Did it go well?
I really didn’t know. It had been more than 10 years since I had been on a first date. I replayed the night over and over in my head.
I liked how he asked what I thought about his outfit, how he pulled out my chair at dinner and how he asked the waitress about my gluten-free options. I liked how our conversation ranged from sports and movies to religion. I liked how much he talked and that he carried the conversation with humor and thoughtful questions.
Underlying the details was the fact that I had fun. From what I could tell, he did too. It seemed like a perfect first date and at the same time perfect practice for future dates.
It wasn’t until he asked me out again that my perception was confirmed: it went well enough to at least initiate a second date.
Date No. 2 was at a cute little authentic Mexican restaurant.
I looked forward to seeing him but didn’t know protocol for second date-behavior, especially since we’d already kissed. For example, how should I greet him? How will he greet me? (I opted for the hug and was relieved when he one-upped me with a kiss on the cheek.) Since we’d already covered a lot of getting-to-know-you basics in the first date, how would it go in the second? (Luckily the conversation was similar, but with more depth and room for teasing and the beginning of inside jokes.) If we shared one little kiss as we said goodbye the first night, should I expect the same tonight? (TBD.)
After sharing street tacos and margaritas we walked to a nearby bar for drinks and discussed playing a round of darts.
Dating, I’m learning, introduces pressure to participate in activities such as darts, pool and bowling; games I had successfully avoided playing for years. Spectating proved to be the best way to cope with my intensely competitive nature in the past, but I realized quickly this approach would no longer be acceptable as I began dating again.
Embracing my new “I can do this” mantra, I agreed to play.
My date seemed proud to be the dart expert. After a few wild warm-up shots I realized the opportunity for physical interaction would increase as he taught me proper form. For the first time in my life I was genuinely enjoying darts.
After the game we retired to a booth. His request that we sit on the same side made it easier for him to wrap his arms around me and steal a kiss. (Apparently I could expect more than a goodbye kiss tonight.)
I was appreciating our closeness and the smell of his cologne until he reminded me of my promise to explain my annulment.
Once again, I pulled my prepared response out of my back pocket. I was relieved as I watched him nod his head listening to my life story of marrying a pathological liar. I explained a few examples of my former husband’s fraud, then ended with an “it is what it is” comment, another mantra I had recently adopted. This statement seemed to sufficiently wrap up the story and he rubbed my hand in acceptance before kissing me again.
When we went to pay and leave the bartender commented on how cute we were and asked how long we had been together. I smiled in response and realized that if we hadn’t been the only people in the bar I would have been embarrassed for being “that” couple.
He wrapped his arms around me as we walked to my car, then he pulled me closer. I could taste his lips as we kissed again. And again. And again.
We decided to climb into my front seat to avoid the glances of people walking by on the street. Once there, I offered to drive him to his car.
I was intoxicated with his smell, and reveling in the way that my skin was still tingling where he had touched me. I was thinking about how he had run his fingers through my hair while stalwartly wrapping his arm around my waist. Cliché as it may be, I felt high when I was with him. Now I had to put all of that aside to focus on driving.
Internal dialog:
Focus! (his hand is on my thigh!)
Pay attention to the road! (now it’s running through my hair!)
Easy! (just inches from his soft lips!)
Focus!
As I pulled into the open parking spot behind his car an odd sound resonated in my vehicle. At first it was soft but then increased decibels until it was impossible to ignore.
I looked over at him and in that instant recognized it as a muffled rubbing sound.
Perhaps a scraping.
Perhaps a scraping of my car, against the car that I had just maneuvered to pull in front of…
“Did I just hit that car?” I blurted out.
