Confessions of a Reformed Tom Cat

by Daisy Prescott

  Shit. I really could be an asshole when it came to the things that came out of my mouth. I inhaled and counted . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .

  “I like you. I, um, I wanted you to know it wasn’t only about the sex.”

  She crinkled her nose and her mouth twitched between a frown and a smile. “Thanks for saying so. It’s okay if it was.”

  My fingers quieted. “Was it for you? Only about the sex?” I wiped my palm on my jeans. We’d stopped at the light at the bottom of the hill. I had about two minutes to find my manhood before she’d be getting out of the truck.

  “Honestly? It was. At the beginning.”

  The light flipped to green and I pulled forward to the toll booths. Out of time. Time to man up.

  “Hey, you want to go grab a bite to eat some time?” I allowed myself to focus on her eyes. “Or a drink?”

  Her eyes narrowed, but her lips lifted into a small smile. “Are you asking me out?”

  I rubbed my jawline. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  After paying, getting my change, and steering the truck into a lane to wait, she still hadn’t answered. She sat there in the passenger seat with her small smile. The low bellow from the ferry arriving at the dock broke the silence. She opened her door, and with her hand on the handle, she jumped down.

  “Yes,” she said before the door slammed shut. With a wave over her shoulder, she strode toward the parking lot.

  I sat in the idling truck, smiling like a fool.

  My smile faded halfway through the short ferry crossing to Mukilteo.

  I think I asked Hailey out on a date, which was a huge problem because I didn’t date. Ever.

  I had no idea what to do. This change stuff threw me upside down and sideways. Dating? Me?

  Did I make a reservation? We’d eaten food together before. I knew she ate.

  Of course she ate food.

  Should I bring her something?

  Flowers?

  Candy?

  I’d never seen either at her house.

  I realized the perfect person to ask all the questions about courting a woman would be Clifford. As the smoothest flirt I knew he would have given me the classic tips without judgment. Missing him all over again, I realized I’d have to channel my inner Clifford.

  What would Clifford do?

  He’d probably show up doused in cologne and hair pomade. Maybe a cowboy hat, or a fedora, depending on the decade.

  Okay, those weren’t going to work on Hailey. Did Aqua Velva exist anymore? Or was it Old Spice he wore? I’d never even tried aftershave and hadn’t worn cologne since a weird period in high school where I smelled like an artificial pine car freshener after Caroline told me she liked some cologne. Hailey would probably laugh.

  Skip the pomade and aftershave.

  Sweet talk and compliments. He always laid them both on thick. Again, she might laugh.

  Flowers might work.

  I’d have to go to Mukilteo.

  Wait, no. I’d buy them here. And if anyone asked, who cared? This was new Tom. Dating Tom.

  Right.

  I set up a plan of action in my head.

  By the time the ferry docked, I smiled again. I could do this. If I got nervous, I’d imagine her naked.

  MY BRILLIANT PLAN had a fatal flaw. I hadn’t actually asked Hailey out on a specific date. Clearly, I sucked at dating and making plans. I think the last real date I’d been on had been prom. No way was I showing up with a corsage and a bow tie.

  Dinner. I’d ask her to dinner. People who dated went to dinner. It was the classic first date. Maybe over in town and away from nosey islanders. I could make a reservation. Okay, I had this. I could be the guy who did dinner and dating.

  All Sunday I debated whether to text her, call, or ask her at work. Texting seemed too much like a hook-up. Work had its own risks and potential opportunities for being overheard or interrupted. I could catch her in the parking lot after. Would it be considered stalking if I hung around her car waiting for her like Daryl?

  Cross off parking lot lurking.

  In the end, I didn’t have to worry. The entire conversation lasted five seconds when I ran into Hailey in the hallway on Wednesday.

  “Friday work for you?” I asked as we approached each other, barely slowing down my pace.

  “This Friday? Sure.” She gave me a slight smile.

