The Hawtest of Dates

We locked eyes while I was dancing. He was walking over from the bar, two drinks in hand - is one for me? I wondered. He skulled one then the other immediately. We never broke eye contact; I was weirdly transfixed, he walked up to me full of confidence. We danced together until his two drinks had obviously kicked in and he couldn't keep up with the beat. I lead him to the front door, but when we exited the club he started to lead me instead while waving down a taxi. He kept waving at yellow cars until he accidentally caught the attention of the taxi driver that was already parked in front of us in the taxi bay. At this point, I knew for sure I could rob him blind when he passed out.

"Know somewhere more private?" I asked sweetly, grabbing onto his arm.

"I know just the place for the hawtest date," he said smoothly, lips pulling up into a wide smile.

The taxi ride wasn't long and (in this part of town) meant a big score for me. A rich young guy who can't handle his liquor and thinks he's scored big with a pretty lady like myself was an easy target. We pulled up at a large double-story townhouse with two cars in the driveway. Maybe a roommate? Might complicate things, I thought.

He paid the taxi fare and we sauntered to the front door. While he fumbled for his keys he mumbled, "Perfect place for us to be alone . . ." he unlocked the door and started to head in, "unless my mum and dad are home."

"What?" I asked, almost sure I misheard.

As I walked into his house I thought, This can still go well, old people love expensive knickknacks like Hummels, they sell well, right? But as the sound of my first step into the house hit the hardwood floors he spun around in a panic.

"Your high heels are so loud and my daddy is a light sleeper so . . ."

He trailed off, pointing to a shoe rack full of Birkenstocks and old pink runners. I slid off my glittering heels and placed them next to the shoe rack while he took off his jacket then stumbled into the kitchen.

"Mum left out snackies!" he exclaimed, followed by the sound of loud crunches. Rounding the corner I see him eating carrot and celery sticks he'd dragged through a half-eaten tub of hummus. He spun around striking a pose like a popstar and with one eyebrow raised asked, "What's your favorite juice?"

The counter behind me has a set-out row of juices, each one with either apple or mango mixed with one other fruit juice. I couldn't imagine anything more sickening to drink right now. Next to it was a bottle of Merlot, the only thing remotely appealing to me, so I undid the stopper, poured some into the glasses meant for the juice, and took a swig while winking at him.

He bit his bottom lip, not in excitement but with a worried look. "Actually that's my mum's juice."

"It's fine," I said, seducing him with a sly smile and looking him up and down.

It worked like a charm; he relaxed and led me to the lounge room, furnished with only the best from Sweden. The dreadful quiet was overturned by blaring music as he turned on a stereo and danced with the same charisma he had at the club, waving at me to join him. I took a swig from the bottle of Merlot and joined in, his enthusiasm almost contagious. The guy was strange, but he was undeniably sweet. I noticed in his hand he had a a slice of chocolate cake he brought up to his face. I barely had enough time to hide my look of shock and disgust before he saw my stare.

"Mum's cake is chocolate chunk tonight, we're getting so damned crunk tonight!" he yelled.

"Go to bed!" said the older lady standing in the entrance to the hallway.

"Sorry Mum, I'll be in bed soon."

She glanced over at me and didn't even flinch. How often does this happen? I wondered. I felt awkward but he only made it worse when he turned down the volume of the stereo to a painfully appropriate level, still dancing with way too much passion. I hadn't felt this strange since I was in school and stayed up past my bed time with a friend. The sudden revisit to my teenage years was uncomfortable. I couldn't take it anymore, I started looking for an exit.

"My mum hangs around like that sometimes, she's just looking out for my best interests."

The same hallway door from earlier softly opened again as a pajama-wearing old man with thick glasses walked towards the kitchen.

"Dad I was supposed to have the main room to myself tonight, no one was supposed to bother us, YOU ALWAYS DO THIS ON DATE NIGHT!"

My date was starting to yell at the old man, but not in a firm aggressive way and more like a desperate kitten.

"AND YOU ATE ALL THE BACON DIP AGAIN WHEN YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T."

I'd already started to leave by this point.

"I TRY EVERY WEEK TO GET A GIRL OVER WHY ARE YOU SURPRISED IT WORKED?"

I was putting my shoes on by the front door.

"IT HAD TO WORK EVENTUALLY I'M TOTALLY SUAVE, MUM SAID SO."

My nimble fingers slipped into the pocket of his coat on the coat rack by the door, skimming $60 from his wallet. I checked his license. Huh, he's 28.

I was gone with nothing but a strange experience, money for a taxi home, and a bottle of Merlot.

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Thank you for reading! This short story was inspired by the song Welcome To My Parents' House, by Ninja Sex Party.