for chrispaaul
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Today was the first-and last-time Siman would ever go on a blind date.
Her friends convinced her that she needed to move on from her longtime ex-boyfriend. They said they found the 'perfect' match for her, so she agreed. His name was Myles, they said, and he was very rich, very successful, and very attractive.
Now, sitting in the passenger's seat of his sports car after being picked up from her house and conversing with each other, Siman hoped he was her perfect match.
Myles towered over Siman, yet he never rubbed off as intimidating. His teeth shone perfectly white when he smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a friendly way when doing so. He smelled like vanilla and a hint of cocoa butter. Everything about him was inviting to Siman.
Inviting, up until the moment he opened his mouth and spoke for longer than three seconds.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"A Clippers game," he replied curtly.
Her eyes lit up happily. "As in, like, Blake Griffin and Chris Paul?"
"No, like Kobe and D'Angelo Russell." He rolled his eyes and chuckled at her reaction. "Chill, girl. I'm kidding."
Myles glanced over at her outfit and frowned, realizing her getup was all black. "But here, just throw this on," he muttered, tossing her a white jersey in the backseat that was one size too large.
That was the last of their conversation, until they reached the parking lot of Staples Center. Meanwhile, Siman glanced around his car. There was a large Rolex watch on his arm, a pair of Jordan's in the back, expensive cologne in the cupholder, and several more branded items that made it painfully obvious Myles was well-off.
She tuned out the terrible rap music blasting through his speakers-at least Myles sounded good rapping along. Once they parked and he opened the door up for her, he reluctantly offered his arm. They walked hand-in-hand, all the way down to the courtside seats Myles bought.
"Some of the best seats in the arena," he announced, as if it wasn't already apparent he was swimming in riches.
After Siman's initial awe of being in such close presence to NBA players faded away, an uncomfortable silence settled over the two. Frustration began bubbling over when she noticed Myles on his phone, not even bothering to talk with her.
"So, what do you like to do in your free time?" Siman desperately grasped for some kind of conversation-starter.
He shrugged, barely making eye contact before gluing his eyes back on his phone. "I don't know. I go to strip clubs sometimes. That's something fun, I guess."
Siman waited for Myles to crack a smile and say, Just kidding! No such reaction came about, leading her to realize he was completely serious.
"Oh." She cleared her throat. "Uh, cool. I...I write in my free time. Sometimes, I watch Netflix."
"Well, that's boring. Netflix, no chill?"
"I haven't had a boyfriend in over a year, so no."
"Seriously, Siman?" Myles chuckled condescendingly, as if talking to a ten year-old. "You don't need a boyfriend for it. Ever heard of one night stands? I do it all the time."
Siman was taken aback. "Do you have any respect for women?"
"Uh, yeah. If I was disrespectful, I would've backed right out of your driveway and not picked you up for this date once I saw that you weren't hot."
Siman bit her cheek. She very well knew she could end his life right there with just a few short sentences, but she decided to be nice and not bite back. Instead, she stood up from her seat, slinging her shoulder bag over her right arm.
"Yo, where you goin'?"
"I'm saving both of us from having a bad day."
He narrowed his eyes into slits as his voice rose. "You're ditching me? Nah, babe, it don't work like that."
Siman smiled in a faux sweet manner. She wasn't about to lie; it felt extremely satisfying to show her rude date up. "Oh, but Myles, that's how it works today. See you later, babe."
"Whatever. By the way," he called after her at a volume that the whole lower level could hear, "You make that jersey look ugly."
She huffed. "Too bad, because I'm taking this with me."
She walked into the tunnels, still seething from the encounter with her date. Her shoulders slumped as she walked aimlessly, disappointed that yet another one of her dates turned sour.
And to top it off, Myles had insulted her in front of dozens of people around them. Her face still burned at the thought.
God, she hated that jersey.
Siman, too heated in her own thoughts to notice a six-foot-ten man walking in her direction, formed an intimidating scowl on her face. She appeared so unapproachable that Blake Griffin was nearly afraid to walk by the shorter woman. Something in the power forward told him she needed a little bit of cheering up, so he was determined to help.
As he passed by, Blake glanced at her top. His eyes glinted with joy upon seeing the number 32-his number-sewn across the jersey.
"Nice jersey. It fits you."
The young woman glanced up, disoriented, and realized that Blake Griffin stood in front of her with a grin playing on his lips.
"Thanks. It's my date's." Her lips again transformed into a scowl. "He called me ugly, so I left."
Blake held back a chuckle at her bluntness, even though nothing she stated was meant to be funny. "With his jersey?"
"He deserved it. He was an asshole."
"Says the one who stole his jersey."
Siman stared at him as if he grew a third eye. "Are you defending him?"
"Those things aren't cheap, you know."
"He was an ass."
"I'm an ass, too, but I wouldn't appreciate if someone stole my jersey."
"You're just asking for me to walk away."
Blake waved a hand, dismissing her words. "For what it's worth, I'm a little less of an asshole than him. At least I have the right mind to realize you're far from ugly. Your date must have a horrible taste in women."
"I mean, he goes to strip clubs in his free time."
"Really? I bet I know which ones. See, there's this one place a few blocks down-"
"I'm leaving now."
"I'm just messing with you." Blake let out a hearty laugh at her sour facial expression. "I'm more of a 'Netflix, no chill' kinda guy."
"In between the days where you punch your friends in your free time. I get it."
He faked a hurt expression. "When did this conversation turn into a Blake Griffin roast?"
"When the adjective 'ass' came up."
Not a beat passed before a smile grew onto both of their faces, and they shared a laugh with each other. Blake spoke again but was interrupted by the buzzer sounding out on the basketball floor.
"You better go warm up," Siman encouraged. As she was about to walk to the exits, she felt a light tap on her wrist.
"The buzzer interrupted what I was saying. I wanted to say that you have a beautiful smile. You should smile more, and don't let asshole dates ruin that." He leaned forward. With his thumb and forefinger, he moved her mouth into an exaggerated grin.
Heat crept onto her cheeks. "Thanks, Blake." She smiled again, this time with gratitude. "And thanks for helping me get my mind off that train wreck of a date. I guess it's a sign I'm not meant to go out ever again."
"What do you mean?" He frowned.
"I had a boyfriend for a couple years. After we broke up, each of my dates ended up worse than the last."
Blake leaned on the wall just mere inches from Siman, causing her breath to hitch at his proximity. "How would you like to change that?"
She quirked an eyebrow. "How?"
"Just let me give you my number, and the rest will work itself out." He winked. "I promise." As he added his name to her contacts list on her phone, he casually asked, "Your name is Siman, right?"
"Yes. How did you know that?" she asked suspiciously.
"Your name's written in Sharpie on the top right of the jersey. My guess is that he buys a jersey for every girl he brings on a date to basketball games. You can probably fill in the rest."
"Seriously? He is such an-"
"Asshole?" Blake chuckled. "Yeah, I heard. So, are you giving back that jersey now?"
A small grin spread across the young woman's face. "Nah."