by J. Daniels
What if his voice sucks? I’ve imagined what it sounds like—low and rumbly, like a sexy storm in the distance, but I could be way off here. He could sound like some pervy version of Dr. Willis, or worse, a chick.
I take a chance and go for it, swiping across the screen and putting the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”
“Tessa, hey, it’s Tyler.”
I nearly fall over when the smooth cadence of his voice comes through the phone. “Oh, thank God.”
“Thank God?” The sound of his soft laughter fills my ear. “Are you that happy I called?”
“No. I mean, yeah, I just… you have a really good voice. I was worried you wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, so do you. I really didn’t want to get hard at work, but that might be unavoidable.”
Blushing, I chew on my bottom lip and lean against my desk. “So, what’s up? Are you calling to bail on me?”
“What? Fuck no. Are you kidding? I just realized I haven’t heard your voice yet. It’s been bugging me all day.”
“And now you’re going to be serving beers to men while you sport wood. I hope you’re working at a gay bar.”
He laughs again, fuller this time. One of those laughs that makes you throw your head back and clutch your stomach. “Jesus, you’re something else, you know that? Why do I feel like I’ve met my match with you?”
I smile. “Maybe you have. Not a lot of men can keep up with me though.”
“Maybe I’ll be the first.”
You won’t be.
I swallow, shaking the unwanted thought out of my head. “Yeah… yeah, maybe. So, we are still on for tomorrow night, right?”
“Are you trying to rush me off the phone?”
“What? No, I just assumed… Sorry, I just—I figured you wanted to confirm plans and get back to work. I didn’t think you were calling to just talk to me.”
“Do guys never call you just to talk to you?”
“Not in a really long time.”
“Well, I just did. I’m on my break, and I don’t want to talk to anyone else. Is that okay with you?”
“That’s okay with me.” I pull out my desk chair and sit down, bringing my knees against my chest. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You.”
I blush again. “Okay… What about me?”
“I don’t know. Everything?”
I laugh, picking at the chipped off nail polish on my big toe. “Everything, huh? How long is your lunch break?”
“I can stretch it a few minutes.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
“Yes, hmm.”
“Your hmm is very cute.”
I drop my head against my knee, sighing. “Oh, man.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, I love this part. The flirty beginning stage, when everything is new and perfect.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t hmm me. That’s my line.”
“You own the word?”
“Yes. I’ve been told I’m very cute when I do it. So I call dibs.”
“Well, I think the man who complimented you should have some ownership over that word. He made you smile, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” I answer, reaching up and pressing a finger into my one lonely dimple that sinks in my left cheek.
“Then it’ll be our word. We can both say it, but only to each other. Deal?”
“Hmm.”
He laughs. “I’ve been staring at that picture you sent me a lot. I really like your lips.”
I drop my hand into my lap. “Wow. I could go so dirty with that right now.”
“Yeah? So could I, but I’m at work and no longer alone in the break room.”
“Not a fan of public masturbation? It’s all the rage.”
“You know this from personal experience?”
I shrug. “Nah, I’m more of a ‘get off on a complete stranger’s text messages’ kind of girl.”
“Lucky me.”
My smile spreads, along with the heat that’s burning up my cheeks. “I’ve been staring at your picture, too. You have really great hair.”
“It needs to be cut.”
“No. Don’t cut it.”
“No?”
I shake my head. “No. I like it hanging in your face like that. You look like…”
“The guy from that TV show with the motorcycle club?”
“Uh, yeah, exactly. Are you told that a lot?”
“All the time. I’ll keep my hair long, but I’m not getting my back tattooed like him. I hope you’re okay with that.”
“Yeah, I’m… I’m not really a fan of tattoos.” Or at least, I don’t want to be.
“So I’m assuming I won’t be finding any on your body tomorrow? No cheesy song lyric or book quote, or some other girlie shit?”
“Nope. My skin is very virginal.” I pause, listening to the sound of his heavy breathing. Closing my eyes and leaning back in my chair, I allow myself to be brutally honest with my next admission. “I’m a little nervous about tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because I like talking to you, and if it doesn’t work out, I won’t be able to talk to you anymore.”
“You sound so optimistic.”
I laugh first, and then he joins me.
“Have you ever been out on a blind date before?” he asks.
“No, all my dates have been pretty standard.”
“So, go out on one tonight.”
I frown. “Uh, what? With who?”
“With one of the hundred guys that have probably messaged you on Ignite. Have you logged on lately?”
I move my mouse around, waking up my computer screen. “Not since when you messaged me the first time.” After pulling up Internet Explorer, I type in the URL address and enter my log in information. “Why am I doing this again?”
“Humor me. How many messages do you have?”
I hover over my flashing folder, gasping at the number that pops up. “Holy fuck. Thirty-seven.” I’m suddenly sitting up straighter, feeling like I’ve just been given the best compliment. Thirty-seven? “That’s insane.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I thought so. Pick a guy that’s not as good looking as me, go out with him tonight, and get all your nervous blind-date shit out of the way. Tomorrow when you meet me, it’ll be old news.”
