Daria's Dating Dilemma, Parts One through Four

 

Cover Art by Danielle Gavan

 

For your reading enjoyment, I shall now provide you with the first four parts of Daria’s Dating Dilemma. You can read it each month on Digital Digest along with other great works from myself and my fellow authors. Be sure to sign up to have it received daily in your email inbox or on your Kindle. 

I hope you enjoy, this is one of my favorite pieces to write. I've included parts Three and Four, which are not yet available on the Digital Digest site, for my lucky fans. As always, I welcome comments and feedback. 

Part One:

DATING IS HELL. I stared at my computer screen. I was supposed to be working on my weekly report, but the words just popped up. It was true I guessed. When it came to dating I'd been cursed. Not any real curse, just my own clumsy nature. I was jealous of those girls in the movies with easy grace, the ones in real life whose social calendars were full, and everyone with a love life that did not require Energizer. My social calendar did okay, but the events usually meant nights with all my not single friends and a blind date.

They mean well, couples always assume their single friends need a hand. Maybe they think we have a disease, they say single with the same tone as flu. I had a debacle of a setup last night. I guessed he was Clary's choice, all muscle and no brains.

David claimed to work as a model but didn’t remember who he worked for last. He also mispronounced Gucci, an unforgivable sin in my book. Hey, a girl needs standards. I tried to be polite, for my friends’ sakes. He took my friendliness as an invitation. I'd been trying to make my exit at the same time. The combination resulted in him having a bloody nose and me wearing a stained shirt I’d spent a week earning.

I should’ve known better. The way my dates ended I should've worn Goodwill, but I remained forever hopeful, ever the optimist. Most of my closet had been destroyed as a testament to my optimism.

An idea formed as I thought about the damaged gear dating had claimed from me. A dark idea, a way out of the purgatory of dating hell and into the bliss of wedded status. My current social adventures wouldn’t lead down the aisle unless the state of Ohio unexpectedly allowed me to marry my Turbo Rabbit.  A nice thought, but not likely to happen so something had to change.

If I started writing down my misadventures, a pattern might emerge. The list could be my own personal tracking device, an experiment to find out what didn’t work. I mean, if I knew what didn’t work all the remaining options must work… right?

The idea stuck in my head and I became determined to see it through. I emailed the brief notation to my laptop and stole a mini notebook for my purse. I would need to make notes when I dated or hit the town. I remembered whipping out a computer on a date did not equal a turn on. His name was George and he’d been attractive in a suit. Not so attractive in jeans and a shirt, but I would learn this lesson later.

“Daria, are you free tonight?” I should have walked away when he hadn’t let me answer. George was a big shot in a different department and much whispered about in the ladies room. I’d been curious, sue me. “Good, there’s a benefit tonight I need to go to and most everyone has a date. I need someone to come with me… dress for cocktails and I’ll meet you here at six o’clock.”

He’d left me stunned speechless while I tried to think of how to juggle my to-do list. Granted, most people would have told me to stand his pompous ass up, but well, ever the optimist, remember. I had three reports due the next morning and a presentation to finish.

I raced home, picked out a simple cocktail dress with Manolo Blahnik strappy heels, and threw my hair up. I applied a little more makeup while trying to finish the presentation. My eyes tracked the clock, but time ran out before I completed my task. I grabbed my big bag and figuring I could get some work done in the taxi, packed my netbook inside.

By the time I’d pulled up to the office building, I still wasn’t done. When I noticed the classy black sedan waiting, I forgot about work. I climbed out of the taxi as gracefully as I could, which means I probably flashed the bum on the sidewalk, and walked over to the man leaning on the sedan.

“Is this for George Banks?” I asked the person I assumed to be the driver.

“Who?” He had a gruff accent and a rough look. My brain screamed mob for some reason and I backed into the stairs skinning my knee.

George eventually showed in another taxi, waving me in from his comfortable seat. I slid in as he looked me over and almost asked if he wanted an appetizer from my menu.

“You clean up well.”

“Um, thanks.” I couldn’t return the compliment. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, both stylishly distressed but certainly not cocktail attire. “What kind of benefit is this?”

“Some boring one. I got picked to be a model and this is my getup for the night.”

I nodded. So if he worked the crowd as a walking billboard, what the hell was I supposed to do? I nodded appropriately as needed but I still tried to find a way out of the dilemma I found myself in. Work definitely ranked more important than standing around watching a guy model.

