Page 91 of One Baby Daddy
Yikes.
Trying not to embarrass her, I hide the laugh that pops out of me with a cough, covering my mouth with my arm. Oh Christ.
Is that her sexy face?
Is this her way of showing men she’s interested?
I’m going to guess no. She was entirely more put together than this during our first conversation.
“Eh, these words look all jumbled to me.” Probably because the menu is an inch away from her face. “I’ve had the lobster and the steak on my other dates. What’s left?”
Not having a chance to really look at the menu, I stumble for a few seconds but then say, “Uh, the butternut squash gnocchi with brown butter sauce.”
“Sign me up.” She taps the table and leans back in her chair, hands behind her head, her chair wobbling a little too far back for a second before she catches herself and awkwardly smiles with her eyes wide.
The girl is completely twisted. “How many drinks did you have, Noely?”
Leaning forward in her chair, she shout whispers, “Is my booze showing?”
“Just a little.” I hold up my fingers, showing her just “how little.”
With her hand blocking her mouth from the rest of the dining room, she says, “At least it isn’t my nipple that’s showing.”
Okay, well that’s a positive way of looking at things. Yes, I guess it could be worse if in fact her nipple was showing. Finding humor in her drunk antics, I take a deep breath and allow myself to laugh. Maybe this is just what I need, a little laughter in my life.
“Hey, you’ve definitely got that going for you.”
She lifts her drink and says, “To not showing nipples.”
I can toast to that. “To not showing nipples.”
* * *
I’ve been on my fair share of dates. Not that I’m a manwhore, but I like to think I’ve shared a meal with a variety of women. The girls who don’t eat anything, the ones who like to pick at salads, the ones who spend so much time talking they forget to eat entirely, and then there are the women who like to pick off your plate, thinking it’s okay to share food on the first date. It’s not. At least not with me. Let’s get to know each other a little before we’re cutting into each other’s steak.
But with Noely, I’m adding a whole new kind of woman to my dating portfolio.
Sitting across from me, napkin stuffed in her turtleneck, is my very . . . aggressive eating date. It almost looks likes she was recently rescued from a desert island and the minute the waiter put her pasta dish in front of her, she went to town, straight up using her fork as a shovel. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tips back her plate into her mouth like she did with her drink earlier at the bar.
“God, I’m ravenous. This is so good, don’t you think?” She’s hovering over her plate, forking bite after bite in her mouth, talking with a full mouth.
I’ve never seen such a thing.
“Uh, haven’t had a chance to take a bite.”
I have a forkful halfway to my mouth when she reaches across the table and lifts the fork to my mouth while saying, “Eat, eat. Enjoy.”
Wanting to see if the gnocchi is really good or if the alcohol has taken over her taste buds as well, I take a bite, letting the brown butter sauce set on my tongue. Fuck, this is a ton of calories, but hell, call it eating my sorrows. I’ll work it off tomorrow.
“That is good.”
“Best dinner option I’ve had since I’ve been here. I mean, the steak was melt-in-your-mouth steak. The lobster with mashed potatoes? Boy, were those smooth on the tongue. But this gnocchi, talk about a myriad of flavors.”
“It’s pretty damn good.” I chuckle. Eyeing her from over the table, I say, “So you keep saying this is your third time here. Am I really your third blind date?”
She points her fork at me and nods, eyes squinting. “You are. You’re the third guy I needed for my tripod of dating. Do you feel special?”
Not really. I feel like I’m on a date that’s trying to tell me something. Like maybe I shouldn’t be dating yet. Then again, I’ve had more fun tonight than I have in a while, so maybe I should feel special.
