Mister Romance

by Amelia Simone

  She wrinkled her nose. “So, he’s not a neat freak like you? I guess that could be character building. What did he say about the wedding?”

  I tilted my head from side to side, trying to put my excitement and nerves into words without tipping her off. “Eh. He said he’d go. He seems to feel like he owes me one, but is anyone excited about going to a stranger’s wedding?”

  Gina nodded, setting her short red hair dancing like a flame. “Yes. I love weddings. Straights take them for granted because they’ve always been an option. Me and Vicki? Not so much. Plus, I love cake,” she said, patting her curvy hip.

  “Did anything else happen? Discovery of hidden secrets? Longing glances? Anything?”

  I shifted my feet. I hoped I’d hidden my longing glances. “We talked, he cooked me dinner, and I asked him for my favor.”

  I sat with my guilt at deceiving Gina for a moment before pushing it away. Talking about my feelings for Chase seemed dangerous. Not just to my bikini line, but to my heart. It was too soon.

  Gina looked crestfallen for a moment before she smoothed out her disappointment and nodded knowingly. “He cooked for you. That’s a good sign. Take it from me. Marry someone who can cook. Looks fade, but hunger doesn’t.”

  “Ha. Is that more life coach advice? Do you want Vicki to know you said that?”

  My threat was empty, and I didn’t fool Gina. She snorted. “You know Vicki can’t cook. But bless her, she tries.”

  The next week at work passed in a haze of deliveries. Dr. Sharma, an English-born anesthesiologist and resident heartbreaker, had racked up another five proposals in the nurses’ betting pool. Rumor was he’d had family visiting from the UK, and that always amped up his accent. I had deliveries with both Dr. Edwin and Dr. Truong. Truong was always my favorite; she was married with two teenagers and had a devilish sense of humor. Sometimes her jokes were a little odd, but I still loved her for trying. Her latest in between deliveries was, “Why did the doctor get called to human resources?”

  Her eyes danced. “Do you give up?” At my nod, she continued, “He told his patient she had acute angina.”

  I groaned. That was bad, even for Dr. Truong. Luckily, I’d gotten her to stop asking patients how much pain they were in on a scale from one to stepping on a Lego.

  I spent the next four hours of my shift on Friday bouncing between two laboring patients, letting work distract me from thinking about Chase. One first-time mother had shown up with the world’s most complicated birthing plan. I admired her optimism. Should a mom have soothing monk chants and a diffuser wafting the soothing scents of chamomile and lavender during her delivery if she wanted them? Absolutely. Did she bring either of those things in her birthing bag? No. Consequently, she sent her partner shopping. At ten at night. In downtown Tacoma. He might get lucky at an all-night pharmacy, but I was worried he’d spin his wheels and strike out by missing the birth entirely. It wouldn’t be my first time playing birth partner, but I knew that they’d both be disappointed if he missed their son’s grand entrance.

  My other patient wasn’t as far along but needed a lot of help. Her husband was deployed overseas, and her support person hadn’t been reachable at first. Her friend was now on the way, and I was glad. My heart went out to those mamas who delivered on their own. I did my best to help them feel supported and encouraged, but my heart ached for them. I always worried about what would happen when they left the hospital, and hoped they’d have the support they needed.

  Witnessing the joy and pain in the delivery room had me questioning if I wanted kids. I had a front row seat to one of life’s biggest changes—becoming a parent. Struggling to keep a commitment to dance classes and take the odd romantic risk was nothing compared to parenting. I watched the supportive partners, the reluctant or scared ones, and those deeply in love. All had one thing in common. They were letting a piece of their hearts leave their body, housed in a fragile infant. It was hard to imagine that risk and commitment, let alone someone loving me enough to scour late-night stores to bring me exactly the right music.

  After my shift, I was glad to see a message from Chase. It was still a struggle adjusting to his real identity. I’d thought of him as Virginia for so long, and every time I saw a notification from @VirginiaRothman I suffered a moment’s confusion, remembering who was actually behind the avatar. I needed to ask him if he wanted me to keep his identity a secret among my friends and family. If not, I was going to need a different story for how we met before the wedding.

