I'm a pretty easygoing girl. I like beer, Call of Duty marathons, and I'm usually attracted to men who secretly want to move back into their mothers' homes. That being said, it's pretty hard to push me away. Until the Coffee Slinger.
The Coffee Slinger worked at a coffee shop across the street from the mall. He was tall, had tattoos, and most importantly, was into me. I was in the middle of a pretty bad dry spell, and for a girl like me, the Coffee Slinger was more than a tall drink of water. He was a nice, frosty porter beer, served just right.
After doing the usual flirting, he agreed to pick me up at seven that night to hang out--and hopefully make out. We're talking a DRY spell here. Seven o'clock came along, and no call. Then eight. Nine. Ten. I finally called the dude, and he answered, saying that he couldn't make it, but he was down to reschedule in a couple days. Classy.
I decided I'd surprise him at work the next morning. The second I walked in the door, I knew something was off. He mumbled a couple "Hey, how ya doin's," and I left, feeling kind of shitty about myself. A couple hours later, my phone rang, and I answered, expecting another lame excuse. Imagine my surprise when I heard a girl's angry voice on the other end, asking if I was the slut that was stalking her fiance at work.
What the fuck? All I had wanted was some nice, innocent lovin' from an attractive man. I didn't need any of this drama. I broke our next date, and started avidly avoiding the coffee shop, leaving me caffeine- and sex-deprived, but with my dignity intact.