Scars of the Past

Chapter Thirty-Two: David Jacobs

             Listen, I'm not the best at dating. Heck, I don't even know how I ended up with Jessica, but at least I know to get the number of people who spend the night at my place. 

             "So...do you have a plan on how to get it?" 

             Spot lets out a sigh. "I was kind of hoping you would..."

             "Sean!"

             "Well, tomorrow we're supposed to go to that little Italian restaurant off of 5th," He explains.  

             "For dinner? For lunch?"

             "I'm assuming dinner?" he shrugs.

              "But you don't know," I sigh. "Are you just going to wait all day there for him to show?"

              "I don't know."

             "What if he stands you up? Or has to cancel plans?"

              "I guess you're right..."

              "So what are you going to do?" 

              "I have no clue, David," He replies, covering his hand with his face. "I should get to work though. My shift started a few minutes ago. Maybe I'll think of something then."

             "Well, good luck."

            "Thanks," he sighs. 

            I walk up to the lounge and begin making coffee, Jessica walking over to me. 

             "Hey lovey," She smiles as I stand next to the coffee machine, waiting for Mr. Pulitzer's coffee to finish brewing. 

              "Hey love," I say, kissing her quickly before anyone saw. There's a strict no PDA policy here. 

             "Sean seemed to be in a good mood today," she says, leaning against the counter. 

             "Yeah."

              "So...what's up with him?" she asks, trying to pry some information out of me. 

              I sigh. "Well, Sean met a guy."

              "You're kidding!" she smiles. 

              "I wish I was."

              She narrows her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

              "This guy did not come with a phone number."

              She puts her hand on the side of her face. "Of course. Classic Sean."

               "Yeah," I nod. 

              "What about a name?" 

               "Zeke."

               "Last name?"

               "No clue."

              She pauses. "Wait, did he describe him?"

               "Uh, dirty blonde hair and green eyes," I recall. 

              She covers her mouth. "Oh my gosh."

             "What? Do you know him or something?" 

             "Yes! And you do too!" She says, lowering her voice but increasing her pitch.