I resigned myself to the situation. Then, I congratulated myself on bringing my netbook. Finally, I hoped the end of the night would be worthwhile. He was adorable so maybe I would finally get lucky. My optimism bit me in the butt.

Later I’d regret my decision to stay. He showed me off until he needed to leave for the show. As soon as I gained my freedom, I slinked away to a far table and pulled out my netbook to work. I managed to finish my presentation, but I hadn’t paid attention to the time or the show. George marched over none too happy with me.

“You weren’t watching at all were you? Were you?! I can’t believe it. You know how embarrassing it is to have your escort disappear? I had to walk off the stage alone!”

I blinked at him. “Excuse me?” My supposed participation was a surprise to me. The end of the night idea had been ruined by his designer hissy fit. I packed up my bag and walked away. “If you expect a girl to do something, you should clue her in first…”

And that was the end of George. He didn’t even visit my floor at the building anymore.  He probably feared I’d told everyone about the fiasco. I hadn’t uttered a word to anyone, also too embarrassed by the events.

I paused in the elevator and pulled my pilfered notepad and a pen from my bag. The unscheduled reminiscing provided my first rule.  I flipped the cover open and wrote in my neat script

1. No work on dates and no dates at work.

It made sense the rule would work both ways and since dates at work were not allowed anyway, why not add the rule. As I walked past the ever present bum on the sidewalk outside, I slid him the usual dollar and wrote another gem.

2. No more flashing the bum outside work.

Sure I hadn’t flashed on purpose and only the once, but better safe than sorry. I decided the rule was worth writing as I walked the short distance home. Walking was easier than hailing a cab at this time of day and I wore my comfortable shoes. A lady walked by with her fancy boots and a hidden pained look on her face. Would I want to be like her anyway?

A handsome man bounded up to her and kissed her soundly, mindless of the walking crowd parting around them. I sighed in my unending hopeless romantic way. Yes, I very much wanted to be like her. I took a quick glance down at my own outfit. How would I feel if my Mr. Right stumbled upon me the way I looked right now?

3. No more comfortable shoes. I should always dress like Mr. Right will walk out of thin air.

I smiled and tucked my notepad back in my bag. I walked with my head held high. Not bad, a few hours into my new project and I’d already discovered three truths. Next up, Mr. Right. My phone interrupted my thoughts. Wonderful, the caller id said Maggie…

“Daria.” I answered in my standard greeting; always worried someone would forget me.

“Daria, darling…” I hated the way she drawled my name, making the word sound like diarrhea. She was lucky I let my best friend marry her. I should have kidnapped him and mailed him to Florida. “You must come. Pat will be sooo happy to see you.”

I pictured her having her nose stretched while she spoke and missed the details. Crap. “I’m sorry, distracted by the crowd. Come to what?”

“You’re always so flighty, child. Our place, tomorrow night, six o’clock. Honestly, darling, I don’t know why I bother to find you dates.”

One, she’s two years younger than me and two - I did not want any piece of her date for me. Maybe Pat helped pick him? My optimism reared its ugly head again and roared. I thought about my new project and the insight gained from another date. I sighed dramatically into the phone.

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

Part Two:

I sat at a table by myself in the corner and people watched. It was a guilty hobby of mine. My finger traced designs through the condensation of my beer glass. Yeah, so most women my age in the city drank wine. I couldn’t stand the stuff and thankfully most of those stuck up women couldn’t stand my current choice of dive bar.

Chucky’s was a local tradition and we guarded it fiercely to protect it from tourists, college kids, and the snobbish. It was nestled inside an abandoned warehouse and looked like a horror movie waiting to happen on the outside. A simple wooden sign next to the nondescript metal door was the only clue of its existence.

Once inside, the place looked sublime, like an old friend. Or, at least, that’s how I saw it. To me Chucky’s was a Mecca, my place of refuge in the storm of life. I could easily slip inside, order a drink, and be left to my devices. Chucky’s was not a place to pick up men or women, or never had been for me. Nope, I was here to unwind before facing another blind date tomorrow.

I sipped my beer watching a big bosomed woman make two males fight for her attention. She floundered back and forth and was enjoying her night. Bitches like her make it harder on the rest of us. I have a hard time finding one guy who’ll pay me any attention and she’s hogging two or three. Not exactly fair and I indulged in a moment of creative imagination in which I plucked out her eyes, deflated her Barbie breasts, and rode the two men to victory.

The stool next to mine squealed in protest and I coughed to cover my choke. Busted, I thought looking over to see a man sitting next to me. Great, now I was so invisible to the opposite sex they would sit next to me without realizing I was present – did wonders for my current mood, let me tell you.

