Valentine's Date Disaster

by Annabelle Costa

  He doesn’t explain any of it to me though. He doesn’t explain why his leg was jumping or really anything. He just avoids my eyes and goes back to eating his dinner.

  But honestly, I feel like I’ve had enough of the secrecy. I didn’t want to push him to talk about his injury before he was ready, but screw that. I’m sick of waiting for him to be ready. This has been a hell of a night so far. I want to know the truth. I want to know why he’s in a wheelchair.

  “So,” I say as I slurp up a spoonful of soup, “do I ever get to know what happened to you? Like, why you need the wheels?”

  Dean’s eyes widen. “Uh…”

  I shrug. “Whatever you’ve got to tell me can’t be any worse than what we’ve experiences so far on this date.”

  He smiles crookedly. “Touché.” He sighs, pushing his food around with his fork. “Sorry, I should have been more open about it. It’s not like everyone doesn’t ask me about it constantly. Like, random people on the street come up to me and ask me why I’m in a wheelchair.”

  “And what do you tell them?”

  “Um, let’s see… parachute didn’t open while skydiving…” He ticks it off on his fingers. “Got shot while running away from the police. Foot fell asleep while watching TV and never woke up. Also, sometimes I tell people I’m just really, really lazy.”

  I laugh. “And how do they react?”

  “What do I care? It was none of their business in the first place!”

  I wince. “If it’s none of my business…”

  “I didn’t mean you,” he says quickly. “We’re out on a date, so… you have every right to ask.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “So…”

  “It was a car accident,” he says, ducking down his head. “A little over a year ago. A truck rear-ended me going like sixty miles an hour. And then I smashed into the car in front of me. My car got squashed like a tin can. They told me I was lucky to be alive.”

  “Geez,” I say, suddenly wishing I hadn’t asked. This is not sexy first date conversation. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he says. “It’s not your fault, is it?”

  “I mean…” I bite my lip. “I’m sorry I made you talk about it.”

  “Yeah, well, like I said everyone else asks.” He scratches at his hair. “Anyway, I broke my back. Spinal cord completely severed, so I’m a paraplegic. I can’t feel or move anything below my rib cage.” He gives me that crooked smile again. “Yeah, so walking isn’t a possibility anymore. At all.”

  He can’t move or feel anything below his rib cage? So does that mean…?

  I’d figured out he was unable to move his legs, but I didn’t think about it beyond that. I know that was stupid of me, but it didn’t occur to me a guy as hot as Dean might not be able to have sex. It seems almost criminal.

  Maybe he can. Maybe there’s some way.

  I stare across the table at him, wanting to ask the question, but I can’t make myself do it. It was hard enough to ask what happened to him, but that… it’s most definitely inappropriate. And I’m scared the answer is no. If it is, I wouldn’t stop dating Dean, but… it would give me pause. A lot of pause.

  “So have I answered your questions?” he asks me.

  “Yes,” I lie.

  I’ll ask him later. Maybe on the second date.

  After a glass of wine and big bowl of soup, I have to pee like nobody’s business. I excuse myself, squeezing past chairs and tables to get to the restroom. I don’t want to knock over the water of that same guy.

  The second I get to the bathroom, before I can even relieve my bladder, my phone buzzes from within my purse. Text message. I’m afraid to look. Is it Kim, asking why I’m going out with Dean when that asshole Liam keeps pestering me for a date? Is it my mother, trying to find out if I’m spending yet another Valentine’s Day alone, and, oh my God, did you know I’m on the verge of being a spinster? There’s nothing good that can come out of checking my phone.

  But I reach into my purse anyway. What can I say—I’m a curious person.

  I frown when I see that the text message isn’t from any of my friends or relatives. It’s from Dean. I read the words on the screen, my mouth falling open:

  FYI, I can have sex.

  And then a second later:

  Not suggesting it for tonight but could tell you were wondering.

  Oh my God, was I that obvious? I guess I was. I quickly write back:

  No, I wasn’t.

  His response comes almost instantly: Sure you weren’t.

  I smile down at the phone. My fingers move on the screen without thinking: So you’re saying it’s off the table for tonight?

  Try to contain your lust, woman.

  I smile wider and shove the phone back in my purse. Not that I expected to have sex on a first date, but I’m glad to know it’s there on the horizon. Someday.

  Chapter 8: Dean

  I knew what she was thinking. I’m not an idiot. Everyone else wants to know if I can have sex, as if it’s any of their business.

  It was the first thing my brother Rich asked me when it became clear my injury was permanent. Does your dick still work? Back then, I knew jack shit about my injury and I thought the answer was no. I thought that was it, that I’d never have sex again for the rest of my life. I was a eunuch.

  It was more depressing than knowing I’d never walk again.

  But I’ve been to a spinal cord injury specialist who gave me a bottle of Viagra, and when I stimulated myself, I got a hard-on good enough for penetration. Without the meds, I was batting zero, but even though I didn’t have a partner yet, I was confident I could pull it off. The doctor assured me one way or another, we’d figure it out.

  That said, I still can’t feel it, which means the idea of sex a lot less appealing. If I were to have sex, I’d just have to lie there while she did most of the work. I’m not excited about that.

  So lately, I’ve been reading up about oral sex. I know how geeky that sounds. But prior to my injury, I didn’t engage in a lot of it. Not that I didn’t like doing it for girls, but usually they didn’t push, and I figured they were happy enough with the intercourse.

  But now I’m reading all these stories about guys who have mastered the art of cunnilingus. One guy claims you can give women orgasms through oral sex that are orders of magnitude better than any sort of vaginal sex orgasm. He said any woman who doesn’t prefer cunnilingus to penetration has never been with a guy who knows what he’s doing.

