Arrow to the Heart: A Dark Cupid Romance

Chapter 11

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I'm pretty confident the number 13 is just as cursed as people think it is.

Because this is first date number 13 of the year and it may very well be the absolute worst. And yes—I've counted. I had plenty of time to count them all while he sat on his phone answering emails for at least five minutes while we waited for our menus.

We haven't even ordered yet and I'm already considering stabbing myself with this fork so I'll have an excuse to leave.

How long is enough time to give before I call this date a total bust?

Can I call it after the third mention of his ex-girlfriend in ten minutes?

What about when I asked him what he liked to do for fun and he couldn't come up with a single answer?

Okay, okay. Be nice. Maybe he's just nervous. He can't possibly be that bad.

"You're really pretty," he says with a smile.

"Oh, thanks," I say, tugging at the hem of my dress beneath the table. I never know what to say when someone compliments me, just that I'm not supposed to say 'I know' because people don't like that. I wore a casual sundress, sneakers, and a yellow sweater. I think I look pretty cute too, but it's not socially acceptable to admit that for some reason.

"Can I take a picture with you?" he asks.

"Uh, sure." It's not like I can really say no without offending him.

He scoots his chair until it's next to mine and holds out his phone, snapping a photo of us smiling.

This is awkward as hell. A fork to the chest is looking better and better by the minute.

He returns to his original position and proceeds to tap on his phone for a few seconds.

"What's your Instagram?" he asks. "I'll tag you."

I rattle off my Instagram handle and take a deep breath in.

I can't believe I actually thought this guy might be a good catch. When I met him at the Artisan Market, he seemed so cool and interesting. But the man in front of me? Oh my god, he's the most basic human being I've ever met in my life. It's actually painful.

The waiter thankfully returns to take our orders. I'm just grateful to have someone else to talk to that isn't... oh shoot, I forgot his name. Jeremy?

Unfortunately, the reprieve doesn't last long, and before I know it, the waiter has abandoned us.

"So what do you do for work?" I ask. Not particularly original, but I'm desperate to fill the silence at this point.

"I'm in pharmaceutical sales."

"Oh yeah? Do you enjoy it?"

"It's alright. It pays the bills. Enough that I bought myself a Porsche 718 Cayman last month."

"Is that a car?"

He raises his eyebrows like he can't believe I've just asked the question.

"What else could it be?"

"I don't know, I was just thinking of like... Caimans, you know, the reptiles?"

He gives me an indignant look and jerks his head back.

"What?"

"Caimans, they're like... smaller alligators with these beady little eyes on top of their heads. They're kind of cute, actually, considering they're dangerous swamp predators."