I replied, “Yes, Sir. I’ll send your next clue tomorrow. Have a good evening.”
Immediately, he responded, “Come on. Give me one more hint. Just one more, please?”
I didn’t reply. He would have to wait. The rules—the rules! This was working! It was actually working! The anticipation was gradually building! I got him!
I had found him and he was caught in the web I was spinning.
Chapter 8
Patience
The most difficult part of the process was not giving in to the overwhelming desire to simply tell him who I was and let the cards fall where they may. But so far, I had been successful at making this as equally excruciating for him as it was for me. Surely, good things would happen to those who wait—very good things!
Plus, it gave me time to shed the extra 8 pounds I had put on since summer’s end. I needed to be in the best shape of my life before meeting him in person. So, I needed to be patient enough to prolong the quest as long as necessary.
My girlfriends and I met at the gym three times a week. While jogging on the elliptical, they would help me contrive my next message to send him. I was starting to run out of ideas for the clues. And curiosity was starting to get the better of me.
When I hit the scales after my work-out, I wasn’t down 8 pounds. I was down 10! Yes! The time was quickly approaching—it was almost time to reveal my identity!
After two weeks of cajoling him with vague hints referring to our past connections and his incessant pleas for more, I decided to drop the bomb. After this clue, he would know!
When I get home from the gym, I quickly showered and slipped into my robe. I sat down at the computer with a chilled glass of Carmenere. I couldn’t help but grin as I typed out the words:
“Have you ever been struck by lightning in the middle of a pouring rain?”
I took a sip of wine and pressed ‘send’.
His reply to my last message sped through virtual space:
“Well, well, well! Hello, my beautiful girl. I suppose since it’s cold outside, it would be inappropriate to ask you to wear a white blouse and leopard pants when we meet?”
Chapter 9
Contact
The quest was complete! Now, he knew my identity. I felt both a sense of relief and a rush of exhilaration.
My friends and I kept the phone lines lit up that night. I could barely contain my excitement as I blurted out the words of his message.
Before going to bed that night, I checked my email one last time. There was one more message from him titled, “now that I know who you are”.
I was almost afraid to read it. Oh please, oh please—don’t let it be a rejection. I had been so caught up in the thrill of the quest; I had allowed myself to forget about the possibility that he might not feel the same attraction for me as I did for him.
I inhaled deeply and opened the message:
“Hey, lovely lady,
You have no idea how much I have wanted to find you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the day I first saw you in the rainstorm. Will you please do me the honor of giving me your telephone number? I need to hear your sweet voice.”
Exhale! I don’t know how, but somehow, I found the willpower to follow the rules. I logged off and went to bed without answering him. Sleep would be hard to come by that night. I finally drifted off with absolutely nothing but him on my mind.
The following afternoon, I messaged my phone number to him. I requested that he call me after 8:00 pm. That would give me enough time to come home and wind down from the day.
To say I was nervous was an understatement. I could barely eat a bite. I turned on the television to occupy my mind while I waited for his call. I habitually glanced at the blue numbers of the digital clock on the DVD player. Minute after minute slowly blinked away on the clock. At 8:03, the phone rang. I jumped up to look at the caller ID. There was his name; complete with vowels this time.
I swallowed hard, cleared my throat, and pressed the talk button, “Hello…”
“Well, hello there,” he answered.
His voice; oh, that voice! It was warm, smooth, and deep with the sexiest kind of drawl. As he spoke, his words danced in my ear like a slow, Texas waltz.
Before his call, I had been worried about what tone and pace our conversation would take. Would I stammer? Would I choke? Would there be awkward pauses? Would I say something stupid? Would we run out of things to say?
It couldn’t have gone any better. Our verbal exchange was easy and effortless. We talked about our families and discovered how many ironic similarities we shared. We both took pleasure in mutual banter. His laugh was deep and hearty. We caught up on the high points of the past thirty years of one another’s lives.
Our first conversation lasted over three hours. I didn’t want it to end, but I knew there would be more to come. We made arrangements to meet on Saturday night.
He ended the call with a melodic, “Goodnight, beautiful. Sweet dreams. I’ll pick up you up at 7:00 on Saturday night.”
As I hit the ‘end’ button, I glanced up at the DVD clock. The blue numbers beamed 11:11. My heart smiled.
I didn’t know if he would be the same in person. But over the phone, he had made me feel beautiful, young, smart, and so very comfortable. I couldn’t wait for Saturday to get here!
I had 3 days to touch up my manicure, tan, get my brows waxed, and shop for a knock ‘em-dead gorgeous outfit.
I met the girls for lunch on Friday. They made me promise to call each and every one of them on Sunday to fill them in on all the juicy details. Before we adjourned our lunch meeting, one of my sweet friends led us in a group prayer. She had been raised by agnostic, hippie parents and had recently become a brand-spankin’-new Christian. Not to mock her enthusiasm, but I had never seen anyone so excited to have discovered Jesus. Her new found spirituality was actually quite sincere and refreshing.
