My date had spent the entire evening bragging about his crypto portfolio, his “grindset,” and how he was practically semi-retired at 29.
Then the $200 dinner bill arrived.
He picked up the little black folder, glanced at the total, and slid it across the table toward me with a smug smile.
“I don’t pay for foodie calls,” he said.
The comment was loud enough for the couple at the next table to hear.
He clearly expected me to be embarrassed. Maybe he thought I would panic, start defending myself, or desperately try to prove that I wasn’t the kind of woman he had apparently decided I was.
Instead, I looked directly at him and calmly asked one question.
“What exactly did I do?”
The smile disappeared from his face.
It was my first date with Bryce, someone I had matched with on a dating app a few weeks earlier.
His profile hadn’t raised any immediate concerns. It was fairly ordinary, and our conversations through text had actually been funny. We seemed to have an easy rhythm, so when he suggested meeting in person, I agreed.
