liked to imagine with her starched button-down shirts and pressed slacks. Depending on his mood, he imagined her laughs to include her leaning over and him getting a nice peek down the front of her shirt to what was probably a sensible skin-colored bra, but which he always imagined to be red lace.
But he and Marsie worked together. They weren’t friends. Hell, Marsie didn’t even consider him a colleague. She’d said he was a good worker, not a good coworker. He may not have a PhD, but he was smart enough to know the difference between the two.
Plus, he had never seen her relax enough to laugh like he imagined. Maybe she didn’t know how.
Plus, he didn’t have her phone number. The message lost its fun if sent through work email. Too many strikes against the idea to count, he put his phone away, did his business, washed his hands and headed back out to his table, Allison and the check.
At the table, Jason made some excuse about getting a call about a broken pipe at work, slipped his credit card into the holder and looked at his date.
“This has been fun,” he said. It was better to be direct with these things than to leave a person hanging. He’d been ghosted enough times while dating, and he didn’t do it himself. Well, not anymore. One of many things he’d learned dating so much was that you either became a more understanding, more considerate person, or you became the other. Some of his friends had become the other. Drinks with them were a never-ending litany of complaints. They didn’t understand that you got back from the world what you put out into it.
He wondered if he should talk about this with Marsie. She was starting to date, and he didn’t want her to fall into that negative black hole. Then he blinked Marsie out of his head. Even if he was ending any chance of a third date with Allison, he shouldn’t be thinking of Marsie.
Bringing himself back to the present, he realized Allison had apparently been dating long enough to know what was coming. She looked at him, her brows raised. She thankfully looked more expectant than hurt.
“I don’t think this is going anywhere. You’re nice,” he said, meaning it. “But there’s no spark.”
The waitress picked that moment to grab the check. She gave him a dirty look, then passed Allison a sympathetic one.
To his surprise, his date laughed, and he liked her better for it. “Yeah. I didn’t think so, either.”
Huh?
His skepticism must have been clear on his face because she laughed again. “Don’t look so surprised. You tried very hard. But I don’t want to be with any man who needs to try so hard to be with me.”
This Allison was more interesting. Still no spark—he hadn’t lied about that—but he’d hang out with an Allison who shot him down before he’d hang out with an Allison who talked about her cat Pancake or Bacon or whatever breakfast item it had been named after. “You deserve better. That’s true. Good luck finding him.”
She shrugged. “I have a date tomorrow with a guy. It’ll be our fourth date. I have hopes for him.”
It was Jason’s turn to laugh. “So I’m the confirmation date.”
“Confirmation date?”
“You know, you’re really into someone, but you go on a date with a guy to see if you spend the entire date thinking about the person you’re really into or if your eyes roam. I’m that guy for you.”
“Yeah, I guess you are.” All pretense of this date going anywhere was over. Allison reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. “I’d feel bad, but I think he’s on a date right now, too. Normally we text several times a night. Nothing from him tonight.”
“Such is the way of modern dating.”
“Oh, Jason, how long have you been dating?” She must have heard the weariness in his voice. A weariness he tried to pretend wasn’t there, because the sympathy in her voice cut a little.
He shrugged off her pity. “A while. Not that I haven’t had serious girlfriends, but none of them ever seem to stick.”
“No spark,” one of those girlfriends had said, when he’d asked why. That was the only reason she’d been able to give for why she was breaking up with him. Though, if he were being honest with himself, that particular relationship had been faltering ever since she’d started sending him links to different college programs for older students.
Allison’s face looked less sympathetic when she pursed her lips. “Sure you haven’t had trouble sticking to them?”
For a server who hadn’t paid them any attention practically the entire time they’d been in the restaurant, their waitress now picked the most inopportune times to pass by their table. Apparently, she’d heard Allison’s question which, following the other bits of conversation she’d overheard, made him look like the bad guy. The server’s book landed on the table with a smack, jolting his card and the pen onto the table.
“I don’t think you can come back to this restaurant,” Allison said, her eyes twinkling.
“At least not when she’s working,” he said with a gesture of his head to their retreating waitress. Which was okay. He didn’t like this place much anyway. The restaurant thought too highly of itself for his taste.
He collected the pen and his credit card off the table, added a tip to the bill and signed his name.
“Want me to pay half? I have cash.”
“Nah. If this guy is the one, your confirmation date might as well have all the trappings of a real date. It might be your last.”
She smiled, but his hopes that she’d forgotten her previous question were dashed when she opened her mouth and said, “Well, have you been the one giving up too early?”
“Is this a date or therapy?”
“Come on,” she said, giving him a gimme gesture with her fingers. “Look, we’ll probably never see each other again, and we’ve both been doing this dating thing a long time. You might as well be honest. What have you got to lose?”
She had a point. Maybe even one about him giving up on the women too soon. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think so.” He shook his head, shoving the book and the signed receipt to the middle of the table. “I don’t want to think so.”
“It’s the risk everyone talks about with online dating and dating apps. The pool of prospects seems to be so vast that the girl who is close enough, and might actually be better than you deserve, can’t compete with the possibilities of your imagination.” Allison said those words with no trace of bitterness in her voice. Flat, like those were the rules of the game and she’d played them, too.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He looked at dating as fun, which led credence to her statement. “But