He'd spent all day prepping. He'd done the perfect beauty ritual - a bubbling clay mask, scrub and moisturizer. He'd oiled and straightened his beard, his fucking facial hair was flawless.
He'd pressed his favorite shirt. The floral with just enough formalness but still casual at heart. He'd not eaten the day before so he could fit into his sexy slim fit jeans. He'd back off 30% on his usual fragrances.
He arrived at dinner. He sipped on chardonnay and decided against more bread - until thirty minutes had passed. The server understood, she'd obviously been there herself.
"Even if he's not coming you should have something to eat, honey.", she'd said.
He had the largest alfredo pasta ever, more wine than seemed humanly possible and two tiramisus for dessert, with a third in a to-go box.
no email from him. no text.
After stumbling home, he had already been sitting under the hot shower for 20 minutes waiting for his sour, angry mood to improve.
"Wash that man right outta my hair, my ass.", he muttered to himself.