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Filet Mignons and Parking Spots

Summary: Against your better judgement, you agree to have dinner with the human equivalent of a Hangnail, aka Jake Seresin. A follow up to Matcha Lattes & Parking Spots!

Warnings: Language, lots of banter, Jake getting turned on by women who are mean to him.

Part 3 is up!

This was ridiculous. Absurdly so.

He clearly wasn't taking you to dinner because he actually wanted to learn how to park better. He was hoping he could win you over with that small town billboard dentist ad-smile and be allowed into your pants.

Which wasn't happening. No way in hell was he coming near you.

You refused to give him your address. Like hell he was going to learn where you live.

You: I've listened to way too many true crime podcasts to give you my address. You've already shown signs of being a psychopath with how you got a Matcha latte with zero sweetener.

Hangnail: ooo what's your fav podcast? :) :)

You couldn't tell what was more annoying: his insufferable overall being or the fact he responded to every insult with a question whose goal was to learn more about you.

Like he actually wanted to get to know you.

As your grandmother would say, "His cornbread ain't done all the way in the middle."

And yet, here you were, outside the restaurant, waiting to see if this douchebag could show up on time. You didn't have high hopes, considering his parking skills.

"Hey gorgeous."

Fuck, right on the dot.

Your lips couldn't help but part when you turned around and saw the bouquet in his hands.

He brought flowers. The red roses popped against the anemones and white narcissuses. A yellow satin ribbon wrapped around the stems.

"Figured the goddess of love deserved some gorgeous flowers," He grinned.

You wanted to gag.

"You're supposed to take them." You couldn't decide what was worse: that stupid, nearly blindingly white grin or the Texan accent that laced his words.

You hesitantly took the flowers. They were pretty. But they were also given to you by a dude who couldn't park.

And who drank skim milk.

"They're the flowers associated with Venus, the goddess of love," He said. He looked so proud of himself, you could see him dying to pat himself on the back.

You rolled your eyes, "Yes, I also had a Percy Jackson phase and went on Wikipedia to look up what was associated with each God. Also, these flowers are associated with Aphrodite, not Venus."

The living embodiment of a graduated frat bro shrugged, undeterred from your comment, "I mean, they're basically the same."

You took a step back, "No they are not….Jesus Christ, I have to teach you how to park and the difference between Roman and Greek Mythology?"

He just continued to smile, "Told ya I need that second date."

"You need someone to inspect that head of yours," you scoffed, trying to ignore that warm feeling swirling around your stomach as he opened the door to the restaurant for you.

The human hangover had the audacity to laugh at your comment, "My squad said the same thing today."

There wasn't going to be enough alcohol to get through this evening.

—------------------------

You were stunning, absolutely gorgeous. The soft lighting casted a soft glow across your face, highlighting your beautiful features.

Jake was surprised when you pulled out a marker and a sketchpad. You were keeping your word. You were committed.

He loved it.

"So your speed affects the angle you can pull your- are you even listening, Flyboy?"

"To you? Of course," The lovesick look that had taken over his face remained. It would be cute, if it wasn't so insufferable.

You scoffed, "Alright, then paraphrase it for me. You do know what that means, right?"

You looked ethereal as you stared up at him through your lashes. Your brows were raised to indicate your low hopes for him. The way your bottom lip slightly jutted out, forming the most adorable frustrated pout Jake had ever seen.

"Based on your calculated average of my speed, I need to decrease my that by about forty-five percent, which would put me at going thirty five and a half miles per hour. This would increase my adjustment time by," he moved his head back and forth as he paused, briefly counting, "....twelve seconds, which will allow me greater control of switching from a ninety degree angle to hundredth and twenty."

"You pulled that out of your ass," you deadpanned.

"Do the math if you don't believe me." Jake leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms as a smug grin spread across his face.

He didn't know why Javy was so worried. He was winning her over in no time.

"Wow," you looked up from your phone after toying with the calculator app on your phone, "You can do more than just count to one hundred and smile?"

"Darlin," he chuckled, "You don't become the only current generation aviator with two confirmed kills by coasting on good looks alone."