  “Six?” I asked as we passed

  “Six is good.” Her fingers brushed mine.

  “I’ll pick you up.” I tugged her sleeve.

  “Looking forward to it,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Me too.” I grinned to myself as I pushed open the door to the yard.

  Done.

  On the way home from work on Friday, I stopped in Bayview for flowers. I felt like a ninja when I pulled into the parking lot and studied the cars and plates to make sure no one I knew, including the gossip ladies, were there. Inside, I stuck to the perimeter of the shop where the fridges were located. Buckets of flowers, fancy arrangements, and a surprising number of baskets involving little ducks crowded the displays. No way would I be buying something with a duck stuck to it.

  A middle-aged woman entered the space through a curtain leading to what I assumed to be a backroom. I wasn’t the first lost man in her shop from the way she obviously took pity on me and offered to pick out something. I wanted simple, no animals, no roses, and none of those little white flowers which reminded me of corsages.

  On the bottom of one fridge sat a bucket of big flowers in whites and pinks. One of the pinks was the exact same color as Hailey’s nipples. The scent was light, nothing too old lady.

  Decision made. Sweat dampened my neck by the time she wrapped my choice in cellophane. She gave me a card, telling me to call her next time I needed anything and she could take my information over the phone. Grateful, I thanked her profusely for all of her help. Better than flowers from the grocery store, which I’d considered until I determined it would be as inconspicuous as skywriting I had a date.

  Friday night after jerking off in the shower and trimming my beard, I tried on two different shirts and spent five minutes debating whether or not to wear boots. I mentally slapped myself, threw on a deep blue shirt, dark jeans, and my favorite boots, reminding myself the entire time this was a date, not a job interview, and I was a man, not a teenage girl.

  When Hailey opened the door wearing a deep green dress and high boots, I was happy I hadn’t shown up like a schlump in an old flannel and T-shirt.

  “These are for you.” I held out the bouquet of pink flowers. “They reminded me of your skin when you blush.” Smooth. I could do this.

  A rose color spread along her cheeks. I softly skimmed the heated skin. “There. Exactly like that.”

  Still touching her cheek, I whispered, “I think they’re peonies.”

  “They are. Thanks.” She took the bunch in her arms and I realized it was huge. “There are so many of them.”

  “I might have gotten carried away.” When the flower lady asked me my budget, I hadn’t wanted to appear cheap.

  “A little, but it’s been ages since anyone has given me flowers.”

  She put them in water while I waited near the door.

  “Ready?” she asked when she returned. With a quick peck to my cheek, she wiggled her arm under mine. “If you’re nervous, don’t be.” With a little squeeze of her hand, she tugged me out the door.

  To calm myself, I checked out her ass and long legs in those boots. Of course she caught me.

  “You look good, too.” She waited by the passenger door for me to open it.

  I jogged to my side of the truck and got in, then sat there waiting.

  “Tom?” Her hand rested on my thigh.

  “Yeah?” I covered her hand with mine.

  “Are we having this date in the truck?”

  “Oh, right!” I started the engine. “Sorry.” I gave her a sheepish smile.

  “You’re a mess.” She dissolved into laughter.


  I closed my eyes and inhaled.

  “Seriously. When was the last time you were on a date?”

  “A first date?”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “It sure as hell feels like it.”

  “Then you should know I never put out on the first date. It’s some stupid girl rule, separating the good girls from the sluts. Or something. I’ve always sucked at knowing the rules.”

  “Is this the third date rule?”

  “You’re familiar with the girl rules?” she asked. “Don’t let anyone know! It’s all very top secret. If men know, then how will we ever entrap you with our womanly wiles?”

  “Sisters. I learned a lot.” I shuddered for effect.

  “Too much insider info ruin the fun?”

  From the corner of my eye I saw her studying me. “Oh, the fun wasn’t ruined. Not by a long shot, sweetheart.”

  “You know, you’re a lot different than I thought you would be.”

