Sixty dollars. That’s all I need. Just sixty dollars.

That’s how short I am for rent this month. I’m in line at a gas station thinking of ways I can make sixty dollars before the month is over when I hear a whisper.

“You got a boyfriend,” the guy asks. He’s right behind me, but yet, he feels the need to lean over and whisper in my ear.

“No. And I don’t want one. I just want money,” I reply. All I can think about is the sixty dollars.

“Well, I can help you with that, too,” he tells me. “Let me get your number.”

“I don’t give that out; sorry,” I tell him.

“Well, I can give you mine,” he says.

“No, no, that’s okay. If the Cowboys win one more time I’ll meet you back here and I’ll give you my number,” I tell him. I feel like Kristin Wiig yet again in “Bridesmaids” when she refuses to go on a walk with a stranger. That’s how I answered this man.

I just want sixty dollars. And this Kickstart I’m trying to pay for.

I get back in my car and head to work. I’m working the Cowboys game today. I have so much on my mind. I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

This is probably the one hundredth set of stairs I’ve climbed today. I’m exhausted. I’m halfway back up the stairs when a fan stops me.

“Hey! I’d like to get a raffle ticket,” he yells out.

“Sure,” I reply and lean over two other fans to reach for his money.

“Sorry, I’m leaning over you,” I mumble to the guy I’m leaning over.

“It’s fine. But I don’t want a raffle ticket. I want your number,” he says. The voice that came out of this man was unbelievable. I’ve never heard Paul Newman speak, but if I did, it would’ve sounded like that.

Lisa-1. Gas station creep-0.

“Ok, you ready,” I ask.

He thinks I’m kidding. I’m not. I’m very forward. And direct. Subtly is not my strong suit. Most of you should know that by now. So, he gets out his phone, and I give him my number. I waltz right back up the stairs and continue my shift.

The next morning, I get a text.

“It was nice meeting you yesterday, Lisa.”

“Likewise,” I reply.

I’m not in the mood for conversation. I still haven’t made up the sixty dollars I need by the end of the week. I’m extremely stressed. I prayed last night that God would help me figure something out or give me a sign.

“Do you want to go to the Stars game with me?” he asks.

I don’t reply. Watching the Dallas Stars isn’t going to help me pay rent this month. So, I’m not replying. True, watching “Walking Dead” reruns won’t either, but I digress.

After several days of him texting and getting no response I think he’s had enough. I say that because I wake up on Thursday to a text that reads, “First off…” That’s when I know all hell is going to break loose. He goes on about how he’s asked me to multiple events, and I don’t reply. He doesn’t understand that. And that he would like to take me to dinner and get to know me. Blah blah blah. Well I’m still stuck on the “first off” comment, so I snap back.

“First off,” I type out. “I work three jobs, so I’m very busy. When I get off work, I go home and go to bed, or get out with friends if I have the time. So, cool your jets.”

What happens next is completely mind-blowing. I could not even make this up if someone paid me. I’m not kidding.

He sends me his bank statement with the words, “I just wanna let you know that this is what you’re working with.”

Cue Rihanna.

“All I see is dolla signs. Whooooa, money on my mind, money, money on my mind.”

Sixty dollars to be exact.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m an extremely hard worker. And I love to work. But I literally just prayed about this, and is this a sign from God? One that I asked for? A man that could mess up some commas faster than Future could? I go with it.

We make small conversation via text, and he asks me on a date. Direct. I like it. Well, being the neo-Nazi that I am, I tell him I’d like to know his full name before we go out. Aka, I want to creep his social media. He refuses. That’s when a red light goes off. Why won’t this guy give me his last name? Something is suspicious. He sends me his bank statement, but he can’t send me his last name? Something is off. He doesn’t want to meet a gold digger but his opening line to win me over is a picture of his bank statement? Which now that I think about it, it worked because that’s when I actually started texting him back. I don’t know if I should be embarrassed, but I didn’t show interest in this guy until he sent me the financial statement. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t want to sound like a gold digger, but I need sixty dollars. Is this my sign?

However, just because he has money doesn’t mean I’m gonna put my guard down. I still need his last name to go out with him. I don’t want to get Ted Bundy’d. So, once I get off work I instantly begin my “Catfish” tactics. I call my mom and my best friend. Just call us Nev and Max. I google his name and number. After hours of research, no lie, hours, we find this man.

And he’s not who he says he is...

Remember, all I see is dolla signs...