Date night, Saturday evening.

Maddy: Hello? Is it me you're looking for?

Me: Ha ha, very funny, Lionel Richie. What took you so long to pick up the phone?

Maddy: Nice to hear from you too.

Me: Maddy?

Maddy: Yes?

Me: Help!

Maddy: What's up, babe?

Me: I locked myself out of my apartment and I can't get back in. I'm running late for my date with Sven, and I can't couch surf at your place because Sven set up camp in your and Jonas' living room.

Maddy: Ha ha, love karma bit you hard, bitch!

Me: Maddy! Help me out! Can you pump up the air mattress in your room? I need to stay in your room tonight after my date with Sven!

Maddy: Oi, Jonas! Eva locked herself out of her own apartment and she's late for her first date with loverboy!

Jonas in the background: She's looking for an excuse to sleep at our place with Sven tonight! Tell her there's no need to be shy. Excuses, excuses!

Maddy: Did you hear-

Me: C'mon, Maddy! It's not funny! I'm sleeping over tonight, okay?

Jonas in the background: She'd better get her ass to town. Sven left twenty minutes ago. She's late!

Maddy: Honey, you can sleep in my room. I think you'll be couch-surfing with Sven tonight though.

I heard Jonas snort-laughing in the background while Maddy chuckled.

Me: Thanks, Maddy. I love you! I've got to go now. I need to call a cab.

Here's the thing. I forgot my keys in the apartment as I was excitedly leaving for my date with Sven. My heart was racing and my adrenaline was kicking in at the realization that I was really dating the guy.

However, I didn't think about the keys, which were still on the kitchen counter, until I slammed the front door shut. The door had a push-button doorknob that I automatically pushed whenever I left the house.

Who makes doorknobs with push-buttons these days?

Based on how much I paid to live in this trendsetter's paradise, the apartment manager could at least have some kind of biometric keyless system for front doors.

Oh yeah, speaking of the apartment manager, I rang him before calling Maddy, asking if he could let me in with his spare key. You know what he said? "Read the notice on my office door."

Following the conversation, I walked up to the manager's door and read the one-page notice:

Dear tenants

I am currently on out of the office and will not return until two p.m. on Sunday afternoon.

If the matter is urgent, you can come and see me then.

Regards

Brian Wills
on behalf of the Management Team

What the heck? Now? Really? What if the building was on fire?

I must have been an evil wizard in a past life and now I'm paying my fees.

Brian originally promised me that there would be twenty-four/seven service if I ever needed anything. Yep, it was right before I signed the contract for my apartment before moving in.

"Fucking liar," I cursed.

My mouth was a machine gun firing explosives as I tried to climb back into my apartment. After my failed Spiderman attempt to get back into my apartment through the window, I decided to call Maddy. I managed to twist her arm into letting me sleep in her room.

Honestly, she was my savior who stopped my evening from turning into a cluster-fucked mob of chaos spearheaded for a deep descent down the cliffs of doom.

The disaster started when I fell asleep in the afternoon while watching the cricket, a popular Australian sport, on TV.

Here's a piece of advice to anyone preparing for a first date: do not watch the cricket beforehand.

I repeat: Do. Not. Watch. The. Cricket. You will fall asleep.

By the time I woke up, I had less than thirty minutes to shower, shave (legs and armpits), pluck my eyebrows, pick an outfit, apply makeup, dry and style my hair, roll on some deodorant, and find a versatile pair of shoes that would work for both a football game and possibly a club afterward.

Phew, that was hard work! So, it was no surprise that I forgot my keys.

Twenty minutes late(r)

"Hey Sven, I'm so sorry I'm late," I gushed breathlessly as I flicked wisps of runaway hair sticking on my crimson face, due to the sweltering Brisbane heat.

"I'm glad you called, otherwise I would have left," Mr. Assertive answered, as two angelic dimples emerged from his honest smile. He swung a tan leather jacket over his right shoulder and his left hand was in his jeans pocket, thumb sticking out.

I admired Sven's confidence and directness when he spoke; I instantly knew there were no games with this guy.

"I need to stay over with you at Jonas and Maddy's place tonight. It's a long story about some keys I left in my apartment," I admitted.

Sven raised his left eyebrow at me, and in return, I raised both eyebrows while shrugging my shoulders.

His quizzical look slowly evaporated, followed by the emergence of a sly smile.

"Damn, Eva, you look so pretty," he complimented me, while wearing his big grin.

"Thanks," I blubbered, straightening my blush-pink off-the-shoulder top, which matched well with my skintight jeans and a pair of caramel suede boots.

I pinned my hair back on the left side and let the other side fall into natural waves. My makeup was perfected thanks to MAC for a flawless foundation finish and a rosy blush, Maybelline for the endless lashes, and Lipstick Queen's Frog Prince for lips that don't stain.

With a little help from my cosmetic collection, I radiated like a luscious, seductive nymph ready to blind this Viking with a bucketful of gushing love.

As for the modern-day Norseman, he looked his usual amazing self. Together with his jacket and jeans, he wore a white T-shirt with an unidentifiable word printed Japanese kanji script across his chest. His skin glowed with a natural tan from the Australian sun, and his aquamarine eyes sparkled with delight when they met mine.

"We don't have time for a pre-game drink, but we'll make the bus," Sven stated. "Shall we go?" he held his arm out for me to grab.