I begin filtering through the messages, scanning the faces of some very eligible bachelors. “Hmm. This could backfire on you.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, I could really hit it off with…” Leaning in, I click on a guy’s information and scan it quickly before continuing. “…Steve from Bridgeport. And then I won’t be meeting you at all tomorrow. He likes going to the beach, and listening to country music. I like those things.”
I hear the sound of a chair scraping against a surface. “I’m not worried.”
“No? Maybe you should be. I’m quite a catch, and you’ve now made me aware of the thirty-seven other men interested in me.”
“Yeah, but they’re not me. You can go out with all thirty-seven of those guys and I’ll still be seeing you tomorrow. You and I both know that.”
His cockiness has me suddenly thinking of someone else and I go silent, no longer focusing on the faces in front of me. Arrogance works for Luke, but with any other guy, it just feels forced.
“You there? I gotta get back to work.”
I force a smile, trying to find the elated mood, which seems to have escaped me. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Hold on.” I hear muffled chatter, followed by, “I’ll be right there.” A door closes before he continues. “You’re going to want to party at this thing tomorrow, right?”
His question throws me off, but I suppose it’s justified. I didn’t really give him any specifics about what goes on at the summer bonfires.
“Oh yeah, definitely. There’s always a ton of booze and stuff there. Last year…”
“Great. I’ll see you then.”
The dial tone rings in my ear and I pull my phone away, staring at the screen, slightly irritated.
Well, that conversation had taken a weird turn.
Besides the sudden abruptness to get me off the line, what guy tells a girl he’s obviously interested in to go out with someone else? Even if it is to alleviate the nervousness I have coursing through my system. I could definitely hit it off with some guy tonight, and I suddenly want to. If only to prove Tyler wrong. He made it seem as if he were giving me permission to do it, and because this guy wouldn’t be him, there wouldn’t be a chance of it becoming anything.
What the fuck, dude?
I don’t need your permission to date. I’ve never even met you. Yes, you’ve already made me come, but that would’ve happened with or without your texts egging me on. You have zero ownership over me, so don’t fucking act like you do.
I’m more motivated now to meet up with a complete stranger tonight than I was when I signed up for this stupid dating site. And SteveMD looks very promising.
I click on his profile, open up the message box, and begin typing with a newfound purpose.
TK12: Hi, SteveMD. I saw you wanted to connect with me. I didn’t know if you were free to meet up tonight, but I am.
I so fucking am.
I press send and grab a water bottle and some grapes out of the fridge. A ding comes from the direction of my computer and I scurry back over, sitting down and placing my snack on the desk.
SteveMD: Hi, Tessa. I’m really glad to hear from you. I was afraid you had already met someone, since you haven’t logged on in over a week.
Yeah, well, Tyler might be a complete dud.
TK12: I’ve just been really busy.
SteveMD: I get that. I’d love to meet up tonight. I saw you’re in Ruxton. That’s only thirty minutes from me. Where do you want to meet?
Somewhere with a lot of people, just in case the MD stands for Murderous Dickhead.
TK12: Do you mind driving here? There’s this really good sports bar that just opened up in town. Joe’s Pub.
SteveMD: Not at all. That sounds great. I just need to line up a sitter for my kids and then I can get on the road.
Oh, sweet. A family man. SteveMD just got hotter.
TK12: Aww, you have kids? How many?
SteveMD: Two. They’re my entire life. I can probably leave my house around seven thirty. Is that too late for you?
TK12: Nope. I’ll meet you around eight.
SteveMD: Can’t wait. I’ll see you tonight.
Yes, you certainly will.
***
I purposely show up early to dinner, parking near the entrance so I’ll be able to eye up Steve when he arrives. Considering the fact that we didn’t do the whole “send me a selfie” confirmation, I need to make sure this guy somewhat resembles his profile picture before I waste a perfectly good outfit on him. I pull my visor down and check my hair and makeup for the tenth time in the past five minutes, when a car’s headlights grab my attention.
Flipping the visor up, I watch as the SUV pulls into a parking spot and cuts off his lights. A man steps out, straightening his tie, and lifts his head the slightest bit, allowing me to see his face. He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair and closes his door before walking toward the entrance. It’s definitely him, thank God, and I’m kinda loving the fact that he dressed up for this. After he disappears inside the restaurant, I grab my clutch and exit my car, ready for my first official online date.
I picked Joe’s Pub because I knew it would be packed on a Friday night. I want a crowd; something to blend into in case this guy disinterests me completely. And to have some witnesses, in case he turns out to be a psychopath. Some baseball game is playing on all the giant TV screens, and a group of men are congregating in front of the one hanging above the bar, drinking and exchanging alcohol-induced conversations. Almost every high-top table is occupied as I scan the room, finally landing on Steve who is smiling at me from his stool.
He stands when I reach the table. “Hi, wow, you look great.” Unexpectedly, he leans down and presses his lips against my cheek.
“Oh, um, thank you.” I flatten my hand against his dress shirt, closing my eyes and inhaling his cologne. These are the first lips that have been on me in twelve months, but my body is responding as if it’s been twelve years. My breath catches somewhere between my chest and my throat, lodging itself there. When he ends the kiss, I drop my head to hide my flush, then pull my stool out and take a seat as he does the same.