Boom. Stuck the landing. Jake was internally scoffing at Bradshaw's comments from earlier, about how he'd be lucky if he left this date with no wine thrown at his face.

Jake knew he'd have you falling for him in no time, especially after you learned exactly who you were with.

Your face remained the same, apart from a raised eyebrow, "Only two?"

The corners of your lips turn upward into a smirk as that cocky grin of his faltered.

"Within the first month at my last place, my cat brought me four mice and two birds. Just saying," you brought your wine glass to your lips, savoring the few moments of silence.

Jake was thankful he had put the napkin over his lap. It perfectly covered the semi he had been sporting since y'all sat down.

"Birds and mice are not the same thing as what I've done," he nearly huffed.

You grinned, shrugging your shoulders, "I think they're pretty comparable."

Jake huffed, "No they are…."

Oh.

You were trying to rattle him. On purpose. And it almost worked.

He loved it. It was fun, listening to your every word. The fact he actually had to try to see what impressed you. And boy, did he want to impress you.

"Um…are you two ready to order?" Your waiter asked. It wasn't the first time he had come in at an odd point in the conversation with zero context.

You were thankful, because it meant that you wouldn't have to deal with the Abercrombie and Fitch wannabe model's stupid stare. The one where his green eyes literally sparkle and a dreamy smile plastered his face.

"I'll take the hanger steak, medium rare, but with no caramelized onion butter and instead of the garlic mashed potatoes, I'll have the asparagus," you told them.

"I'll have the filet mignon-"

"You're at a steakhouse and you're ordering a filet mignon? The most basic steak?" You scoffed at him.

"Oh, so you're also a meat expert too?" Jake asked, his tone playful.

"My dad was a butcher. It's just soft, there's no other redeeming qualities about it. Ribeye or Hanger is better," you explained as you rolled your eyes.

"Alright, then I'll take the ribeye. Medium rare."

You weren't expecting him to actually listen to you. You were expecting a scoff, an eye roll, a comment about you being too smart, too obnoxious, too annoying.

As if he could sense your confusion, he elaborated, "You said your dad was a butcher. Makes you more than qualified to speak on which cut of steak is the best."

It was uncomfortable, how he hung on to your every word. How he remembered little details. When you mentioned earlier that you had walked to the restaurant, he asked what true crime podcast you listened to on your way here. The way he approached all of this like it was normal, like it was the expected thing to do.

"Also, I have mints, if you want them. No need to avoid great food."

"What the hell are you talking about, GI Joe wannabe?" That feeling of uneasiness began to morph into agitation.

"Look, Venus, you don't need to avoid garlic and onions. I got plenty of mints, so whenever you want to kiss me, just say the-"

A bread roll landing right between Jake's eyes interrupted him.

"I have IBS and avoid dairy so I don't spend the next two hours on the toilet, it has nothing to do with kissing you, you Chippendale reject!"

"So you think I'm attractive enough to be a Chippendale?" Was all Jake took from that conversation.

The second bread roll that landed against his nose made him process what you had actually said.

"So what do you eat when you're sick?"

You should have ordered an Old Fashion. Wine wasn't strong enough for this. You pressed the rim of the glass to your temple, hoping the pressure would be enough to wake you up from this nightmare.

"How did you go from me talking about avoiding dairy so I don't shit myself later, to that?" You would have thrown a third bread roll, but the look your waiter gave indicated you might get kicked out of the restaurant for it.

"It's an important question. Because you can't have Mac and Cheese, or pasta, or broccoli cheddar soup. So what do you eat when you're sick?" Jake repeated, unaffected by your comments.

He was quite impressed with your aiming skills. He imagined the two of you at the Hard Deck, laughing while you threw darts, a gold wedding band adorning your left hand-

"I mean, hard cheeses don't really bother me that much, it's pure cream and milk I really avoid," you shrugged, "Usually I order something with noodles and sauce, like Pad See Ew."

He tapped a finger against his chin, which you were pretty sure could crack a nut with.

"Good to know."

"Good to know?"