“Hi,” his voice drifted over to me and I turned my head to study him. “Do you speak English?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, don’t you?” I quipped. He smirked, revealing a dimple in his cheek.

I had to scan the room quickly to make sure I hadn’t missed some Twilight Episode opening credits. A man, in a bar (Chucky’s at that), talking to me… and I hadn’t approached him. I waited for an Angel to welcome me to the afterlife, none came.

“You doing okay?” he asked, eyeing me oddly.

“Um, fine. Just not used to, er,” I paused wondering if I should admit I’m a loser in the dating department or stick with I’m not in the mood. “Just not pleasant company tonight.”

As I was mentally high-fiving my quick thinking, studly interrupted to ask me another question. “Have a rough day?” Maybe he was worse off than me in the ‘lacks company’ department.

I chuckled. “Rough year.” Sheesh, what did a girl have to do to be left alone and enjoy her people watching in peace. Already I’d missed a fight between Barbie and one of her Ken selections.

“I’ll drink to that,” he saluted and raised his beer bottle. I automatically chinked my glass to his bottle and grinned, couldn’t help myself. “There’s a smile and it’s pretty.”

Whoa, me complimented? This had to be a practical joke. “Did one of your friends set you up for this? I mean, I can give you a number or name or whatever token it is they wanted you to collect.”

“Ouch, rejected.” He turned to look out over the bar. “Don’t have any friends with me tonight. Just moved back to the area and thought we two sad birds could cheer each other up.”

Sad birds? Now I was reduced to defecating on statues for fun, a new low in the simile department even for me. “What did you have in mind?” I asked the question casually and carefully, this pigeon wasn’t heading to his nest for anything.

“I noticed you watching the people. Want to create fake stories for them?”

Gay… had to be gay. My defenses relaxed some; I was used to being picked up by gay men to keep them company. Actually I enjoyed it. If it wasn’t for the battery bill, I would be perfectly happy marrying a gay man. Imagine the fashion advice?! I pulled myself from my little daydream bliss to find him staring at me again. Great, now I was a brain damaged pigeon. Squawk. 

“Sorry, I was picking out a place to start,” I smiled and celebrated my quick cover story. “How about the blonde over there at the pool tables?”

“Miss Fake Tits and her Ken doll?” I nodded and he laughed. “Deal. I’ll play Ken.”

We made up a whole story and then played out their conversation. We laughed, we had a few more drinks, and I actually had a blast. After one particularly good exchange, I used my cocktail napkin to dab at my teary eyes.

“Shit, I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.” I grinned. “My name is Daria by the way.”

“Keith pleased to meet you.” We chinked glasses once more. “I’m glad you’re laughing. You have a beautiful laugh.”

Aww, he was too sweet. “So is the move to the area a permanent one?”

He nodded. “I didn’t like where I was, but I grew up here. I plan on sticking around this time.”

I studied him, really studied him. Keith had deep brown hair he kept a little longer than military cut. I’d bet it’d just curl over my fingers if I ran them through it. The thick locks looked like they’d have a wave to them if he grew it out. His warm brown eyes, straight nose, and full mouth were all offset by a strong square jaw. He was definitely a cutie, another one lost to my womanly kind.

I did have a friend though…  “I know you’re new in town and probably getting settled, but I have a friend.”

“Really?” His brows arched and he angled away from me in surprise.

I’ll blame the three beers on my lack of noticing his odd reaction. Instead I plowed forward. “Jon is a sweetheart and he could show you around the city, what’s changed I mean…”

“You think I’m gay?”

His voice had gone from warm to frigid in a heartbeat and I was confused. “You’re not?” He shook his head harshly and my cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Can I ask why you thought I was gay?”

Well now he was back on my side of the menu making me nervous again. “I just figured since you decided to chat with me…” I stammered to a finish and froze.

“I see. You’re too good for anyone here or you’re not good enough?”

“What?” Well, he was downright rude and I honestly wasn’t sure how to answer.

“Have a nice night, Daria.”

He moved away from my table with stilted movements and I had to resist chasing him down to explain. The body language all screamed pissed off heterosexual and I’d missed every sign. I sighed, blowing bubbles into the foam of my beer. Oh well, what the hell were the chances I’d ever see him again. If he saw me at Chucky’s, he’d probably head the opposite direction.