  “Based on what?” I braced for her to bring up my reputation.

  “On growing up around you, mostly. Girls talk, and over the years I heard what a player you’d become. I imagined a cocky guy with really terrible pick-up lines.”

  “Which part wasn’t true?” I winked, knowing I’d been guilty of both.

  “Neither. You’re cocky and have the worst lines, but you’ve surprised me. Under everything, you’re a good guy, a really good guy.”

  Not sure I could still do it, I felt my cheeks heat.

  “Are you blushing?” She grinned. “Well, now I’ve seen it all. Who’d have ever imagined? What’s next?”

  I glanced behind me to change lanes. “The night is young.”

  We chatted, teased, and flirted all the way into Seattle. Despite asking me every five minutes where we were going like a kid, I refused to tell her. She threatened to tickle me until I threatened to drive us off the road into the ditch.

  Once we exited I-5 in downtown, she threw out names of places and activities. I drove us around Seattle Center and through the city to listen to her ideas.

  “EMP!”

  “No.”

  “Pike Place.”

  “No.”

  “Belltown?” she asked as we headed north along the water. “Are you a secret hipster?” Her eyes lingered on my beard.

  “No, and no.”

  “You do have a tattoo on your arm. Hipsters have tattoos and beards, so are you sure you aren’t one?”

  I didn’t realize she’d paid attention to the line of numbers above my bicep representing the latitude and longitude of the farm on Whidbey.

  “47.973N, −122.542W is the location of the farm, not some sort of cool guy code.”

  “More like nerd guy code.” She traced my shoulder near the tattoo. “That’s pretty cool. Much better than a pin-up girl or some chick’s name.”

  “I’m not stupid. I’ve thought about getting a chainsaw on my back.”

  “That’s a little creepy.” She scrunched up her face.

  “Yeah, I already regret the butterfly on my ass I got as a dare.” I waited for her reaction.

  “You don’t have a butterfly on your ass.”

  “Good to know you’ve paid attention.” I winked and parked the truck.

  “You brought me to Ray’s? This place is an institution.” Her face softened and she pulled me closer by the neck. “Thank you.”

  I brushed my lips across hers. “You’re welcome.”

  Inside, we were seated near a huge window overlooking the water. When she suggested a dozen oysters to start, I held in my smile.

  “What?” she asked.

  I leaned over the table and gestured her closer with my finger before whispering near her ear, “You know what. Remember our first night together? I’m still a sure bet.”

  She fell back into her seat and her lips parted.

  I slurped an oyster and licked my lips. Salty, a little briny with a touch of sweetness, it tasted like heaven. The best thing I’d had on my tongue in ages. I moaned, deep and guttural, in my throat.

  “I’ve never seen anything more perverted in my life than you eating those oysters.” Hailey fanned herself with her hand and downed her glass of prosecco. “Is the moaning really necessary?”

  I blinked and replayed the last minute or two. I’d done nothing intentionally perverse. Shaking my head, I sipped my beer.

  Two more courses followed the oysters, both featuring local seafood. We fought over the crab, but I knew I’d let her win because I was on my best behavior, and it wasn’t gentlemanly to wrestle a woman to the ground over a crab leg. Our laughter grew boisterous and a few fellow diners shot us sidelong glances, but nothing could break our bubble.

  Over dessert, she confessed, “This is the best date I’ve ever had. I’ve never laughed this much.”

  “Really?” I felt stunned. “Surely you’ve been swept off your feet in grand gestures with roses and limos. Or whatever girls swoon about.”

  “I think you just described the final scene in Pretty Woman. You know she was a hooker, right?”

  I snorted.

  “Are you implying I’m a hooker?” The volume of her voice caused an older couple at the next table to gawk at us.

  “She’s not a hooker,” I told them. “Really. Not even an escort or call girl.”

  The woman blinked and touched her pearl necklace before moving her chair further away from us as if those precious inches could untaint her night from the mention of sex for money.