  I blew out a heavy breath. Nick’s wedding. The countdown was on; it was only three weeks out. I still didn’t have a dress, and Gina was threatening to take me shopping. Going with the flow would mean hours of Gina pressuring me into a long, formal gown more appropriate for senior prom than a family wedding. Her eyes lit up when she showed me pictures on her phone of mermaid gowns with a full bodice of sequins. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t tall enough to pull off either. But it was hard to resist her enthusiasm and inevitably I agreed to meet up with her on our next day off if I didn’t magically find something before then.

  I still owed Chase a debrief on my family before the wedding too. It was only fair to let him know what he was getting in to. I stared glumly at his earlier message, trying to work up the enthusiasm to face family talk. It wasn’t that my family was awful. They’d be perfectly pleasant to him, minus a few pointed questions. There’d be a razor-sharp stiletto or two, but most would be paper cuts. Annoying, but not deep. I clicked back into my messages to find his unanswered request.

  VirginiaRothman: Would you have some more time for me this week? Maybe get wedding info?

  My stomach churned. Seeing Chase again would be great. Talking with him about my family, revealing how they saw me? Not so great. If he suggested any other reason to meet, I would have jumped at the chance to see him again.

  TamraRN: Sure.

  Yikes. He deserved more than lukewarm acceptance. After all, he was doing me a favor, and I liked Chase. Too much. He was a little goofy, but that seemed to make him more accepting of my oddball verbal tangents. I respected his passion and commitment to his work. I was less enthused about him hiding behind his Virginia Rothman identity, but I didn’t know the ins and outs of the publishing world. Maybe that was normal? I tried to redirect the conversation, hoping to take the focus away from my family.

  TamraRN: Ask me anything. I always have answers. They might be wrong, but I’ll confidently answer. Maybe we could cook together at my place this time? I need lessons!

  It was late, and I didn’t expect him to reply. Good little writers were probably in bed at—I looked at my watch—two thirty in the morning. My phone buzzed with his response before I finished my thought.

  VirginiaRothman: It would be my pleasure.

  My pulse raced contemplating his pleasure. I could think of all kinds of things I’d like to learn about him. Like how salty his skin would be. If the muscles in his chest were as firm as I remembered from our first hug.

  Stop it.

  He was doing me a favor. Maybe multiple favors if we were cooking together too. That’s where it would end. As friends. Meeting my family and learning that I was the boring one, the quitter, the underachiever, was sure to be a turn-off. I ignored the voice that said I was quitting before we’d even begun. I replied with a day that worked for me before eating a quick dinner and winding down with a book before bed. Without realizing the irony, I’d downloaded a new romance novel with a fake wedding date trope, and without warning, my visualization of the hero transitioned from a brown-eyed, heavily-muscled security consultant protecting the heroine into a lankier, blue-eyed, messy-haired writer. The vivid description of each suck, stroke, and nibble stoked images of another wedding date. Another fantasy, yet potent nonetheless. The beauty of reading? No one else would ever know I had damp panties thinking about that mouth.

  THAT WEEK’S POLE DANCE class was the fourth and final in the series. With her usual calm, Meghan interrupted our chat
ting and asked us to take our seats on the yoga mats. She smiled and looked around the room as she shared the week’s ice breaker question.

  “What is one thing you’re taking away from this class series that you’re proud of?” She let the question sink in before continuing. “When I started as a student, I was shy. Learning to dance helped me build confidence that ultimately led to teaching. If you met me seven years ago, you wouldn’t recognize me now. That confidence has made all the difference.”

  What was I proud of? I’d lost some of my discomfort dancing in front of other people. I’d come to appreciate that my body could not only do all the practical things I asked of it, but that I could also move fluidly and feel sexy.

