The Three Date Minimum

Part 2

"I wasn't even supposed to be in that neighborhood, can you believe it? The bus was late and I had to make sure my daughter got to school okay so I just drove her myself. So anyway, there I was just minding my own business, and out of nowhere I see –"

DING!

"I'm so sorry," you said, offering a forced smile to the guy across the table. "I think our time is up."

Your current speed date, Scott Lang, looked genuinely disappointed that he couldn't finish his story about the time he met some famous somebody-or-other.

"Definitely rating this date as my best of the night, so far," Scott said as he stood, reaching for your hand to give it a peck. "It was great to meet you, Y/N."

"It was nice to meet you, too." You tried to force a smile to your face for his sake. "Take care, Scott."

He flashed another boyish grin and gave you a wave before awkwardly wandering over to his next date's table.

Well, now you felt awful. It wasn't that he was a bad or boring guy, it's just...there wasn't any spark. Maybe that was stupid, but it was how you felt. And while you believed him when he said his daughter was an angel, you weren't ready to be a step-mom.

Anyway, first speed-dating experience wasn't all that great, just as you had predicted.

Your dates so far were a lawyer who seemed suspiciously interested in your driving record, a dentist who tried to get you to show him your teeth and then commented that he could see the plaque from across the table, a guy who had just moved to New York following some time spent in jail for insider trading ('white collar crimes barely count' according to him), someone who couldn't stop talking about his mother, and now Scott Lang, nice guy extraordinaire. To be fair, Scott was the best of the bunch.

Meanwhile, Natasha looked like she was having the time of her life. She had so many free drinks and more than once you saw guys arguing when their time was up and they didn't want to leave her table.

Wearily, you glanced at the clock on the wall. There was still another forty-five minutes to go.

For a bar called The 107th in the middle of Brooklyn, you would have thought the experience would be a little more interesting. It was new place, supposedly trendy, and had a confusing name (it wasn't on 107th street??), but to you it seemed like a normal local bar.

And even after your last semi-decent date, the thought of going through yet another three-minute introduction with someone new made you anxious. Before the next guy could get to your table, you gathered your coat and bag and ripped off your name tag, making your way over to the bar.

---

"What're you having?"

You eyed the bartender, not bothering to reply just yet since you were mid-sip. He must have just started his shift, because when you first arrived there was a tiny woman with mermaid hair tending to customers.

The alcohol was just a band-aid for the situation, really. You never used it as a crutch, but some situations called for a little backup. It was liquid courage for some, and a little liquid tolerance for you.

When you put the now-empty glass back down, you pushed it toward him like you were in some kind of cowboy movie. "Rum and coke."

He gave a nod and turned away to refill your drink, looking a little bored with your choice.

You let your eyes flicker up to the mirror above the shelves and shelves of liquor. Behind you, the speed-dating was just wrapping up with the final round. The results would be handed out soon; you hoped Scott Lang had found someone better suited for him.