Love Without a Name

Prologue: One Date too Many

Word Count: 1991
Warning: Language, sexual references

I shift my bag back into the crook of my arm, mail pressed against my chest with my right hand while I flip my keys around my fingers of my left. An 'ah-ha' falls past my lips as the apartment key lands between my thumb and index finger, shoving it into the lock and turning. The door bangs against the wall as I walk in, a sheepish smile falling across my lips as I mumble a silent 'sorry' for no one but myself. I use the heel of my shoe to grip the bottom of the door, shutting it behind me on my way to the too small kitchen to dump the contents of my arms onto the counter. "Fuck!" my hand flies from my chest, mail scattering to the floor in the process of me rescuing my keys before they fall too far into the nearby sink and into the garbage disposal. I let out a sigh of relief before muttering, "Why are you such a mess, (Y/N)?"

The sound of a small meow and bell causes a smile to appear on my face. Turning, I spy my small, calico cat beelining for my legs, coiling between them and rubbing against my scrub clad calves. "Hey there, Phoebe, how's my baby?" I coo as I move away from the counter and finish shrugging off my winter coat and scarf that were damp from the early winter weather. I listen as she purrs loudly around my ankles before I turn to lean down and pick up the scattered mail on the floor, only to giggle when the calico nuzzles my hand with her head, begging for attention.

Setting the mail back on the counter, I reach back inside my bag that is haphazardly leaning on the counter I rummage inside until my fingers brush against my phone. A message illuminates the screen, a confirmation text for my date with my latest Tinder match. "Maybe this'll be the one, huh Phoebes?" I turn my head and look at the cat at my feet, before padding down the hall and typing out a quick response to "Luke" telling him I couldn't wait. Honestly though, first dates were the absolute worst when you barely know the person.

The plum dress hugged my body perfectly, showing off my natural curves. I stood outside the usual bar waiting for my date with Tinder open on my phone in one hand while my other hand fiddled with the buttons on my black wool coat. Glancing at my phone for the umpteenth time, I notice that the time he and I had agreed on had ticked past about a half hour ago, and my nose was starting to go numb from standing outside in the cold.

With a huff, I typed a quick message that I would be waiting inside at the bar for him before I waltzed in through the door and to my usual place.

"Another date, (Y/N)?" The bartender, Sam, asks as she pours a drink for a small group of people at the opposite end of the bar.

"Not if he doesn't show up." I state as I shrug off my coat and place it on the back of my chair before sitting down. Jared, the other bartender hands me a glass of Sprite, knowing I wouldn't drink until I had confirmation that I had been stood up.

Another five minutes pass before someone taps my shoulder, "(Y/N)?".

"Luke?" I turn and smile at a man with a full, but trimmed, black beard and bright blue eyes.

"I am so sorry I'm late, traffic." He states, moving to sit beside me after shrugging of his coat.

"I figured, it's fine." I notice Sam walk back down and smile at us, "Let's get a drink then order, that okay?" I tilt my head to the side, hair falling from behind my shoulder as I flash a small smile at him.

He nods, eyes crinkling in the corners, "Sounds perfect."

As the conversation continues, I can tell that this date would end one of two ways: he would rather be friends, especially when being only friends usually lead to never speaking again, or he would want to take this date back to his place. Neither were what I was looking for, but from the way he had been trying to place a hand on my knee and drawing shapes into it and trying to inch his hand higher, I could only assume the latter.