“I’m sorry,” I said to the waiter. “It wasn’t you. I’m just having a bad day.”
Rob spoke up. “You better bring us a bottle of your finest chardonnay,” he said.
I nodded. More wine would mean I couldn’t drive myself home, but whatever. I obviously needed a drink.
Chapter 12
Lacey
I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH of that bottle of wine Rob drank, but I definitely had too much. I had to lean on him as we left the restaurant. I stumbled on the step.
“Valet,” I said, but he was already shaking his head. “I can’t give you your keys, Miss. You’ll have to pick up your car in the morning.”
“What? How am I going to get home?”
The valet looked at Rob, then back at me. “I can certainly call you a cab.”
“A cab? I live in Socorro Valley.”
All right. I’ll admit it. It wasn’t my proudest moment. In fact, I was feeling completely pathetic. I was drunk. I didn’t feel particularly beautiful because of the whole cosmetic surgery debate. And I was also still feeling completely rejected by Grant, because I couldn’t think of a way to make him want anything more than a one night stand with me. It had been a tough couple of weeks. I wasn’t at my best.
So please don’t judge me when I say I was making a big deal about not wanting a taxi for one reason only. I wanted Rob to offer me a ride. And not just a ride home. I wanted him to get me in his car, take me to his apartment, and fuck me.
Was I attracted to him? Not particularly.
Had I enjoyed my date with him? Not particularly.
Should I have wanted to get in his car? No, I should not have.
I should have had more dignity than that. More self-worth. But I just felt like such a loser. And when you feel like that, there’s nothing better than a sloppy one night stand with a guy who you’re not even sure is that into you. Right?
Wrong. I knew it was wrong. I knew I was clutching at straws. But someone had to want me, right? I was dolled up. I wasn’t that bad looking, was I?
“You don’t want me to call you a cab?” the valet said, again looking at Rob for some indication that he was going to step up and get me home safely, or at the very least, get me off the steps of this fancy restaurant.
“I don’t want a cab,” I said again, and I could even hear the slur in my words.
God, it was awful. I was that drunk chick at the end of the night who’s insisting on making some pointless scene with the restaurant staff.
I looked at Rob, but he was just standing there blankly as if he didn’t know how this was going to play out. What the fuck was he waiting for? I was offering myself to him on a plate. Why wasn’t he offering to drive me home? He’d hardly had a glass of wine all night, two at the most. Hell, I was going to let him take me home and fuck my brains out. Wasn’t that what guys wanted at the end of a date?
There was a long pause. No one said a word. What the fuck was Rob waiting for?
I looked at him desperately, and I never felt so pathetic in all my life.
And then the words came from my lips. I still cringe when I think of it. It was possibly the lowest moment of my entire existence. This is what I said.
“Won’t you give me a ride, Rob?”
I don’t know if I’m getting across how utterly pathetic I felt. I was practically begging him to take me home.
And did he say yes? Did he take the bait? Did he stand up like a man and take me home for a fuck?
Actually, he looked at his watch. And then he scowled, like it was getting a bit late and what he’d really have preferred to do was get home and get some beauty sleep. He didn’t even want to fuck me.
And even then, I could have still rescued the situation. I could have told him to forget about it. I could have told the valet to call me a cab, and it would have been the last time I ever set eyes on Rob in my life.
But you know what I did instead? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you exactly what I did. I begged. I got down on my hands and knees, into the mud, and I begged. I mean, not literally, but really there was no difference. I basically begged my date to take me home.
I said, “Please, Rob.”
And the fucker sighed again, like it was a chore.
“Sure,” he said at last, and he couldn’t have possibly said it with less enthusiasm.
*
ROB HAD A MERCEDES, and the valet brought it around and watched as I dragged my pathetic butt into the passenger seat. I shuddered at the thought that I’d have to go back to the site of my humiliation to pick up my car.
“So you want a ride all the way to Socorro Valley?” Rob said once we were on the highway.
And it only got worse.
“Oh, that’s too far to ask you to drive,” I said.
“A hotel then?” he said, without missing a beat.
Fucker. Why didn’t he want me? Was I really that repulsive to him? I thought about all the perfect women he must see on a daily basis. He’d made it eminently clear that I was nothing close to perfection.
I should have said, sure, whatever, drop me at a hotel.