"Yeah, it's always good to know what someone likes to eat when they're sick." It was frustrating how you couldn't get a read on him. Was he truly being genuine or was just a dumbass? Or both?

You scoffed, "I don't know why, considering I don't plan on getting sick anytime soon."

"I hope not, I want to see you again sooner rather than later," He smiled, those darn dimples showing again, "but it's good to know for the future."

The future.

There were so many reasons to throw a bread roll at his stupid face. His heinous parking skills. His stupid callsign. The fact he kept insinuating that he would see you again.

It would have been easier if he was just a jerk who was looking to get into your pants. That's what you were used to. Folks who saw you as just another notch in their belt, not someone worthwhile enough to date.

Instead, he had an ego bigger than Texas, couldn't park to save his life and had questionable taste in caffeinated beverages.

“Y’know, I think I finally figured out who you look like,” you said before taking another sip of your wine.

Jake smiled before twirling that toothpick, which you really wished he'd stopped doing because it was extremely distracting.

"Oh really now?" He asked, a devilish smirk on his face.

"Yeah," a smirk of your own formed, "Pretty sure I saw your face in one of the stock images my college used for their responsible drinking course every freshmen had to take. You were the frat douche in the polo with a red solo cup, right?"

He laughed. Full on, threw his head back and laughed.

"You're fuckin' hilarious Venus. I could listen to you for hours," He told you after composing himself.

Fuck, he meant it.

You straighten your shoulders as you look across the restaurant, trying to seem as uninterested as possible, "Lucky for you, there's a lot about you I can critique. You just might get your wish, Officer Headache."

"It's Lieutenant," he corrected, though the smile remained on his face.

You put your hand over your heart, feigning guilt, "Forgive me, Lieutenant Headache."

Jake couldn't be mad. You were clever, seeing that he had picked his rank being more important than getting his call sign right.

He loved it, how clever you were, how witty you were. Talking to you was exhilarating, similar to how he felt when he was flying.

"So why did you join the Navy? Did being an Abercrombie model not work out?" You asked, taking a bite of your bread roll.

Jake chuckled as he shook his head, "Actually, I worked for Hollister."

"Wow, thanks for telling me you peaked in 2009."

"Oh, like you didn't have a less than desirable job in college?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

He was trying to egg you on, but you didn't mind. It was nice to see that he could do more than just give you heart eyes.

"I was a barista all through college because I had some dignity."

"So you are a coffee expert!" His sea green eyes lit up when he spoke. That, combined with how he pointed a finger at you, it was…cute.

Wait, what? No. He wasn't cute. He was annoying and cocky and insufferable and agitating.

He was so close. Jake almost got a smile out of you. You were warming up, he just had to be patient.

He most likely wouldn't get a kiss tonight. But that was fine, he could wait. He had a whole lifetime ahead of him.

"Guess so. Which, to me, means that I can continue to shit on your beverage choices," you shrugged.

"You say it like listening to you talk is a bad thing."

Usually it was for other folks. Why he was an exception was mind boggling.

"But long story short, when you join the Airforce, you get shipped out to the middle of nowhere. I already grew up with that, and wanted a change. The ocean was a getaway."

"Huh, I'm surprised. You can say something that's not completely insufferable."

He loved pleasing you. Jake made a mental note to text his mom later that she would soon get her desired daughter-in-law.

"I'm more than happy to keep surprising you Venus." You gagged.

Thankfully your food arrived before he could say any more. You made a mental note to give your waiter a generous tip.

The roasted asparagus looked amazing and you couldn't wait to take a bite out of-

"Wait! Don't eat that." You looked up at him, your fork inches away from your mouth.

"It has butter on it," Jake explained, causing your eyes to roll.

"I go here multiple times, it does not-"

"Excuse me! What is this roasted in?" Jake asked a nearby waiter, picking up your plate.

"Uh, ghee I believe?" Well, that explains why you always felt bloated after eating here.

Jake shook his head, pointing to you, "She's got a dairy allergy."

The waiter apologized, taking your plate away and assuring you that they'll bring something out quickly.

"Here, have some of mine while you wait." He moved his plate over to you.