He slides a menu across the table, smiling. “So, I need to be upfront with you about something.”
“Okay,” I reply with apprehension as I open my menu. If this guy drops the married bomb in my lap, I will not be held responsible for my actions.
“I’m not twenty-eight like my profile says. I’m thirty-three.”
“Why would you lie about that?” I hear the slight tinge of anger in my voice and see him react to it. Strike one.
He swallows, dropping his gaze to the table. “I had my actual age on there for a while and didn’t get one date. So I did a little experiment and dropped a few years, then all of a sudden, my inbox is flooded with requests.” He looks up at me. “I hope age isn’t a deal breaker for you.”
“No, but lying doesn’t really work for me.”
He frowns, nervously tugging at the knot in his tie. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier when you messaged me. I didn’t lie about anything else on there.”
I drop my eyes to the menu, scanning the choices of wing flavors I no longer want to consume. Is every guy a complete tool? His hand covers mine, prompting me to lift my gaze. “What?”
“I’m really sorry. If you don’t want to go out with me again, I get that. At least let me show you a good time tonight. I swear, I’m not an asshole. I’m just lonely.”
Yeah, I know what that’s like. And it’s not as if he lied about something major, like his gender, which would have prompted me to punch him in his or her baby-maker. So, I’ll give him a pass on this.
I nod, forcing a smile, and he removes his hand. A young waitress comes up to our table and places a coaster in front of each of us.
“Hi, my name’s Erin, and I’ll be taking care of you two tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
Steve stares at me, waiting for my response with a look of reluctance. As if he’s expecting me to walk out of here instead of placing my order.
I ease his mind and glance up at the waitress. “I’ll have a water with lemon, please.”
She looks over at him, lifting her eyes from the notepad she just scribbled on.
“I’ll take a Coke.”
The waitress walks away as Steve opens his menu, his shoulders relaxing as he settles more on his stool. “So, I have to ask the obvious question. How in the hell is a woman that looks like you not married? Or needing to find dates online?”
“I could say the same for you. You’re not lacking in the looks department.”
He smiles as the waitress places our drinks in front of us. “Need another minute?”
“Please,” I reply, taking a sip of my water. I place my glass down and lick my lips. “Have you ever been married?”
He nods, running his finger along the rim of his glass. “Once. We met in high school and married when we were nineteen. I was young and stupid and thought that everything was always going to be perfect. It wasn’t, and instead of talking to me about why she wasn’t happy, she slept with my brother.”
My mouth drops open and I let go of my menu. “Jesus. That’s terrible. Is she who you have the kids with?”
“Yeah, but I always cared about them more than she did. When we divorced, she wanted nothing to do with them.”
Shock sets into my features as I take in what he’s just said. “Seriously? What kind of a person washes their hands of their own kids?”
“Someone who didn’t want them in the first place.” He reaches his hand behind him, his lips cur
ling up into a smile. “Want to see a picture?”
I lean forward anxiously, resting on my elbows. “Absolutely.”
He opens his wallet, picks out a small photo, and flips it around for me to see.
What in the motherfucking fuck?
My eyes flick from the picture to his face, back to the picture. There’s no way in hell I’m drinking water. I must be drinking straight vodka right now for my eyes to betray me like this. In fact, no, there’s no way. I must be delusional.
“They’re adorable, aren’t they?”
I lean closer, blinking several times before I re-focus.
Nope. I’m not imagining things.
I look up at him, taking several deep, calming breaths through my nose before I speak. “Is this some sort of a joke?”
He looks insulted. “Is what some sort of joke?”
I snatch the picture out of his hands, turning it so he can see it. “This! You refer to your fucking gerbils as kids? Who does that?”
He grabs it back, pointing at it aggressively with his finger. “Gerbils? These are Abyssinian guinea pigs. Don’t insult them.”
“Wow. You wanna know what’s a deal breaker for me? Guys named Steve.” I stand, grabbing my clutch with one hand and my glass of water with the other. I walk up beside this complete waste of my time, hold my glass over his lap, and turn my hand over.
“What the fuck?” he yells, standing as the water soaks into his khakis. “Why did you just do that?”
All commotion seems to come to a halt around us, the noise level dying down, allowing the sound of the baseball game to become more prominent. I tuck my clutch under my arm, cover my mouth with both hands, and blow him a kiss before holding up both middle fingers as I back away from the table.
“Deuces, loser.”
I turn, pushing my way through the packed bar and out to the exit. I can’t get to my car quick enough and after turning it on, I watch out my front window as a very irritated-looking gerbil lover walks to his vehicle, ripping the tie off from around his neck. I can’t believe I actually thought it was sweet he dressed up for this. That’s all Luke’s fault. The only time he…
I stop mid-thought, dropping my head onto the steering wheel and hissing a curse.
My emotions go haywire in an instant. I feel manic, overwhelmed and incapable of surviving much more of this. I clamp my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and scream as loud as I can. God, why can’t I stop thinking about him? Why? What the fuck is it? I just want to go one day without his name poisoning my thoughts. Or one hour. I need one hour.
