Peanut shells on the floor. It made her skin crawl.
The first date had been flawless. Sharp conversation, blue eyes and soft laughs. He also chose the restaurant – an upscale French place in Midtown – and paid with platinum. What more could a girl want?
But this second date? A lot to be desired.
Besides the shells, there were tattooed people playing pool and wearing filthy, ripped jeans.
“I like my ladies to be able to navigate different walks of life,” he said later. “Think of it as a test.”
A test? On date two?
Good luck getting date number three.
The Weekday One Hundred 