  “She’s a very nice girl,” I explained to the still gawking husband.

  Hailey’s hand touched my arm. “I think you’ve made your point.”

  “You don’t look like a prostitute at all. You’re way more classy.”

  She sipped her drink. “This is turning into a drinking game. Every time you mention sex for money, I have to drink.”

  Chuckling, I finished my water. “What was my point?”

  “Other than your idea of romantic gestures comes from the movies?”

  “Right.” I rubbed my hands on my thighs. “I’m kind of inexperienced.” I met her eyes. “Wow, that felt weird to say.”

  “Don’t worry, for the right price, I’ll make you a man.”

  A fork clattered against china at the table next to us.

  I had to give her props. She maintained her serious expression the entire time it took me to call for the check and pay.

  “I only have forty-dollars left after our meal.” I stood and placed my hand on her lower back.

  “Forty will get you a handjob in the parking lot,” she said, staring at the man in his tweed jacket.

  “I never!” his companion sputtered into her chowder.

  We laughed all the way to the truck.

  “I never!” She did a perfect imitation of the offended woman. “I bet she hasn’t. No handjobs from her. Ever.” Out of breath and giggling, she stole my breath with her beauty. My chest thrummed with the quick beats of my heart.

  I opened the door for her and instead of immediately closing it once she got in, I leaned into the space and cupped her cheek. Our eyes met and her laughter quieted. Her hand came up to my neck, but she didn’t tug or pull me closer. Instead, her fingers drew lines along my skin, sending shivers through my body from my spine to my toes. I ducked my head, breaking our eye contact. Her fingers lifted my chin again and her breath collided with mine.

  “I really like you.” My confession lingered in the air for a few quick beats of my heart until I pressed my lips against hers.

  I opened my mouth to say more, and her tongue erased my words when it found mine. Leaning further into her, my hands struggled to find a place to settle. I couldn’t decide where on her body I needed to touch most in the moment. She shifted to face me and one black boot rested on my ass, anchoring me. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders and she tilted backward. My balance shifted and what had been a heated, but perfectly respectable, albeit passionate, parking lot kiss turned into full-blown maki
ng out with the door open for all to see.

  “Get a room!” an older man called out over the beep-beep of a car unlocking.

  She fell against the bench seat and I rested my head on her thighs, both of us silently laughing.

  “That’ll be forty-dollars,” she whisper-laughed.

  “No way. You didn’t touch my dick.” I lifted myself off her and straightened my shirt.

  One leather-clad toe skimmed up my thigh and toward my hip before brushing along my erection. “There.”

  “Kinky shoe fetishes have never been my thing.”

  “How did this date go from oysters and romance to parking lot negotiations to fetishes?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m pretty sure those last things were your doing.” I jogged to my side of the cab. “Now, unless you’re giving me road head on the drive home, you might want to sit up.”

  Her upside-down eyes met mine. “Is that really a thing? You squealed like a girl when I mentioned tickling earlier. How do you think you could possibly manage my mouth sucking you while driving?” She blinked at me a few times before an evil smile spread across her face.

  My eyes widened at her words and the images of her lips around my dick. Sadly, she sat up and buckled her seatbelt, ending the discussion.

  “Maybe another time?” I suggested, hope squeaking around the edge of my voice.

  “I think somewhere between dates three, seven, and never.” She innocently went to kiss my cheek, but I caught her lips with mine.

  “So there’ll be more of these dates?” I stroked my finger over the smooth skin of her cheek, dipping below her jaw to follow the line of her neck down to the shadow between her collarbones.

  “You couldn’t quit me if you tried.” Her breath sounded ragged and tightly controlled as my fingers skimmed over the small swell of her breast.

  I raised my eyes to hers, letting my finger trace the outline of her nipple. “Does the third date rule still stand?”

  Her kiss-swollen lips parted to speak, but she only nodded when I rolled her nipple between my fingers.