"I'm not going to sleep with you," you blurted out. After all, that had to be why he wanted to play the hero, right? Lieutenant Headache could get fucked if he thought that was enough to allow him into your pants.

"I'm aware." He didn't sound broken up about it. Perhaps he already had a list of other girls he could call after your date ended.

"And that doesn't bother you?" You leaned back into your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. Your mind kept trying to think of his offensive driving skills and not the fact that no one had ever paid that close attention to your dietary restrictions before.

"I didn't do that in hopes it would let me into your pants. You said it made you uncomfortable. So….I don't want you to be uncomfortable," he smirked, "Besides, I can wait, Venus. Got a whole lifetime."

You scoffed, as this Great Value brand Captain America was unbelievable, "Is that your way to tell me that you plan to kidnap me or something?"

Jake grinned, "Nah. Just plannin' on marryin' ya."

"I think you need to get your head checked." He couldn't be serious. There was no fucking way.

Why would he? You were mouthy and sharp and loud and….he's had heart eyes ever since you first yelled at him in that fucking parking lot.

Oh God, maybe he was serious.

"Maybe you should learn how to park properly first before you think of marriage." You begrudgingly took a bite out of his steak, ignoring the soft smile that plastered his stupidly handsome face.

"More than happy to show what I've learned from you." You looked up. He was serious.

Which was how you found yourself sitting on the grass, watching the human Hangover show his newly learned parking skills.

"How was that?" He yelled, sticking his head out of his offensive Jeep.

You waltzed over, taking your time as you circled the perimeter of his car.

"You're awfully close to the line on the right," you observed.

Jake scoffed, "But I'm within the line."

"You ever tried to park when some asshat in a big car is nearly over the line? Oh wait," you paused, "you've been that asshat. Anyways, it's next to impossible. So you're still a dick when it comes to parking."

"So what you're saying….is I need more lessons?" Jake asked, leaning out the window of the driver seat.

He didn't want lessons. He just wanted another date with you. It was so obvious and-

"Definitely."

Regret hit you as soon as you saw how his eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across his face.

"So we're going on a second date?"

"It's not a date. You need lessons, that's all."

"Lessons….over dinner?" Jake was hopeful. You were reserved and he didn't blame you. But he could see cracks, a wall that was slowly but surely chipping away.

"I'm picking the restaurant as you've shown with your steak choices that you still can't be trusted. And no, you're not picking me up. The verdict is still out on whether you're a serial killer or not."

"Whatever you say, Venus." Jake made a mental note to tell Bradshaw and Phoenix to suck it tomorrow morning because he has gotten a second date with no wine thrown at him, just three bread rolls.

It was then he realized you had leaned forward and it was the closest he had ever been to you. He could see every mark on your skin, all the different shades of color in your eyes.

Man, he hoped y'all's kids would get your eyes.

You were mentally kicking yourself for allowing him to get so close. The smell of cedar wood was overwhelming, you wanted to gag. His face looked ridiculously smooth, aside from the light stubble that graced the lower half of his face.

And now you could see how his tongue and lips moved that damn toothpick, flipping it around effortlessly-

Nope, you had to get the fuck out of here. You were not about to get caught staring-

"See something ya like, Venus?" He asked, his voice low. Damn it, had he leaned in even more?

You took a deep breath before pursing your lips into a sickeningly sweet smile, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"Yeah, I do…" you voice was breathy as you titled your head up, getting closer to his face. You smelled like cocoa butter and your chest was pushed up against the car door and crap, could see the bulge he was sporting in his lap?

Fuck you were inches away from his lips. Jake mentally scoffed at his squad, what the fuck were they worried about?

"A second free dinner. Please thank Uncle Sam for me next time you see him!" With that you walked away, leaving him hanging.

After taking a few steps, you looked back and couldn't help but giggle. He was in the same position, his eyes widening as he processed what you had done.

You were going to be the death of Jake Seresin.

He couldn't fucking wait.

And thanks to that fakeout, he could see your hands up close, confirming that a pear-shaped gemstone would look best on your left hand.

------------------------------------------------------

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