Speed-walking down the street, he slipped through the crowd with the experience of knowing how to avoid collisions. Which was good in this case; heaven forbid he look even more disheveled than he already was. Hair ruffled and sticking out on all sides, plaid shirt untucked, sack slapping against his thigh whenever he wasn't holding the handle, he was a mess.
But this wasn't any different than any other day. There was no point in actually trying to appear composed because he wouldn't be able to maintain that look for longer than two hours. And that was him being lenient to himself.
"Seriously man, why do I have to do this again?" "Because Sam, you are a piece of lonely shit. And we don't want you to hit thirty and it be, like, ten years since the last time you got laid or were in a relationship." "Adam, my last relationship ended four months ago." "I don't count that bitch." "You fucking adored her!" "Then she broke up with you. Listen, trust me, I set you up with someone who might be GOOD for you. Just head to the Italian restaurant we went to a couple weeks ago. That shit's real! You'll enjoy yourself, PROMISE."
"You'll enjoy yourself, promise," he mimicked under his breath. He had better; he didn't want to feel like he wasted his time, or worse, that he would be kicked like a puppy and sent away with his tail between his legs. He had enough of that type of bullshit in his life before today, and he wasn't inclined to suffering more of it.
Forcing a smile on his face, he darted through the doors of the restaurant and slicked hand through his hair. As he tucked his shirt, he muttered to the host, "O'Reilly? Am I in the book?" From there, it was being led through door after door, weaving between tables, until the he saw a table already preoccupied.
Wincing, he glanced at his watch. 6:30 on the dot. He wasn't late, but it would've been impressive if he made it there before the date did. Alas, such was the little blow life delivered him for that day.
At least when he looked at her, the date was -- well, beautiful wasn't cutting it at the moment.
Clearing his throat, he murmured, "Thank you" to the waiter and held out his hand to the girl.
Damn, she's pretty. And looks -- young.
This had huge potential to be awkward or incredibly amazing. ( he was gunning for the latter; he was praying for it like crazy )
"Samuel O'Reilly. I'm really hoping you're Jane? Because if not, then I'll be pretending in about five seconds I didn't say hi to you and --- act as if I need to head to the bathroom."