It's official kid

re in my life. Brian’s late. How late is acceptable before I’m entitled to leave? Leaving would be the easier option. A quick text. Let’s rain check. But that would be fleeing, and I’d promised m

dream job on the same day was too much. But I’d been caught up in a rush of adrenaline and bravery, and I’d done it. And now I’m paying the price. ”It’s just a date,” I murmur to myself. The ball of nerves in my stomach doesn’t listen, continuing to spin in nausea-inducing patterns. “Just a date. I can leave if I don’t like it. Just leave.” I don’t feel better, so I try another argument. One that Nina had said over and over again last night as she talked me back from the ledge of cancelling. The only way to get more comfortable with it is exposure. But exposure doesn’t seem so harmless tonight, and not when Brian just gave me another fifteen minutes to sit alone and look like a dork while my nerves rise from innocent butterflies to Hitchcock-like birds in my stomach. I need a glass of cold water. I leave my Cosmo on the table and head for the bar. It’s mostly empty, a few businessmen leaning against it in smarmy suits. Standing up feels good. Moving about feels good. I lean against the bar and tap my fingers ag

s lips curling at the corner. He’s tall, now that’s he’s stretched to his full height. “I’m not insulted.” “Good. Well… thank you for the peanuts.” “You’re welcome, although I have a confession to make. They were already here.” I snort again. Perhaps this is good. I can blow off steam with this Wall Street banker. “I suspected. Nice gesture, though.” He waves a hand at the bartender, who turns mid-stride to listen to whatever peanut guy has to say. I glance at his suit. He looks like money. It’s there in the well-fitting fabric, glossy beneath the dim lights. I don’t trust guys who look like him. Too charming to be real, and too rich to be humble. “Another water for the lady,” he says. “Lots of ice