the candle swayed, dancing with the sound waves produced by the other conversations the other couples were having on the other tables. valentine's day - the restaurants busiest night. as well as his.

date #3 was in the bathroom after she excused herself with a sly grin to powder her nose or whatever it was that girls did in there. he was glad for the break though; his muscles still ached from his afternoon with date #2, not to mention the tumble in the morning with date #1. but that was all just child's play. now it was crunch time. happy hour had just begun and with two more dates to go tonight, he was open for business. speaking of:

his phone buzzed. as a precautionary measure, he always placed his phone screen down while on dates, just in case the generic caller id in the form of mum, boss, doctor or bank didn't come through. the timing was pleasing - with his current date away from the table he was free to answer the call. he picked up his phone and glanced at the name before clicking answer. nephew. it was date #4.

"hey,"  he said, lowering his voice to the sultry register that made dogs stand to attention and girls melt.

"hey yourself," she replied. "really looking forward to tonight."

"mmmm, me too."

"i can barely wait and since yoga class finished early i was wondering, what are you doing now?"

for a moment he was mildly distracted by the thought of yoga and the different positions he wanted to try, but he quickly snapped back to attention. he decided to use the easiest lie in his arsenal. ladies loved a hardworking man, especially ones with a stable career, and would definitely understand if he was 'stuck in the office and the only thing getting me through is knowing that i'm going to see you soon, gorgeous'. he opened his mouth to work his magic and said, "i'm on a date."

"excuse me?" she laughed nervously, assuming he was joking around and, though he wanted to punch himself in the face for nearly ruining a perfectly planned night, he snatched at that opportunity to save himself.

"haha, haven't you heard of a joke? i'm-" he stopped when he noticed date #3 emerge from the bathroom. as she weaved between tables, eyes locked on him like an avid bird watcher to a kakapo, he tried to come up with his next cover. i'm at the office, he would say, and the boss is coming by so i gotta go. i'll pick you up at eight. yes, that would work. he mentally prepared his lines but his mouth had different plans.

"yeah, i'm on a date," he said. "with another girl and she's coming back now so i have to go. i'll pick you up at eight." he hung up the phone to date #4's spluttered cries.

though he was very much shook up from the absolute freak accident that just occurred, he slipped on his most charming smile for date #3. even olympians have off days, he reminded himself and focused on his current trophy.

"sorry, you wouldn't believe the queue," she laughed as she slid back into her chair. "so, where were we?"

as she leaned in closer to him across the table, a strand of perfectly curled blonde hair spilled out from behind her ear. he reached over to wrap it slowly around his finger, her eyes watching him like he was a hypnotist and she was completely under his spell.

"well," he crooned, "i'm picking up another girl in about thirty minutes so i was just going to take you back to my car for a quickie and then dump you by a bus stop or something to find your way home, alright?"

she shot back into her seat and her jaw hung fascinatingly close to her exposed cleavage. "also," he continued, words falling out like a fatal avalanche, "if you can pay for dinner that would be fantastic. i mean, you did eat half the menu."

he smiled at her seductively. she was not returning the expression which was unusual for him. instead, she picked up the glass full of the most expensive wine the restaurant had to offer (he momentarily recalled the internal cringe he experienced when she ordered it) and threw it straight into his face.

"ASSHOLE!" she yelled and stormed off to the shocked faces of the other diners.

his testosterone-controlled brain scrambled to comprehend what had just happened as the wine rolled down his defined cheekbones and slipped past his lips. the opulent taste pooled under his tongue and he fought to not spit it out - he'd always been a beer guy himself. he didn't need to glance down at his favourite white shirt to know that it was stained blood-red, giving him the appearance of a man who had just left a massacre. he was very confused.

the waitress came forward with a towel to clean up the mess. he recognised her. she was young, probably a student working off debts. he frequented this restaurant often with dates and she was usually here. however, this time, rather than scoffing at his lies from behind the host stand, she only looked at him with immense pity. he glared back at her until a thought softened his gaze. but it was only a myth. an old wive's tale. it couldn't be.

oh no.

he was going to die next week.

(writing prompt: in the week before their death, people cannot tell a lie or omit information)
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