She delighted in asking us all to hold hands and bow our heads as she offered up a prayer, “We come to you today, dear Lord, on behalf of our sister. Please be with her tomorrow night. Give her confidence and guide her every step. Please be with the man she is meeting, Father. Open his eyes and heart to her. Dear God, we pray this man is the answer to her prayers. We know she deserves a good man, oh Father, and we ask you to intercede in her favor. Oh, and dear Lord, please help her keep her britches on! In sweet Jesus’s name we pray…”
And all my girlfriends giggled to a chorus of “Amen!”.
With that, I had the blessing of my friends and God himself. This was going to be THE first date of a lifetime!
Chapter 10
In the Flesh
House immaculately cleaned—check! Shower—check! Legs and pits shaved—check! Chilled bottle of wine opened to breathe—check! Nails—check! Lotion, deodorant, and perfume—check! Hair and make-up—check! Teeth brushed and mouthwash swished—check! Chanel No. 5 spritzed ever-so-sparingly on my wrists, between my breasts, and on my hair—check! Bangin’ hot outfit—check!
Everything was ready and in its place. He was scheduled to arrive in 15 minutes. I had never been this nervous or apprehensive about a first date. I had to force myself not to go back to my old way of thinking. I had a brief Stewart Smalley moment when I stood in front of my mirror to check my look one last time.
I gave the mirror a cheesy grin and recited to myself, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and dog-gone-it—he’s gonna like me!”
That quick moment of levity relaxed me a bit. Plus the fact that I looked my best gave me a much needed boost of confidence. I didn’t just look good; I looked damn good! My hard work at the gym had paid off. My last set of measurements read 5’8”, 138 pounds, 38-28-38. Yeah, baby!
My chosen attire was nothing short of fabulous. No, it wasn’t the white cotton blouse or leopard capris. It was even better.
My blouse was a deep blue paisley print with subtle touches of deep green, burgundy, and a fawn color accented with metallic gold thread
. It was a long sleeved, fitted button down made from stretch satin and had princess seams down the front. It seductively hugged the curves of my upper body in all the right places. I left just enough buttons undone at the top to barely show a hint of cleavage.
The pants were killer! They were quite a find: soft fawn colored suede leather, boot cut to fit perfectly over my tall heeled Luccheses. But the best part: the pants fit me like a glove! They accentuated my curvaceous hips and long legs superbly. I wouldn’t have any problem in leading the way. Those pants would give him quite a nice view from behind.
Underneath it all, I wore a decadent navy blue, lacy bra and panty set I purchased with a Victoria’s Secret gift card one of my sisters had sent in the mail, just for this occasion. She was the sister who had taught me well.
I took her advice to heart, “No matter what you wear on the outside, always wear something sexy underneath!”
I kept my accessories simple. The gold hoop earrings would look pretty against my long, brown hair. No necklace—I didn’t want to risk the clasp getting stuck in my hair. I adorned my wrists with multiple, delicate gold bangles that set off the gold in my blouse.
Okay. I was ready. I kept repeating to myself, “I can do this, I can do this” between deep, cleansing breaths while pacing the floor of my tiny living room.
I prayed he would be as down-to-Earth as I had heard he was. Please, Dear God, don’t let him judge me based on my house! I had tried to cautiously explain my situation to him without going into too much detail. Remember the rules: never ever talk about past relationships! I hoped he would see past everything—and see me for who I really was.
Oh, God! Please let him like me!
Through the sheer curtains and panes of my front window, I saw a spotless black Chevy Silverado Crew Cab pick-up pull up to the curb in front of my house. The driver’s side door opened and I saw him step out, and then reach back in for his hat. I peered through the break in the curtains and watched him as he checked the tail of his deep blue starched shirt which was tucked into the waist of his well-fitting Wrangler jeans. His black cowboy boots matched his leather belt. He was obviously a Lucchese fan, as well—full quill ostrich, no doubt. The belt was fastened with a custom made silver and gold buckle that featured his ranch brand. He smoothed his dark hair back as he crowned his head with a black felt Stetson.
Good God, Almighty! I opened the front door and saw 6 foot 7 inches of living, breathing chemistry swaggering toward me. For one brief moment, I considered the possibility that I might melt into my boots.
I quickly amended my silent prayer, “Dear God in Heaven, don’t let me pass out!”
Hoping the “cat that swallowed the canary” was a better look for me than the “drowned rat” look, I greeted him with a warm smile and invited him to come inside. As he walked inside, he removed his hat and hung it on the hat rack by the front door.
His face actually flushed as he politely introduced himself and said, “It’s nice to finally meet you, ma’am.”