  I hadn’t thought of myself as sexy for years. In nursing, you had to keep your shit together. Display too much emotion and you got a reputation as being unreliable. Easily excitable nurses risked becoming either a zombie or a burnout. To combat both, I’d learned to ruthlessly modulate my emotions and exude competence.

  I’d gotten so good at staying calm, my reserve often read as uninterested in romantic situations. Mellow and cool didn’t spark passion in others, as evidenced by my lack of second date invitations. For once, I’d changed that. With dancing, I’d found a way to break through my reticence and tap into passion. It probably wasn’t enough to unlearn the patterns set over years, but I was enjoying reconnecting with my body. Seeing what it could do. Feeling the music and appreciating that my curves let me move with sinuous grace. I could be sexy. I could be free.

  “I started this class as a kind of self-dare, but after trying it, I love it,” I admitted.

  Meghan’s smiled. “So, you’re saying you’re signing up for the Heels Series next?”

  Only if broken ankles were sexy. Bare feet were all I could manage.

  “The next Spin Series for sure. Give me a year or ten before trying heels.”

  As everyone wrapped up sharing, Meghan moved us into the meat of class, and I worked hard to master the new spin she demonstrated. When it was time to move on to the dance portion, Meghan reminded us that videoing ourselves was allowed, so long as we didn’t capture any other students.

  I toyed with the edge of my tank top, biting my lip. Part of me wanted to be able to watch myself again and see how much I’d improved. I also wanted it as proof to show Gina that I’d made good on my birthday wishes. But any kind of video record could be misused. I had deleted the video I’d taken last class immediately after watching it. Maybe keeping my first video for comparison would have been better, but replaying again, I noticed every mistake. Becca and a few other classmates went for their phones, and I slowly followed. I reminded myself that pushing through discomfort was part of the challenge.

  As the first beats of the song played over the speakers, I tried to think of who I wanted to be sexy for. Me, obviously. But thoughts of dancing for Chase beckoned. What would it be like to lose my cool with him? A frisson of heat flowed through me at the acknowledgement. Would he be surprised that the buttoned-up nurse he met was the teensiest bit wild? I imagined him sitting against the wall in a chair watching me, his jaw hanging low. For once unable to say anything inappropriate that might break the mood. Fantasy Chase kept quiet. With my fake audience in mind, I rolled into the first steps of the routine.

  As my hand dragged down the wall, feeling every bump and bubble along the surface, I imagined Chase sitting behind me, a glazed look on his face. As I hit the hip circles, there was a little extra bump to my grind, and I was able to slow it way down. My eyes were softly closed, but I could sense other movement around the room as I slow walked to my pole.

  Behind my eyes, I could see fantasy Chase leaning forward in his chair as he watched. My booty snaked up in a body roll as I stood and step-spinned around the pole until my back was to it, my right arm above me grasping the pole. I slowly slid down, down, down, dragging my back against the pole inch by inch until I was seated on the floor with it behind me, my right knee bent.

  In my mind’s eye, Chase was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, but unable to take his eyes off me. I swept my right arm behind me, lying on my side on the floor before bringing my left toe to my knee and extending it up above my head. In yoga pants the leg show was tame, but in something skimpier he’d be getting a money shot. I rolled from my side to my front against the floor and pushed back, arching into a child’s pose. I grabbed the pole and used it to pull myself across the floor on my knees, thrusting my hips around in a circle before using the pole to stand.

  The last spin was the most difficult, and I tried to imagine Chase’s reaction as I strutted around the pole before gripping it and spinning around it backward, my back arched, and left leg wrapped around the pole at the knee. I slowly spun all the way to my knees on the floor.

  I was vaguely aware of my classmates finishing their routines as the music came to a close. I opened my eyes to see a lot of dreamy looks and satisfied faces around the room.

  We grabbed our phones and completed a quick cool down before assembling in the outer vestibule to put on our shoes and chat. I finally worked up the nerve to talk more with Becca.

  “Your dancing is beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “Not bad for a tax accountant, right?”

  I chuckled and pointed to myself. “Nurse. Not even the naughty kind.”