I pulled my notebook free and wrote: 4. Never assume a man is gay… EVER! :(

Okay, so the caps of the word ‘ever’ biting deep into the paper and the frown face were a little overkill, but I wanted to make sure I remembered this lesson. I had to chug the last of my beer and leave before I lost myself in the horrible what-if land of Keith The Not Gay.

I woke up late on Friday; a perk of my job seniority was receiving three day weekends for my hard work. It was already noon when the coffee maker started. How man survived before coffee I have no idea, I certainly didn’t. I tidied my apartment while I waited for my brew to finish up.

My daily routine ended at the refrigerator and I noticed the calendar. “Shit!” Blind date tonight and it would take me an hour to reach Pat’s house. I had no idea what was clean, what outfit to wear, should I shave??

“Don’t panic.” Did I mention my habit of talking to myself when I’m stressed? Works great and I’m usually stressed. “Coffee first, then rummage the outfits, something classic. Then I can shave without washing my hair…”

My mental checklist continued until the first sip of coffee hit my lips. The world slows down when I hold a cup of coffee, as if it triggers some time-space continuum. Might just be me, but I enjoy the hell out of a good cup of coffee.

After two cups of it, I was plowing through my check list. Classic outfit, check. Classic shoes, check. Legs shaved, check. I laid out everything and relaxed with a book for an hour. I read a little every day, hoping it will make me a better conversationalist.

When the clock chimed five, I was already in a taxi on my way to Pat’s posh townhouse. For once, I was early and grateful. I gave myself a once over on their sidewalk before ringing the bell. I wore a simple khaki a-line skirt and a navy blouse with pearls, a tan handbag, and tan shoes. All very neat and crisp.

“Daria, darling.” Again I cringed as Maggie pronounced my name in her drawn out way. “Pat, Daria is here.”

My worries were swept aside as one of my bestest friends in the world pulled me in for a hug. We’d practically been neighbors from birth and there was no one in the world I liked more.

“Daria! You look great and you’re early.” I playfully slapped him at the shock in his voice.

“It’s easier to be on time when it’s on my day off,” I joked. “So what kind of thing is this anyway?”

“Oh just a few friends, some games. I’ll get you out of here if it gets bad.”

Thank God for small miracles. Pat understood what it was like to have multiple blind dates and he was also well aware of my bad record with them. “Am I the first one here?”

“Actually, Maggie’s date for you got here just a few minutes ago.” Pat led me into their parlor. As we turned the corner a tall brunette turned. “Daria let me introduce you to…”

My heart sank. “Keith,” I answered for him.

Great the guy I’d accidentally insulted last night was now supposed to be my date for the next however many hours. Another wasted event and another disaster date loomed. At least I’d only insulted one of Maggie’s friends.

“Oh, you’ve met.” Pat interrupted my thoughts. “Keith and I go way back to college.”

Oh hell in a hand basket, I just bought a one way pass from horror into absolute nightmare. There was no way to bow out gracefully and certainly no going back to redo the night before. I was stuck, plain and simple. I plastered on a smile and marched forward determined to repair the damage. Out of the pot and into the fire…

Part Three:

I walked forward with confidence, silently praying Keith wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. I held my hand out and, miracles, he shook it. “Pleased to meet you again.” I leaned in a little closer. “Sorry about last night.”

Keith removed his hand and frowned. “We’ll see. Maggie and Pat have set up snacks in the kitchen.”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” I lied. Why stain a perfectly good skirt? Unfortunately, my belly chose that moment to rumble a loud symphony of starved in B flat.

Keith grabbed my elbow and tugged me along. “Don’t be silly. Try Maggie’s quiche.” My face must have given me away because he laughed deep and rich again. “Or there’s crackers.”

Crackers- no stains. I smiled and walked with him. It felt good to hear him laugh. Maybe he was the type to forgive a drunken girl’s mistake and move on. I’d really had fun with him last night, maybe today would be passable?

As soon as the kitchen door closed, I awoke from fantasy land and my dream Keith was gone. He leaned against the island frowning at me. Well, shit.

“I did say I was sorry. I was completely mistaken and I regret insulting you.” I started but got cut off by his movement away from me.

“Now you think it’s terrible to be gay?”

This was going from bad to worse and fast. “Absolutely not.” I snapped my mouth shut before my foot could slide further.

“Look, I know the honest truth about what you assume of me. So let’s try to get through this civilly. Honestly, when Pete told me about you, I couldn’t believe it was the same girl. Maggie and her stupid blind dates…”

“You get them too?” I tried injecting some humor into the situation and he cracked a semblance of a smile. “For what it’s worth, I did have a good time last night until my slip up.”