What a refreshing surprise! In spite of his good looks that were of legendary proportions amongst my friends: he was humble—he was shy! That grin: the one he had brandished at the gas pump and concert—there it was; stretched across a tanned face that was gorgeously weathered from riding and working cattle.
He had the most genuinely beautiful smile. He was even more handsome up close than from a distance. His deep blue eyes were framed with long, dark lashes and the outside corners were accented with distinguished creases when he smiled. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and slightly wavy. It wasn’t cut too short. It was the kind of mane you were tempted to run your fingers through. There was slight greying at his temples. He had a dark moustache that edged his upper lip and crested the corners of his mouth. His lips were full and looked so velvety under the trimmed line of his moustache. Irresistible.
Oh, and he smelled good—an intoxicating mix of leather, testosterone, and Eternity by Calvin Klein.
Oh, mercy!
After finally meeting him in person, I felt much more at ease. However, I was totally mesmerized by him. The eye contact was almost too intense, so I would defer my gaze to his lips as he talked. I would have been perfectly happy just to sit and stare at him for the rest of my life. Neither of us could stop smiling. I was afraid I was going to suffer permanent wrinkle damage from the parentheses surrounding my stretched smile.
Once our polite introductions were over, I asked him if he would like a glass of wine before we left the house. He accepted my offer. I suggested he have a seat and make himself at home. I went to the kitchen and poured half a glass of Indigo Hills Merlot for each of us.
I returned to the living room with the wine. As I handed him his glass, our fingers lightly touched. Zing! There it was again—a tingling bolt of electricity shot all the way up my outstretched limb. I looked down and realized I had goose bumps on my arm. Then I felt the heat rise in my cheeks when I realized he had noticed my erect nipples showing through the blouse’s fabric which stretched across my breasts. His effect on me was palpable—and obvious.
He attempted to look away for a moment while he took a sip of wine.
Then he confided in me, “You know, I have to tell you something. When you contacted me online, I didn’t have any idea who it could be. But I sure was hoping it was you. I’m awfully glad it was.”
“I certainly hope you didn’t think I was too forward,” I replied.
“Not at all,” he affirmed, “I’m rather glad you were. I kinda like a woman who knows what she wants and goes for it.”
Oh, I definitely knew what I wanted—and it was him.
We finished our wine and decided on a restaurant. Not only was I satisfied with his suggestion of a pricey steak house, I was damn pleased I had finally found a man who knew what he wanted, as well. I had grown disenchanted with the men I had known before that couldn’t even make a decision about where to go eat. I despised hearing the reply, “I don’t care, where you want to go?” It was refreshing to be in the company of a man who knew how to take the lead; and knew how to treat a lady.
As we approached his pick-up, he proved he was a true Texas gentleman by opening my door and extending a hand to steady me as I stepped up the sideboard and climbed into his passenger seat. A girl could get used to that kind of treatment.
Dinner conversation upstaged the wonderful meal. The ebb and flow of our exchange was like a perfectly timed dance. He seemed to take as much pleasure in listening to me as I found in listening to him.
Once dinner was over, we moved to the restaurant’s dimly lit bar to continue our journey of getting to know one another. We found a cozy spot in the corner.
He asked me what I would like to drink and placed our order with the waitress, “Dewar’s straight-up and a Manhattan for the lady.”
I sipped on my drink and felt its familiar soothing warmth in my mouth and throat. Then he did something that caused warmth to spread to other parts of my body. Underneath our table, he softly placed his hand on my thigh and began to slowly smooth the pelt of my suede pants.
He looked at me with a hungry glance. His smile had moved from his mouth to his eyes.
He gently squeezed the inside of my thigh, just above the bend of my leg and said in a deep, low tone, “Those pants are driving me crazy, girl. I’ve been dyin’ to feel them all night.”
My breath became more rapid with his touch. I tried to regain my composure.
“Earlier in the evening, you had me believing you might be a bit timid or shy. I think you just proved my theory to be incorrect,” I teased; accepting his advances.
He responded, “I always have been a bit shy before I get to know someone.”
I jumped at the door he had just opened, “So, tell me, just how are you once you get to know someone?”
He squeezed my thigh a little tighter this time. His reply wasn’t verbal, but an audible, “Mmmmm”.
The Manhattan was bringing out my slow, Southern drawl.
He grabbed my hand and brought it up to his lips and kissed it. I had guessed right—his lips were velvety soft.
He placed his warm palm against the inside of my thigh once again. His hands were large and manly. They were tanned, but smooth and well-manicured. You could tell he was a man who took good care of himself. I slipped my hand over the top of his, running my fingers along the veins on the back. I slid my fingers between his and squeezed.
He lifted the glass of scotch to his lips and took a big gulp, “Let’s get out of here.”
Eleven Page 3