I took the bait, like a romance-blinded Disney princess hankering to be led on, and placed my arm around his. Together, we walked toward the bus stop, arms entwined.

I struggled concentrating on watching the Brisbane Lions, my home city's football team, thrash the Sydney Swans during the game that evening, no thanks to the hunky distraction next to me. My eyes were locked on Sven's presence, as he sat by my side at the crowded football stadium.

I completely lost focus while attempting to squirt ketchup from its plastic packet on my fries, when Sven yelped out, "shit!"

It took a few seconds to register what had just happened.

Sven was covered in banners of bloody red ketchup, which trickled down both his jacket and his white shirt. That was my ketchup, and I was guilty as charged, as I held the empty plastic packet, like a gun in my hand.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry, Sven!" I took a wad of serviettes from my lap and started smearing them on Sven's chest.

"Stop, stop! You're rubbing the sauce into the leather," Sven barked in defense, as I attacked him with cheap serviettes.

I stopped my failed effort to wipe the ketchup off Sven, and stared at him. The poor guy's shirt and jacket were soiled and stained with scarlet tomato sauce.

"Have I ruined your clothes?" I winced and groaned, as Sven sighed in defeat.

"I can try to get this dry cleaned on my next pay day," he replied. He just landed a part-time job at the Koala Bar to help him save money for a place to rent. Ingeborg refused to split the deposit money they shared when she kicked him out of their apartment.

"I should pay for the damage that I caused," I offered.

"No, I'll take care of it," he refuted.

"I am really sorry, Sven," I apologized.

Instead of losing his cool, the ketchup-smeared Sven gently caressed my face just before his mouth reached mine. I felt the softness of his full, pink lips and the firm strokes of his tongue, which tangoed with mine.

We were being sucked into the vortex of a new world, as we breathed into each other's air.

I don't know how long we were kissing, but a group of Sydney Swan supporters heckled at us, breaking our love-infused trance.

"Do you want to go for a drink at the Koala Bar," Sven asked.

"With you looking like that?" I pointed at his shirt, triggering him to grimace.

He shrugged his shoulders while I gathered ideas on what to do next.

"I have a suggestion," I asserted, igniting a smile from Sven's face.

About an hour later, Sven and I were at the Koala Bar, drinking beer and listening to the heavy beat of the thumping music.

The dance floor was surrounded by a swarm of people dancing, cheering, and shouting. Meanwhile, Sven leaned over the bar, looking for his next drink.

The only difference between now and the football game was Sven's new T-shirt, which featured a printed photo of Skippy, an iconic fictional kangaroo from a television series that aired in the late 1960s.

"Thanks for the shirt," Sven teased, as I blushed a burgundy Merlot shade.

"I'm so sorry about your shirt and jacket." I lowered my head and raised a pair of puppy dog eyes at him.

"It's okay, Eva." Sven laughed as I lifted up a trite yellow Australiana themed bag containing his stained jacket and shirt.

We had stopped at a tourist shop in the middle of the city, which was open until midnight, on the way to the Koala Bar after the game. Sven had a choice of the Skippy kangaroo T-shirt or another shirt shamelessly displaying a picture of an Australian outhouse, with two words: Dunny time!

Sven was not willing to wear a shirt of an old fashioned outback toilet with words insinuating that he may need to go to the toilet. Instead, he opted for the Skippy shirt. Sven's new shirt was made of thin cotton and the stitching was slightly askew. The photo of Skippy on Sven's shirt was old and grainy. I wondered if the shirt was produced in the 1960s and remained forgotten until we took it off the rack.

I released a slight chuckle, then felt a little mischievous for letting it slip out of my mouth.

"I'm still sorry, Sven." I smiled, as my hazel eyes glinted at his, which reminded me of the calm waters along the coast of the Great Barrier Reef, in northeast Australia, on a sunny day.

"Don't worry about it, babe," he reassured, as he pulled me closer to him. "When I get my first pet kangaroo, I'll call it Skippy."

"So how do you feel about working here as a bartender as of next week?" I asked.

"It's a job, but I have Jonas to thank. He knows the manager here," Sven answered.

"Have you worked at a bar before?"

"Yeah, back in Oslo, while I was finishing my undergraduate degree. I was a part-time bartender at a popular student bar."

I could imagine Sven working behind a bar, serving drinks and being tipped generously for his charming smile.

"Did you get good tips?"

Sven nodded, smiling wickedly. He was finger-licking delicious.

I tiptoed, leaned into Sven, kissed his jaw, and breathed in his summery, clean scent of warm cinnamon and mint citrus.

His hand explored its way down my lower backside, before stopping at an area above my jeans belt. His fingers then slipped beneath my jeans and played with my skin, dangerously evoking a needy craving to make love to him, as the sultry lyrics and dulcet tones of Camila Cabello's Havana resonated in the club.

Not here, I thought to myself, as reality snapped back. We were in a crowded club of dancing bodies and I was eager to leave this public arena for a more private abode.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I implored as I placed Sven's other hand on my chest.

"Yes. Let's go," he murmured into my ear.

***

Author's note: Cupid (or Eros) is out in full form, and he's not holding back! Are you ready for all the sugar and spice in the next chapter?

On another note, the ketchup incident is based on a true #firstdate disaster story. It happened with the real Sven and he's still here by my side.