I made plans to underline the last rule in my notebook as soon as I got the chance. Why was it a gay man easily forgave you for thinking him straight, but a straight man held a grudge? Hell, they should find it a compliment.

“You were going to eat something,” Keith interrupted my thoughts, stacking his small plate with little food stuffs.

“Right,” I answered, not knowing what else to say. “Just taking in the selection.”

“It’s vegetables, crackers, dips, cheese, and quiche… are you that picky?”

A look at his face confirmed he was joking as I piled the less disastrous options on my own plate, cheese and crackers. “Well, I did keep hoping brownies would magically appear.”

He laughed outright. “Brownies would definitely have been better.”

“I make great brownies,” I winked as we walked out of the kitchen.

“I’ll have to try them sometime,” he responded sending my heart pounding. Was this it? Four rules written and Mr. Right had just fallen into my lap? Or was Keith the king of mood swing rollercoasters?

I looked over the room at hearing the increased chatter. A few more people had arrived while we’d been sequestered away. I studied the faces, thankful I didn’t recognize anyone so far. Keith guided me into a corner.

“Do you recognize anyone yet?” I shook my head and he grinned again. “So we don’t have to make their acquaintances yet. Want to play the story game again.”

“How well do you know Maggie?” I asked instead, not daring to add any possible insults to my good fortune.

“Not well.” Keith ate a carrot and thought about it before swallowing. “Only met her a few times. The few dates I’ve had with her friends went horribly bad.” He leaned in close enough I caught a whiff of his delicious cologne. “I’d say snob.”

“I won’t say anything then.” I hedged. “I love Pat to pieces and if he loves Maggie, there has to be something to like.”

“Well said. How long have you known Pat?”

I smiled warmly and found my friend across the room. “We grew up next to each other. Matter of fact, he was born a day after me. We were neighbors from birth you could say. Same schools until college, but we still kept in touch.” I pointed to a picture on the table next to us. “That’s me in the wedding photos.”

“You love him?”

I got the reaction a lot and nodded. “I love him like a brother.”

Keith smiled down at me and I grinned back. “You know, he gave me quite the speech about you. Even if Maggie called you a last resort.”

I laughed, surprising him I could tell. “Maggie holds a grudge. I drunkenly offered to spirit Pat away the night of his bachelor party. I was supposed to be at the bachelorette shindig, but skipped it to be at his. One of his friends let the secret slip in the best man speech.” I paused. “Were you at the wedding?”

“I had to miss it. I was working an account in England, but I did get a tape.” He stopped and then chuckled. “You’re the Daria Ned was talking about.”

I gave a little curtsey. “One and the same. Regardless of the laughs on the tape, Maggie didn’t find it too funny. I still get introduced as the friend who tried to kidnap her husband.”

Keith, bless his soul, actually winced on my behalf. “That goes over well I take it.”

“Not really. Stick with me today and they’ll avoid us like lepers.”

He moved in closer and whispered huskily, “Deal.”

We traded small talk about our childhood while finishing our snacks. Soon enough Maggie hustled everyone by us for introductions. I winked at my date as they all quickly found other places to be. I wasn’t kidding when I’d suggested her friends hated me. I was the plague she inherited by marriage. 

Too soon after, we were herded into groups for games. Keith and I ended up at Pictionary. Maggie, rot her, had set up game stations and we quickly learned many of the folks present were paired on blind dates.

“Remind me to get her a matchmaker hat,” I whispered to Keith, who chuckled and earned us stares from the team playing.

Finally our turn to draw and guess arrived. I was the champ at Pictionary; hell my dad and I were unbeaten in our family history. I hoped Keith was just as good. I drew my card, decided how to draw it out, and waited for the timer to be set. Putting marker to pad, I was confident Keith and I would kick some Pictionary ass.

“Stick, uh… tree. God, I’m horrible at this.”

I hurried to try a different method, confusing my date further. The competitor in me wanted to win, the lonely woman in me beat her into submission. I frowned at the paper when the timer went off, shrugged, and sat down next to Keith again.

“Sorry,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m better at trivia games.”

“How are you at charades? I think it will be our next rotation.” I smiled, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at the other players. There were no rules in Pictionary saying we had to be silent.

“I’m not sure, it’s been awhile,” Keith answered. “And I can tell your competitive. “

Crap. “It’s okay. I’m just used to playing with my family. Let’s practice charades.” I motioned over my shoulder and then mimicked eating and drinking.

