“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You just seem a little...”
She sat upright and rigid, trying to communicate something she couldn’t put into words.
“No,” I said, completely denying the fact that I was feeling nervous as hell. “I’m fine.
What about you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
“Really?” I said. “You’re not nervous at all?”
She gave me a funny look. “Why would I be nervous?” she said.
“No reason,” I replied. “It’s just sometimes people get nervous on dates.”
“Well, if you really like someone you shouldn’t feel nervous about being with them,” she
said.
For some reason, her words made me feel more and more awkward. I kept running
images through my head of how I could see the night going. Getting her out of the
restaurant, trying to get her back to my place, getting her into bed... all of it kept flashing
though my head. The pressure just kept mounting up.
As the date went on, I could just feel things going from nervous to more and more
awkward. The spark in our conversation had disappeared. It now felt forced to me. We
didn’t seem to laugh as much as we had when we first met. There were sometimes long,
awkward silences in conversation. I struggled with thinking about things to talk about,
and ended up chatting about mundane, boring topics, like work.
By the time dinner was over, in my head, I had already blown it. There was to be no
getting her back to my place – let alone in my bed – something I had been so sure about
earlier. But I was hoping there was a way to salvage the situation.
“So,” I said as we walked out of the restaurant. “You got plans? You want to try and
catch a movie?”
“Actually, I need to be getting home,” she said. “I’ve got to go into work tomorrow. Can
you believe that? They have us working on Saturdays.”
“Wow, that sucks,” I said, practically kicking myself for sounding like such a retard.
“Well, maybe we could get together again soon?”
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