"(Y/N), you can't keep living in this bubble! You gotta get out there and have some fun. Maybe even have sex, I don't know." Sarah threw three dresses and a few cute jackets at you.
"When you told me that over the phone last week, I thought I'd go to a trivia night as some bar or something. Not a blind date!" Clearly, life in New York hadn't been the most rewarding for you. Yes, you had a nice job as a receptionist at a local law firm, but your only close friend was Sarah. You weren't even sure your coworkers liked you.
"It's one date, (Y/N)." Sarah rolled her eyes. "How bad could it be?"
***
How bad could it be, huh? You were waiting alone at your table in a nice Italian restaurant a few blocks from your apartment. You checked your phone, nervously watching the time. It buzzed, and it was a text from Sarah.
Oh, his name is Mike, btw.
Mike? That didn't seem so bad. You knew a few Mikes and they were decent people. What could make this one any different?
Maybe it was the fact that he was ten minutes late.
Or fifteen.
Or twenty.
"Miss, are you waiting for someone?" The hostess walked over to my table. The seat in front of you was still empty.
"Yeah, he should be here any minute." You smiled. A waitress walked past and frowned at the hostess when she heard what you said.
The bell above the door jingled as the door opened and closed, and in walked a very tall and very cute guy.
"Darling, I don't think he's coming. You've been here for nearly a half an hour." The waitress placed a glass of water in front of me. "I'm so sorry."
You looked over at the door and sighed. The tall man who just walked in made eye contact with you and assessed the situation instantly. He rushed over to the table and sat down across from you, his long legs hitting yours under the table.
"Sorry I'm so late, I got caught up at work." He said aloud, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Hi, I'm Aaron. Just roll with it."
"No, no, it's fine." You brushed it off like it was an honest mistake. But who the hell was this guy? You knew you recognized him, but from where?
"I'll be back in a moment to take your orders, then." The waitress smiled at you, but glared at Aaron.
"Um, hi, Aaron. I'm (Y/N)." You said awkwardly. "It was very nice of you to do this for me."
"It's my pleasure." He smiled. "Though I find it very hard to believe that someone stood you up, (Y/N)."
"So," You looked blankly at the menu in front of you, as if it was going to tell you what to talk about. Today's special: small talk with a side of oh god I can't make eye contact with a cute boy. "What do you do for a living?"
"Oh," He seemed surprised that you even had to ask him. "I play baseball for the Yankees."
Suddenly, it clicked. "Holy shit," Of course you knew him, and of course you didn't recognize him without his baseball uniform on. Or your glasses, which you then realized you left on your kitchen table. "I'm sorry, I totally knew that." You tried to play it off with a laugh. He laughed, too.
"No, it's okay. One time, I put a pair of glasses on and fans couldn't recognize me."
"Seriously? Well, maybe I'd recognize you if I put on my glasses, too." This made him laugh. Whatever you were doing was working.
The waitress came back and took your orders. Aaron folded his hands together and rested them on the table.
"I think you're cute." You blurted out. He cocked his head to the side.
"(Y/N)! I don't even know your last name and you already think I'm cute?" He smiled, and he was clearly messing with you. "I have to say, I'm a little offended."
"Oh, sorry, it's (Y/L/N)."
"I'm joking." He said, his grin revealing the gap in his front teeth. "And since you already know my last name, I think you're cute, too."
***
Aaron ended up paying for the meal and the tip, which wasn't your plan.
"Do you want to go see a movie?" You asked, even though you hated making plans in the moment.
"Sadly, I'll have to decline. I have an early game tomorrow." He took the pen he used to sign the receipt and scribbled something down on a clean napkin. "I can, however, give you this." He pushed the napkin across the table. It had a really cliché "call me" written on it below his phone number.
"Oh no, does this mean I have to call you for a second date, Mr. Judge?" You complained, sarcastically, of course.
"I'm really counting on it, Miss (Y/L/N)."