Keith snapped his fingers, ignoring the startled woman beside him. “Let’s go to the kitchen for more snacks and drinks.”

I touched my finger to my nose. “Bingo,” I said, standing and smoothing my skirt. “Excuse us, we’ll be back. If we miss our turn, just play on.”

We moved quickly and sneakily toward the door, trying not to get caught by the host. I let out a sigh of relief as the door swung closed behind us and the kitchen was empty.  Maggie had put the snacks away, so I grabbed a bottle of water and took a sip. I swallowed and studied the label. Peach flavored, how uptown of her.

“You know, Daria. There’s something I wanted to do last night and I didn’t get the chance.”

I turned back to him. “What’s that?”

I was about to ask him if he’d meant to slap me or throw beer on me. Instead, his lips covered mine. By some other date miracle, I’d sat the peach water back on the counter before he moved in. My hands wrapped around his neck as his mouth studied mine. It was the sweetest, hottest kiss I’d ever tasted.

I let him lead, knowing it wasn’t smart for a girl to charge on (thank you, Cosmo) and my heart skipped a beat when his tongue traced my lips. Oh, I wanted to taste him. I pulled him closer and opened my lips in invitation. Keith molded my body into his and the heat of the solid muscle under the laid back clothes caused me to moan.

“Sam, you just have to see the kitchen remodel! I’m so glad you could…” Maggie’s excitement cut off as the door smacking into Keith’s back startled everyone. “Oh, I’m sorry Keith, can I help you find something?”

I quickly looked for a place to hide. Sam, otherwise known as Samantha, was Maggie’s best friend and therefore my arch nemesis. The fact that I’d just been caught in the kitchen in a less than proper position flushed me with color and guaranteed my leper status for centuries. I could hear her now, “This is the woman who tried to kidnap my husband and then acted lewdly on my granite counter…”

Keith’s left arm moved ever so slightly, allowing me to shift my position and hopefully cover up our previous activity. Thank God for tall men and my short stature. “No, my date and I were just looking for more wonderful snacks.”

“Oh, Daria. I didn’t see you.”

I nodded. “Hello, Maggie. Sam.” I caught her studying Keith’s face and sent a thank you to whichever scientist invented stay proof lipstick. “I was wondering where you found this great water.”

“Oh, it’s special delivery from Franco’s down the street. It is delicious, isn’t it?”

I nodded and watched as the long-legged, flat bellied, full chested Sam set her sights on my date. “I’m Sam,” she purred at him, fluffing her blonde hair with one hand while holding the other out. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Attention, this is your captain speaking; we’re going down… The alert rang out through my head. The only escape was to leave the kitchen by the back door and pray someone let me in the front. I cursed the tiny townhouse kitchen until Keith surprised me.

“Nice to meet you, Sam. Have you met my date, Daria?”

I blinked in surprise and then smiled broadly at the bimbo. I had actually won a round with the Pam Anderson twin. Keith tucked my arm in his and smiled politely at Maggie. “Maybe we’ll get something later. We’re probably missing our round at Pictionary.”

I let him lead me out, but I dreaded the silly games to come. I had managed to squash my competitive side once, would I be able to keep doing it? I was locked in a sea of sharks and had to play nice. God help me.

“I’ll try to do better,” Keith laughed and I realized I’d prayed out loud.

I smiled. “You better, or it’s off to Pictionary boot camp for you,” I joked to cover.

The best date of my life so far and I just wanted it to end before anything could happen to ruin it. The front door slammed and Pat turned as a man walked into the parlor area. I froze.

“Scott?” Pat asked, astonished. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

I watched, paralyzed as they hugged in their manly way and Maggie rushed past us to greet him. Eventually, Scott’s eyes turned and met mine. I saw surprise, warmth, and then the dreaded anger. Oh, for fuck’s sake! I wanted to throw my hands into the air and sign into a nunnery.

“Why, Keith, have you met Daria’s fiancé?” Sam chuckled smoothly behind us.

“Ex!” I countered quickly. “Ex-fiancé.”  Who is forever ruining my life, I added silently.

Mental note, rule number 5: Make sure your worthless, lying scumbag of an ex will NOT be at any date or anywhere within a 50 mile radius.

I looked up into Keith’s face hoping to find forgiveness. I should have dragged him out the kitchen’s back door and asked Pat to mail my handbag and jacket to the Bahamas. So much for my first great date…

Part Four:

Keith stared at me and I felt miserable. Frankly, I desired nothing more than to walk over to my ex-fiancé and stab him with a hundred of those cheese toothpicks. How dare Scott destroy me years after we “mutually” called it quits!

