Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt.2

The lights in the club are coming on and I’m standing next to Guy #3 chit-chatting. He has a cuter, shorter friend next to him, and I wished he was the one who approached me. But I can’t be greedy right?

Guy #3 is telling me how rare it is to see women like me, the weave-less type who isn’t hounding men to buy her drinks. I nod a sincere ‘thank you’.  He is still talking about–who knows, I’m not really listening–when I interrupted and asked, “How tall are you?” “I’m six-seven,” he says.  I immediately thought of all my tall girlfriends who would be mad at me.

Guy #3: So what are you doing when you leave here?

Me: Probably go home & sleep. Is there something else I should be doing?

That was my way of asking him to accompany me to IHOP. Chunky girls gotta eat.

Guy #3: Well there’s this after hours spot that we’re all going to. You should come.

Me: After hours? Last time I went to an after hours club, everyone was doing blow off the tables. I’m cool on that.

Guy #3: Oh no no no, it’s nothing like that. It’s legit. Just swing by and have a drink with us.

Me: *squints eyes* Ok, then text me the address.

I’m almost to my car and he sent the address, directions, and parking info to my phone. Maybe this place is decent. But after all, it’s the end of a work day & I’m beat, so I decline. Sidenote: I Googled the address, everything mapped out okay.

The next day, he called and we had a hilarious conversation. It was typical get-to-know-you-before-a-real-date chatter. Not only was he charming, but he’s around my age and funny! Now I’m just waiting for him to ask me on a date. Instead, he invites me to a party at a club he’s working in Beverly Hills. He’s a bouncer, what could go wrong, right?

Again, he sends the full address, directions, and parking info to my phone. As a professional Life Planner (this means I have an agenda or to-do list for everything I do. Like going to Target, then the nail shop, stop by mailbox on the way, etc.), I’m intrigued by his details! Once I got there, I didn’t even have to wait in line; the doorman called my name so I could walk to the front. Now I’m really VIP. I get inside and he meets me by the bar. He hands me $20 to give to the bartender and says, “Order whatever you want. I’ll be standing over there.” *PAUSE* My radar kicked in and said he’s a professional panty-dropper. Women love when guys do sh!t like this.

Now I’m mad but turned on at the same time. Is he showing off or just being real?  I hate being confused. So we’re dancing in the VIP corner…and don’t ask me how I’m dancing with a 6’7″ man, just go with it…when a cocktail waitress brings cupcakes to the booth next to us. He looked at me. I looked at the cupcakes. He walked over to their table, grabbed a red velvet cupcake, and brought it back to me. Oh for real??? It’s like that??? Now I’m trapped.

The night is over and we’re walking to our cars. He holds my hand (we look like Hoopz and Shaq) and asked if I was up for the after hours spot and I gave a quick nahhh then welllll. I gave in. Now I’m trailing his S500 down the 101 toward downtown.

I should’ve know by the reference to “after hours” that this spot would be ratchet on top of ratchet. And it was. But I was blinded by Gucci Mane’s “Wasted,” Waka’s “Grove St. Party,” and some random Yo Gotti song to even notice how crummy it was. All I can think is YES! A hood-worthy playlist! Now’s a good time to note that I can barely breathe through the weed/cigarette smoke in the place.

After 2 separate lesbians on 2 separate occasions approached me, it was time to head home. It’s 4am and I have to hit Trader Joe’s in a few hours. My tall Guy #3 was watching the door then accompanied me to my car once more. Hugs. Call me tomorrow. He didn’t call. He didn’t text. But a day later he texts a message to me saying, “Are you up for an even exchange?” *PAUSE* My friend Big Booty Judy warned about these subtle statements. I know where this is going, but I don’t want to taint my glorified image of him. At least not until date #4 when I have juicy stories to tell on Girls Nite Out.

I probed him a bit more as to the details of this exchange. He said, “What do u think that means? Be honest and idk is not an answer.” Damn. That wasn’t even slick. In about 2.4 minutes he managed to send me 3 pictures of his wang with the subject Eleven Inches Do U Like. His next message read, “I wanna f–k. If u aint with the business I do understand.” Whoa. That was quick. Now I’m disappointed, I think he’s trying to give me AIDS/syphilis/a combo, and I never got the date I wished for.

I declined within a few clever words (inbox me if you wanna know), and he replied, “CHILD PLEASE! PLAY YOUR GAMES W/ SOMEBODY ELSE!” So I’m playing games? If this is a game, then please let the next one not involve cupcakes. You almost had me.


Miss the beginning of this story? Check out “Lucky Number “Tree”–Pt. 1″ 


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