On our first date, Rodney and I had planned to do dinner somewhere in midtown. That day I text him to confirm and he replied letting me know that his friend had invited him to an opening of a new restaurant on Madison and 5th and that we would be drinking and eating for free. He said my favorite word in the English dictionary; FREE. So I agreed. We met at 8:00 P.M. and upon arrival there was a list to get in, tons of flashy people, booze flowing like the Nile River, and appetizers that could have feed a whole Nigerian tribe.
As Rodney came down the staircase, he was like I had remembered him; his glance endearing, his smile mesmerizing, and his style off the hook. He took me to the VIP booth that his friend was in and got me a drink.
I can get use to this, I thought.
For a brief moment, I believed that this is how my life in New York should be. I had a Sex and the City moment; I had a great-gorgeous guy sitting next to me, I was at an opening of a hot restaurant, and having an amazing conversation.
Could it get any better? I wondered.
Well, the night went from amazing to sour . . . as we were leaving the restaurant, he told me that the guy that liked him or had a fling with was going to be at this bar in Hell's Kitchen, where we were heading to. Rodney asked me not to go because it would make that guy really uncomfortable if I showed up with him.
This happened so fast that I didn't have time to process anything, when I realized what had happened he was getting in a cab with his friend heading Uptown and I was left in the cold feeling like a cheap whore.
The thing is . . . looking back on that night, yes Rodney is a douche bag for what he did, but at the same time he was just being honest and letting me know that he wasn't interested. I mean I can't hate the guy, but I can resent his approach. I haven't had any communication with him and I doubt that I will.
The smell of his cologne still haunts me.
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