A couple years ago I was going through my Pretty Little Liars binge-watching stage. Anyone who has seen the show knows the iconic red coat that “A” wears throughout most of the seasons. During this time I found such a coat and had to have it – so I got it. It was a fire engine red, thigh length trench coat with a hood and the tie at the waist. I love that coat. It’s perfect for the crazy weather that occurs every spring here in the Midwest.
Enter Mike. We had been talking on Tinder for about a week when we decided to meet. He was originally from the south and was moving to my state for work. Early 30’s, dark hair, dark eyes, and a smile you could tell was trouble. Obviously, I’d have to find out for myself.
He said he traveled a lot for work but most of his jobs were in this area now and he had some friends around so he planned to stay. For the time being he was staying in hotels during the week and going home on weekends, until he got his apartment situation settled.
We decided to meet for a drink and to shoot some pool. He’d heard of a place not far from his hotel so we agreed to meet there – or so I thought.
I get to the pool hall a couple minutes late and I walk inn and look around to see that myself and the bartender are the only women around in a hall full of approximately 30 men. I do a quick walk around and don’t see him anywhere so I shoot him a quick text as I order my drink. Immediately he calls me.
He had a deep southern accent – and it’s probably the only thing that saved him at that point.
Mike: Why are you at the pool hall?
Me: It’s where we agreed to meet.
Mike: I don’t have a car here right now.
Me: You can uber.
Mike: I thought you’d pick me up at my hotel.
Me:
Mike: I mean, I don’t have a credit card right now. I can’t get an uber.
Me: (sipping my drink)
Mike: I’m so sorry. Can we start over? I get it, you don’t want to come to my hotel.
Me: (sipping my drink a lot faster, ok, gulping my drink at this point)
Mike: What about *bar? It’s right across the street from my hotel. I can walk there.
Me: Fine, I can be there in 10. And for the record, your cute accent is the only reason I’m agreeing to this at this point.
Mike: Yes ma’am.
But seriously, the “Yes ma’am” in that voice is enough to make anyone blush.
I drive through the rain/sleet mix to get to the new bar and am much relieved. It’s a bar I’m familiar with and the male/female ratio is much more agreeable. There he is. He’s completely as cute as his photos and his smile showing just as much mischief as I would have guessed. He’s also clearly already a few drinks in.
We spend most of the night talking, laughing, drinking. I actually enjoying listening to him. Besides he’s deep voice with the adorable accent, he has as many crazy stories as I do. He’d traveled a lot and
seemed to have a bit of wild side, but in the fun, daring way. It was actually going pretty well considering the rocky start.
Hours pass and it’s final call. We stand up, I put on my red jacket and throw the hood up preparing for the rain outside. Considering that it’s raining I offer to drop him off back at his hotel. He doesn’t answer. Instead he gets about 2 inches from my face, staring into my eyes, not in a flirtatious or sexy way.
Mike: You’re wearing red.
Me: Yes – what does that have to do with anything?
Mike: Who paid you?
Me: What?
Mike: Only a hooker would wear a red coat. One of the guys paid you to go out with me, didn’t they?
I thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. At this point I realize just how drunk he is, and based on the bartenders facial expression, I think they saw it as well. I’d had a couple drinks, but his were stronger and he started before he got there. I eventually convince him that I wasn’t paid by anyone to go out with him, although at this point maybe I should have been.
He accepts my ride back to his hotel. Upon pulling up to his hotel, the conversation takes a twist for the interesting.
Mike: So if you’re not a hooker, why did you go out with me?
Me: I thought you were cute.
Mike: We had fun. Like, we liked talking to each other.
Me:
Mike: But you’re like, really cool. I could really like you. Are you sure you’re not a hooker?
Me: 100%. I’m also sure you’re drunk. Into the hotel you go.
Mike: Come with me.
Me: No.
Mike: Marry me?
Me: No
Mike: Fine, say no tonight, I’ll get you to change your mind eventually.
At this point I can’t even imagine the level of straight-up confusion my face is expressing, but it was enough for him to decide to go into the hotel.
Not my worst first date but definitely one of the weirder ones.
Since then I didn’t actually block him and every few weeks I get a text from him reminding me that we should be together, and that he really doesn’t think I am a hooker.