Last night, I had dinner at Nick the cute waiter's restaurant rather than going home and watching THE O.C. Nick the cute waiter apparently lost my number ... again, so he prepped his phone to save it ... again. And I told him I wasn't sure if he really wanted it since he never called me and didn't save the number at all. But, ahem, I gave it to him again.
Nick the cute waiter, by the way, was a bit queeny in our latest convo. He's not usually, you know, head-back-and-forth, catty-talking-ish, unsolicited suggestions about his sex life. It was funny.
At one point, I told him that he could call me if he ever wanted to do anything outside of the block where we always run into each other. (His restaurant is right below my bookstore.)
"Usually, I eat alone," he said. "And I don't have much free time."
"Yeah, that's why I used the word 'if' when I suggested it," I said. "I just thought I'd try to see you someplace other than in this complex."
"That would be nice, actually," he said. "I'd like that."
Nick the cute waiter, age 20, says he knows I'm not hitting on him. I told him I was too old for him, which I am, and that he could do better, which he could. Besides, I think he was a senior in high school when I met him, and he's younger than Ryan the Teen. And I swore I would never go there again.
He asked me how old I was, and he winced when I said 27. I mean, his face made this look.
"Yeah, I've never done that before," he said, like I was freakin' 90 years old. (I didn't mention my ex-boyfriend "Grampa Larry," as my friend Jenny calls him.)
Nick told me to stay around his restaurant while he closed down, having a cup of coffee. I stayed for 15 minutes or so, then left.
A friendship, I think, might be possible. He's a good kid.
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