It was another weekend, and my friend Ken had invited us for his regular game nights. He would have a couple of friends over once every three months. Everybody brought their A-game, and the competitive spirit was in the air.
The fan favourite was 30 Seconds. We picked sides randomly, and that was how I landed on the same team as Steve. Usually, it helps to have close friends in the same group because you can easily identify references when ‘common knowledge’ becomes a challenge, but we seemed to identify each other’s clues from the get-go. Being a person who loves such games, he was speaking my love language. It would appear that the feeling was mutual.
After the game, we had an interesting conversation as he had a smoke on the balcony.
“Impressive game,” Steve said.
“Right back at you,” I said.
“Where has Ken been hiding you, usually I struggle to find people who get my descriptions in these gatherings.”
“I know the feeling. This should be my third game night with Ken and crew,” I said.
“Oh really? Well, I’m glad I attended this one,” said Steve cheekily.
We went back inside for more games and chit-chat with the rest of the group. More of Ken’s friends joined us, and they seemed to know Steve. They seemed to direct conversations about buying more drinks to him, and he looked happy to oblige. By the end of the night, our connection was obvious and we decided to keep the conversation going, so we exchanged contacts.
For the next couple of days, the number one topic on my phone was Steve. I hadn’t encountered someone as interesting as him in quite a long time. He had an interesting choice of words in our conversations that made me want to dig in a little more. He was a bit cocky, too but I confused that for confidence, so I was drawn to it. We shared some interests and being Ken’s friend scored him a few points. He invited me to dinner, and I accepted.
I spent the next two days trying to figure out what to wear to the dinner. I wanted to look like I had put in the effort but not too much. I tasked my friends with rating my outfits until we found the perfect pick. It was an emerald body-hugging dress that reached slightly above the knees. I paired it with nude heels and red lipstick. It did the trick because I saw the look on his face when he came to pick me up.
“You look hella fine,” said Steve as soon as he regained his composure.
“Not too shabby yourself,” I said, complimenting his look.
We were going to a high-end restaurant in Westlands.
“Have you been there before?” Steve asked.
“No, I haven’t.”
“It becomes a favourite of everyone I introduce it to,” he responded.
I wondered how many girls he had taken there, but I wasn’t going to ask him that. We made small talk until we got to our destination. He had reserved a table, so we were ushered to it. The waiter brought the menu, and that was when the night started going south.
When the waiter came, he tried ordering seafood for me.
“I don’t take seafood,” I said politely.
He rolled his eyes.
“Are you allergic?” He asked.
“No, I just don’t like it.”
“So what will you have instead?”
I asked for chicken. Once the waiter was gone, the rant started.
“I don’t understand you girls and basic choices,” he said.
“Girls? I’m assuming chicken is the basic choice here, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, when a guy takes you to a fancy place, it makes sense to pick something you don’t have access to regularly.”
“And yet they also serve chicken in the ‘fancy’ place,” I countered.
“Yes, but I expect you to pick something like chicken when I take you to view my property in places like By Pass not in such places.”
“But I don’t enjoy seafood.”
“You’ve got to develop a sophisticated palate,” Steve said.
The waiter brought the food, saving me from that conversation. However, he then compared his food to other places he had visited. It would have been interesting to listen to were he not name-dropping intentionally. The only saving grace was that the chicken exceeded my expectations. Eventually, we had dessert and the bill came.
As he pulled the bill closer, he asked, “What would happen if I left you to pay the bill?”
“I’d pay, obviously,” I answered as I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t worry I’m not one of those guys who split bills with women,” Steve said.
“Those guys?” I asked, half curious to hear his response.
“Yeah, I don’t understand why a man would let a woman use her money on him.”
“It could be the woman’s treat, it could be a bad month financially, there are various reasons why that would happen,” I said.
“That’s a weak man.”
“I’m guessing you don’t think the woman can earn more than a man too?”
“Of course not.”
It started drizzling, so we decided to leave before the downpour got heavier. While in the car, Steve asked, “How come you haven’t asked to come over to my place? By now, every girl wants to know where I stay.”
“I don’t know about the other girls but I like working with invitations rather than invite myself,” I said.
“So you’re saying I’m slow?” Steve asked.
“I don’t think I said that.”
He spent the rest of the journey to my place telling me about the girls who had tried using him for his money. He opened the door for me, pecked my cheek when we reached my place, and asked, “When do I see you next?”
“I’ll text you,” I said. I then ghosted him because there was no polite way to tell him that he bragged too much.
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