RUNNING FROM MY HUSBAND

First Impressions.

I have to admit, I had been looking forward to this date. The picture Casey showed me of the guy had me drooling.

"Told you he's hot," I remember Casey saying. "You'll meet at the bar and grill. I'll give him your number, and then you two can talk."

The date was scheduled for around 7 p.m., so I arrived early to get us a table before the place filled up. I chose a table with a direct view of the door, picked up the menu, and started scanning it, wondering what to eat. I really wanted the wings—maybe with onion rings and French fries—but eating chicken wings can get messy. Not a great first impression.

The door opened. I looked up. A pot bellied man in a suit walked in. He said something to the waiter, then made his way past the tables and straight to the bar. From the way his gut hung over his belt, he was probably a Spark Bar & Grill regular.

I went back to the menu, still debating what to eat when the door opened again. This time, a jaw-droppingly handsome man stepped inside. I wasn't the only one who noticed—every woman in the place glanced his way, even the ones seated with partners.

He started walking toward me. My heart skipped. Maybe he downplayed his handsomeness. Maybe he was my date.

I straightened up in anticipation.

Then I felt a presence at my side.

Thinking it was the waitress, I turned to say I wasn't ready to order—only to be greeted by a potbelly.

My eyes trailed upward. They didn't have to go far. The man couldn't have been more than five feet tall. It was as if most of his height had gathered around his midsection. He smiled at me.

"Hello."

I glanced back toward the model-like man—but he was now seated at the table in front of mine. Probably waiting for a girlfriend. And I was stuck here with the guy who had clearly catfished me.

"You must be Love. Is that really your name?" said the mouth above the potbelly.

You look nothing like the pictures Casey showed me, I wanted to say. But instead, I said it aloud—still stunned.

"Oh, those were photos of me back when I played rugby. I've just never gotten around to updating them," he said with a nervous chuckle.

"This is the bar and grill, huh? Never been to one of these before," he added, pulling out a chair. He had to pull it so far back that it bumped into the seat behind him. The man he disturbed looked up. I gave him an apologetic smile. He smiled back—God, he had a killer smile.

"Not exactly what I expected," Lucas said, glancing around. "A little depressing, don't you think?"

Took the words right out of my mouth.

I smiled politely. "It's not everyone's cup of tea the first time. Some don't even stay."

"Ah, a little dinginess doesn't bother me. The food must be good if you suggested it, right?"

I guess he's not leaving anytime soon.

I tried to keep my smile from faltering. I was going to kill Casey. I had nothing against fat people—but I had a problem with people who lied about it. I would've handled it better if I'd known what to expect.

"Ever since I saw your picture, I've been looking forward to meeting you," he said.

I didn't know how to respond. I had been looking forward to this, too—but to meet the guy in the photo, not the one sitting across from me. An awkward silence hung between us. I stopped trying to hold the fake smile, my mind racing for an excuse to leave.

He tried to fill the silence. "I understand that I lied. I'm not who you were expecting. I also saw how you looked at the guy behind us, hoping it was me."

So you admit it?

"It's just... it's hard to get dates looking like this," he confessed. "But ladies seem more inclined to say yes when I use photos from back then."

Ladies appreciate honesty, I thought.

"I'm still the same guy—just gained a little weight."

A little is an understatement.

"I got injured and had to quit rugby. Now I work a 9-to-5. Losing my passion really hit me hard, and for a while, I ate my feelings. That's how I gained the weight. Now I don't even know how to lose it."

He chuckled awkwardly.

"But I hope to get back to my old self someday," he added, then paused. "I'm sorry, I've been talking about myself nonstop and haven't even let you speak. I tend to ramble when I'm nervous—first dates, job interviews, that sort of thing."

I gave him a tight smile.

"Oops, there I go again," he laughed.

This was getting awkward and boring really fast.

I looked behind him. The handsome guy was gone. I must've been too busy judging Lucas to notice when he left.

The waitress came over to take our order. I ordered exactly what I didn't want—chicken wings, onion rings, and fries. I wasn't trying to impress him anymore.

Just then, the handsome guy came back, walking toward our table.

"Excuse me, miss," he said with a slight smile, "but your car is blocking mine. Could you please move it?"

I blinked at him. Confused. I didn't drive here. My car was still at the repair shop until tomorrow.

And then it hit me. A God-given opportunity to escape this pot bellied, lying, awkward guy.

"Umm... sure," I said, standing up and grabbing my bag. "Lucas, I'll be right back."

His expression fell. He knew I wasn't coming back.

I felt a little bad—but no way was I passing up time with this fine wine of a man.

We walked out of the bar and grill.

He looked at me and smiled. "You seemed uncomfortable in there. I thought I'd help."

I chuckled. "Pretty sure you didn't think that through. You weren't exactly subtle."

"Yes, I was."

"Considering you and I are strangers, how did you know my car was the one blocking yours?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh. Yeah. That part makes sense." He laughed. "Anyway, I've done enough good deeds for one day. I've got someone waiting."

"Uh... yeah, sure. Bye," I said, waving as he walked away.

Guess I'm never seeing him again, I thought with a sigh.

I pulled out my phone to check the time.

Shit! I was going to be late for my job at the club.

I rushed to catch a taxi—faster than waiting for a bus—and got home just in time to change. No time to shower, but I had already done that before my ill-fated date.

I threw on my uniform: a short skirt, a white shirt, and a bow tie. I don't know why management made us dress like slutty schoolgirls, but hey, not my call. I usually wore a dress over the uniform while walking to work—my neighborhood wasn't the safest.

The club wasn't far, so I walked. Free workout.

The entrance was crowded, as usual. "Hey, Will," I greeted the bouncer as I walked in.

"Hey, Love. Dressed like an old lady as always," he teased with a smile.

"Obviously. No one needs to see me in this outfit out here," I replied.

Inside, I headed to the employee area, took off my dress, and went straight to work.

Before I could get to the bar, Nick—the club's manager—intercepted me.

"Richmond, you're working VIP tonight. Cassandra couldn't make it."

"Sure, Nick." VIP meant better tips.

"So, start by taking these drinks up now!" he barked, handing me a paper with orders.

I took it to the bartender, who had the drinks ready within minutes—of course, it's the VIP section. I rolled my eyes.

I carried the tray up to the VIP lounge. It was a bit dimmer than the rest of the club, per the request of its regular guests.

I laid out the drinks, tuning out the chatter around me. One guy was reclined in the corner, face obscured by the shadows, but I could feel his eyes on me.

I turned to leave.

A drunk guy grabbed my arm, throwing me off balance, and I fell onto him.

"If you wanted me, all you had to do was say so," he smirked.

I stood up quickly, glaring at him. "I don't want any of this," I said, gesturing to him in disgust.

The smirk dropped. He stood, puffing up. "You don't talk to me like that, b***h," he growled, stepping toward me.

I stood my ground, unflinching.

A low chuckle cut through the tension.

"Gabriel, leave the girl alone," said a voice I knew.

The guy in the shadows leaned forward.

It was the guy from the bar and grill.

So much for not seeing him again.