Well, the mutual part involved finding him pumping away at another girl and me blurting out the relationship was over. Since then, he’d taken every opportunity to cross my path and try to win me back. Even telling the jerk hell would freeze before I’d rescue him from a fire had no effect.

I took a deep breath to calm the rising anger. Losing control would only cause an explosion of my infamous temper. One flash inferno and Keith would definitely go running. I shook out my hands and gritted my teeth until calm, or a semblance of it, took over.

“I broke it off with him two years ago. After I found him in bed with another woman.” I explained for Keith and then turned. “Funny, Sam, wasn’t she a friend of yours?”

The other woman was Sam’s little sister, and she clearly remembered her part when she turned white and hightailed it for the kitchen. She was now blocking the only other means of escape unless I jumped out an open window. I rolled my shoulders and tried to breathe while the introductions of my ex continued around the room.

A hand grabbed mine and squeezed. “He still works you up?”

I frowned. “I have no feelings for Scott, except annoyance at him for not leaving me alone. Two years and he still can’t take a hint.”

“You must be special then.” He squeezed my hand again and I wanted to kiss him silly.

I don’t know why I said what I said next. I do know I’d come to regret my choice of words. “Just keep him away from me and everything will go splendid.”

Everything did go well, except for the occasional rumor or baited glance. I was used to those and shrugged them off as par for the course when hanging around this crowd. I counted down the moments until I could make my escape and something told me Keith knew it.

“Maybe we could skip out and get some coffee?” He offered from next to me, causing me to grin widely.

“I would love to. Say after this round?” He nodded and we went back to playing the game.

I was excited to leave. Playing the perfect guest while everyone talks about you was exhausting as hell. Didn’t help when every one of Maggie’s friends took Scott’s side in the equation. I remembered overhearing her tell Pat how I should have sucked it up and stuck it out since Scott was the best thing I’d ever find. I’d run crying to Pat, upset since—in a way—Scott had betrayed both of us. We’d known Scott for almost as long as each other.

Mental Rule Number 6: Do NOT date childhood friends.

Remembering her heated words brought my temper to a head and I bolted off the sofa uncontrollably. I looked down at Keith and pasted on a fake smile. “Coffee sounds great. What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”

Lucky for me, he laughed and joined me in walking away from everyone. I didn’t bother telling them bye—it would have been a wasted effort. I did stop to thank Pat and that’s when it happened.

Apparently, Scott had snuck up on us while I was hugging Pat. When the tap touched my shoulder I thought it’d been Keith. Imagine my surprise when I turned to tuck my arm around him and my ex was standing there… with my purse and jacket no less!

Okay, I admit it wholeheartedly. I overreacted and my exaggerated response was the trigger on the atomic explosion that went down in the record books as Maggie’s Game Night.  If I could go back in time, I would have shoved us out a window. And, in hindsight, I’m pretty sure Keith would have happily dove for it with me.

Scott standing close with my things lit my fuse and my temper exploded. I grabbed my belongings from him, slapped him, and called him every nasty word in the book. Not that I recall exactly what I said, but I’m guessing it was shocking by the remembered expressions on Pat and Keith’s faces.

When I went to storm out, of course the dumbass tried to follow. Then things got really ugly. In his defense, Keith was trying to help. He grabbed Scott and told him to leave me alone. After that, it was a barrage of fists in every direction. Even Pat took a hit, from Scott of all people.

I sat with Keith in a police station waiting to give my statement. Maggie had called the police and Scott wanted to press charges. I wasn’t sure exactly what to tell the police since it was all an angry blur, but I would do my best to get Keith out of trouble. I owed him.

“Well, it was a fun date,” I whispered, blushing fiercely. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Just tell me his face looks worse than mine,” Keith answered.

I nodded, still feeling incredibly guilty. “You did a bang up job, that’s for sure. Listen, I’ll do my best to keep you out of trouble.”

“It’s nothing. I’m sure the cops see this kind of thing all the time.” He tried to smile and winced. “Look at the bright side. We won’t be invited to any more of Maggie’s game nights for awhile.”

My laughter earned me a few cold stares from the officers around us and I choked on it. “Still, I owe you one.”

“Yes, you certainly do. You can repay me by going out to dinner when I get back.”

“Look, you’re not going to prison.”

