“You can’t say things like that,” she said, her brow furrowed.
“At least not in public,” he replied. His grin looked more like a sneer.
Her lips pursed together before she took a final sip of her cocktail, pouring all the remaining liquor down her throat.
This date was doomed from the moment he commented that she’d lost weight since the last time he’d seen her.
She wondered why the good men never showed their true faces.
She wondered why all the “nice” guys were just wearing masks.
She wondered why racism and misogyny ever persisted.
She’s better off alone.
© 2016 H.R. Stephens