Mr. Nice Guy

So… My Friday night date that was cut short… Yeah…

But it started off splendidly!

For some quick background. Mr. Nice Guy works in the same office as me, just a different division (not like Mitch, who is an independent contractor working directly for my division – and, incidentally, has a girlfriend now. Go Mitch!). So, we have worked ‘together’ for the past 3.5 years and see each other frequently – more so in the last several months leading up to Friday’s date.

The first couple of years we would cross paths and have brief general conversations in the ‘lunchroom’. To be honest, he creeped me out a good part of that time because he was always staring at my boobs (to be fair, they are pretty nice! 😉 ). But, once we started talking more and discovered we had more in common, he stopped looking at my chest so much and started talking to my face.

He knows quite a bit about my most recent ‘dating’ blunders: Alaska, Rock Star, most of the unsuccessful dates in-between…

He’s been divorced for several years and hasn’t gone out with anyone for over four. Apparently, all he could find were completely insane women, so he stopped bothering to look. (A lot like how I am starting to feel, as well as a few of the rest of you, based on reading your blogs 😦 )

He’d been hinting at it for a while, but he isn’t my type (too short), so I kept avoiding the subject. But, during the week after my Rock Star incident, I asked Mr. Nice Guy when we were actually going to go someplace together outside of work.

Then he asked me on a date…

I had a couple of errands I had to run quickly after work on Friday (and I didn’t want to leave my ‘new’ car in the parking garage at work to get tagged for being there after hours), so Mr. Nice Guy picked me up at a designated corner of the Target parking lot a couple blocks away (located directly adjacent to a marijuana dispensary, sex toy shop and strip club – we laughed because of how appropriate a place that was for me to wait. LOL!)

We arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before our reservation. He pulled a blunt out of his glove compartment and proceeded to get us both high as a kite before we went in.

Mind you, he picked a very fancy establishment (dress code and everything!) and, after the Maitre d’ seated us, leaned across the table and whispered to me, “We smell so much like weed!” Then he giggled. This man is 5 years older than me!!

I giggled back.

Most of our dinner was like that: making fun, telling jokes, talking about random stuff that popped in our head… The atmosphere was peaceful and dark; both of us were surprised at how quiet the place was for the amount of people there. He ordered the French Dip (the whole reason why we were even trying this place) and I ordered the soup of the day and a Moscow Mule.

Afterwards, we went back to his car and smoked up again before continuing on our adventure.

“Do you like ice cream?” asked Mr. Nice Guy.

“Of course I do, Silly! Are you taking me out for ice cream now?!” I clapped my hands together.

“Yes, Ma’am. There’s a nice mom-n-pop shop on Colfax that I want to show you. It’s cute as hell.”

It was cute as hell! There were families there and little, annoying hipsters on dates…

While we ate our ice cream (he had salted butterscotch and I had pistachio. NOM! NOM!) we sat at the window and looked out at the street, making fun of the outfits on all the “youngsters” wandering past.

As we walked back to his car, I almost slipped my hand into his elbow. I’m not sure why I didn’t, actually. The timing didn’t feel right maybe? He was a complete gentleman the entire time. He may not have opened as many doors as I would have liked, but I think that he was also testing the waters.

For the next two hours we sat in the front seat of his car in a Walgreen’s parking lot, talking, laughing, holding hands and smoking another blunt.

It was when he leaned over to rest his head on my shoulder (I wasn’t even wearing a cleavage shirt!) that I received that eerie text from MM, ruining the rest of what could have continued to be a very lovely date.

Fortunately for me, Mr. Nice Guy didn’t think twice about my (made up) reasoning for needing to leave so abruptly. The next day he even told me that he would have kissed me as I left, but I had such a look of concern in my eyes that he decided a hug would be best.

I must confess that it’s strange (in a good way) actually dating a man without an agenda to get into my pussy ASAP.

We have plans to go out again after I get back from my skate weekend in Phoenix (one more week! YAY!!).

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