  She gave me a conspiratorial smile. “Coulda fooled me. Will I see you in the next series?”

  “Definitely.”

  Not the answer I would have imagined a few weeks ago, but committing felt right. I didn’t want to give up this powerful feeling and go back to my practical scrubs. I thought Becca could be a friend. More classes together would give us that chance.

  I had a message from Chase waiting on my phone when I checked it after class.

  Chase: Have you figured out what you want yet?

  Chase: For dinner, I mean.

  I blushed a little, thinking about my fantasies from dance class. He’d inspired me, and I wondered if the feeling was mutual. Despite his tacked-on clarification, was he asking if I wanted him?

  Tamra: Everything sounds good.

  So much truth in three tiny words.

  Chapter 15 - Chase

  Jimmy and I met at the gym, and he couldn’t resist teasing me about my dinner with Tamra. “So, how’d it go, Mister Romance? Did you woo the lady?” he asked.

  I shook my head at him. “You know it wasn’t like that. She’s helping me out.”

  “Oh, yeah? What did she wear to dinner?”

  “Clothes.”

  “Was any cleavage on display?” he probed.

  I nodded, and he pursed his lips and tilted his head. “I’m pretty sure she’s into you if the girls were on display. Women don’t come to a single man’s place with their boobs out unintentionally.”

  Jimmy continued, warming to his topic. “I have a theory. If the boobs are on display and it’s not a natural place for said plumage, for example, a bar, then it’s premeditated boobage. That shit doesn’t just happen. Women are very aware of their cleavage game. If they’re unsure of you, they might reveal a hint. More likely they’re wearing something like a crew neck T-shirt to cover the girls up altogether. Maybe a turtleneck if you’ve really made them uncomfortable.”

  Jimmy had obviously thought about women’s breasts and their meaning a lot. Which was saying something, as I was the one who wrote romance novels. My knowledge of women’s fashion was limited, and it probably showed in my writing. Should I be weaving more meaning into my heroine’s necklines?

  I could see his logic and was trying to recall exactly what Tamra had worn when he asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be the authority on romance here? What about body language? What was it saying?”

  “Keep away. It took her a long time to relax, and toward the end of the night she froze up again, but I think I understand why.”

  “Did she have a deep, dark secret?” he asked.

  I shook my head. �
�No, just a favor to ask.”

  “What was the favor? Did she want you to sign her breasts?” he asked with a smirk.

  I shook my head harder. “No. I don’t think that’s a thing. I’m not Chris Hemsworth. She wanted to see if I’d go with her to a family wedding.”

  It was Jimmy’s turn to shake his head. “Man, that sounds terrible. I hope you declined.”

  “How could I? She’s helped me so much with my research. I can endure a couple of hours of family torture in return.”

  Jimmy shuddered. “Torture may be more accurate than you think. Remember that woman, Emily, that I went out with for a while? She roped me into going with her to a family wedding. I thought it would put her in a romantic mood, so I said yes. We ended up getting stuck supervising five kids under ten the whole time. Total nightmare. It definitely did not set the mood for sex. I wanted to perform my own vasectomy by the time we were done.”

  My response was deadpan. “Well, at least if I want a vasectomy after, my date is a nurse.”

  It was my turn to grill him as we moved on to another workout station. “So, how was your date? Weren’t you meeting up with someone too?”

  Jimmy nodded. “Yes, the beautiful Janine,” he said, drawing a curvy hourglass figure in the air with his hands.

  “Knock it off. You look like you’re in an old LL Cool J video.”

  His grin was mischievous. “Well, the ladies do love this cool J too. And I love them back.”

  “Other than curvy, how was Janine?” I asked.

  “Limber,” he added with a smile.

  “Are you going to see her again?”

  “If there is a God, yes.”

  I laughed at his fervent reply. “So, have you made any plans, Mr. Cool?”

  “We’ve been texting almost every day. Our schedules are just off.”

  “Well, good luck with that.”

  “For limber, I can wait.”