He leaned forward and pressed the tissue into his nose again. “No, I have to go to London in two days. Arrange a consolidation of businesses.”

I leaned back, staring at the stained ceiling tiles and the glow of florescent lights. “So you’re a negotiator?”

“In a way. I make sure acquisitions for the company transition smoothly and help iron out the details.”

I reached over and patted his knee. “I’m sorry you’ll be bruised for it.”

“It’ll give me some macho man credit,” he chuckled and fell silent.

“Let me see if I can sweet talk someone into an ice bag for you.” I stood and marched over to a desk. The lady took one look at me and asked if I was hurt. I looked down and, sure enough, found blood on my clean skirt. “Damn. I’m fine, but my friend is hurt and needs an ice pack for his face.”

“He should have thought of that before the fight.”

Serve and protect my ass. “Look, he was defending me. The guy deserves an ice pack.”

She shrugged and went back to her computer. A random stranger whistled and I turned. He pointed at a vending machine. “The pop cans come out really cold.”

“Thank you,” I nodded and walked over, popping seventy five cents into the machine and getting a root beer. The guy was right, it was freezing.

I carried it back over to Keith and gingerly held it to his face. “I’m so, so sorry. Just so you know, I am the Queen of disaster dates…”

“Pat told me.”

“He what?” I would kill him next time I saw him.

“He told me you have awful luck with dates. I just forgot to wear my suit of armor.” Keith mumbled.

I eyed him carefully. “Are you okay? Concussion? You hit the wall pretty hard.”

“Maybe, but I’ll be fine.”

An officer called my name and I let Keith take over holding the can. I rose, and walked over to the room. Scott was marching out to a desk at the same time. He started to say something, but I ignored him. The officer told him it was in his best interests to leave me alone—smart officer.

I sat at the lone metal table and gave my statement as honestly as I could, all while trying not to think about the police shows I watched.  I calmly detailed the rough time I’d had with Scott, the history we had, and how Keith had only been trying to protect me.

“Let me get this straight. You told that man to keep Scott away from you.” The officer jotted something down.

“Well, yes, but I wasn’t suggesting violence…” my voice dropped off as the officer stood. Was he reaching for his cuffs? “Look, I just didn’t want to deal with my lying, cheating ex-fiancé. I did not ask for anyone to exchange fists.”

“That may be, but for now I’ll need to arrest you as an accessory to assault.”

“Don’t you dare! I want my phone call. If anything we should be pressing charges against Scott. I’ve told him how many times to leave me alone. And your office was no help…” I slammed my mouth shut, realizing the officer was taking notes and I was digging myself a deeper hole.

He slid the cuffs on and led me out. Keith was whistling some tune and looking awful. The bruising on his jaw was starting to swell and I really worried about an unseen injury. There was an officer checking over Scott’s injuries a few desks away. Why did he get the gold-star treatment? Because he’d cried victim first?

“Hey, hey! I think my friend here has a concussion. He needs medical treatment.”

“Sure, lady, we’ll get a paramedic over to look at him… eventually.” A round of laughter followed as I tried to get comfortable on my bench seat.

I kept an eye on Keith while pondering who to call first. I didn’t know any lawyers.

I mean, I talked to a few in the company on occasion, but those were business attorneys. Weren’t lawyers supposed to know other lawyers?

The tears started and I couldn’t help it. Everything had gone horribly wrong, and now I was stuck with cops who didn’t care. Police who couldn’t be bothered to see things from my point of view and a date that most likely had brain damage – it was all highly depressing.

“Daria?”

I looked up at the sound of my name, mascara stinging my eyes. I blinked as a handkerchief was blotted against them. My blurry vision cleared and I gasped in shock.

“Marcus? Is that you?” I looked him over in his suit. It was a far cry from the baseball uniform he’d worn in college. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm a defense lawyer. What’s going on?”

I poured out the whole story while Keith whistled and chuckled at himself beside me. A few times more, Marcus had to blot my eyes. “And that’s all of it. They’re calling me an accessory.”

“Do you have representation yet?” I shook my head. “You do now. Let me find out about your case.”

“Thank you, oh thank you!” I would have hugged him if my hands hadn’t been cuffed behind my back. After he walked away, I leaned against Keith. “We’re going to be okay.”

I took Keith drooling on my shoulder as a sign of his shared relief.

What happens to Daria next? Tune into Digital Digest each month to find out if all the wrong moves will lead to Mr. Right.  

~Jennifer Feuerstein~

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Copyright © 2011 Jennifer Feuerstein

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.