  Right now, I’m a guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing. But that’s going to change. If Callie will let me, I intend to put in the work to show her pleasure like she’s never experienced before. Just the thought of it makes me smile.

  As for what she can do for me, I’m still working that part out. I know my nipples are more sensitive than they used to be. And the area on my chest right above where my sensation fades is unbelievably sensitive. So that’s a start.

  Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s just our first date. Maybe things will never make it to the bedroom.

  No, fuck that. I want Callie. And for whatever reason, she’s into me. I’m going to make this happen. Someday, I’m going to give her the best orgasm of her life.

  When Callie comes out of the bathroom, several pairs of eyes turn to look at her. She was sexy in her coat and boots, but now that her tight little green dress is on display, she’s attracting some serious attention. One guy’s head whips around as she walks past, and I can see the annoyance on his date’s face. Callie’s is so hot. I can’t believe I’m the guy leaving here with her. How did I get this lucky?

  Callie’s got this dopey grin on her face that mirrors mine. Is she thinking what I’m thinking?

  When the waiter comes over with the check, she tries to grab it. But I’m not letting her pay. Even though the bill is surprisingly high, considering we ordered two of the cheapest things on the menu. Still. Callie’s not paying for this meal. No fucking way.

  “Come on,” she says as
she tries to tug it away from me. “You paid for the movie. And the popcorn.”

  “So why break the streak?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Come on. I’m a rich lawyer.”

  “No, you’re a poor law student.”

  “Fine, we’re equally poor,” she concedes. “I still want to pay.”

  “Next time,” I say as I yank the check out of her hand. Even though there’s no way I’m going to let her pay next time. I always pay for my dates—it’s the way I was raised.

  But Callie won’t let it go. She insists on at least leaving the tip. I finally give in and let her do it. Because she’s right—I’m really broke. The sooner I can scrape together enough money to get my own place, the better.

  The crowd in the restaurant has thinned out a bit by the time we leave, so I manage to make it outside without spilling any more water glasses or doing anything else embarrassing. We’ve managed to go a good thirty minutes without any disasters. It’s beginning to seem like a record.

  As we make our way back to my car, Callie is shivering. I wish I could reach over and put my arm around her to keep her warm—that’s a move the old Dean might have done. Now I can only push my wheels faster, trying to get to the warmth of the car as quick as we can.

  It’s a nice, clear night though. When I look up, I can see all the stars in the sky. When I was a kid, I used to be really into astronomy. My dad bought me a telescope, and I used to try to find the constellations in the sky. I think the telescope is back upstairs in my old room. Maybe Dad can go get it for me, and I can show Callie sometime. I can imagine the two of us sitting under a starlight sky, taking turns looking through my telescope. And then I’d lean forward and kiss her…

  Christ, I want to kiss her. But it’s not possible right now. Maybe in the car.

  The part that sucks is I can’t let Callie in the car until I’ve gone in myself and determined yet again that the seat is (still) broken. She puts the chair in the backseat for me, while I curse silently to myself. No wonder this damn car was so cheap.

  By the time she gets in the car, her nose and ears are bright red. She pulls off her gloves and rubs her pink fingers together for warmth. I start up the engine, but since the car hasn’t warmed up, the vents just blow cold air out at us, so I have to shut off the heat.

  “It should warm up in a few minutes,” I tell her.

  Callie nods, her teeth chattering.

  I start driving in the direction of her house, and now the snowflakes start falling. It wasn’t supposed to snow tonight, but it’s another Valentine’s Day surprise. I feel sick at the thought of driving through the fresh slush on the ground. It’s hard enough to deal with these hand controls without worrying about icy roads.

  All right. Just a few more weeks of winter and the damn snow will be gone.

  I drive slowly and carefully down the winding road going from the restaurant to Callie’s house. The beam of my headlights reveals streets littered with potholes from the months of winter. I’m doing my best to avoid them, but it’s hard. After a few minutes, the car bounces violently as I hit a particularly large pothole. And I hear a bang.

  Shit.

  After driving another minute, it’s clear I busted a tire. This car is killing me. And now I’m on a first date, on a deserted road, and my tire is flat. I carefully slow down and pull over on the side of the road.

  “What’s wrong?” Callie asks.

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve got a flat,” I say. I wince as I ask, “Could you check?”

  I wish I could be the one to get out and check, instead of sending my date out into the cold, snowy night to look at my tires. But I can’t even get out of this car without Callie helping me. So I don’t have much of a choice.

  In any case, it takes about thirty seconds for Callie to verify the passenger’s side front wheel is busted.

  “Shit,” I say, dropping my head against the steering wheel.

  She frowns at me. “I take it you don’t know how to change a tire?”

  “Uh, what part of ‘I’m a computer nerd’ did I not make clear to you?” I chew on my lip. “Do you know how to change a tire?”

  “What part of ‘I’m a law student with no real life skills’ did I not make clear to you?”

  I manage a crooked smile. “I guess I’ll call triple-A.”

  But it seems like Valentine’s Day is a busy night for triple-A. It takes ten minutes to get through, and once I do, they inform me we’ll be waiting an hour. At least.

  When I hang up the phone, Callie is watching me, an unreadable expression on her face.

  “It’s going to be at least an hour,” I tell her. I hang my head. “I’m really sorry. I can call you a taxi if you want.”

  “There will never be a taxi available tonight,” she says. Her words are like a knife in my heart, until she adds, “Although I wouldn’t leave, even if there were.”

  I sigh and lean my head back against the headrest. “I’m sorry, Callie. This night has been… well, a disaster. Everything has gone wrong. Every fucking thing.”

  She smiles crookedly. “It has, hasn’t it?”

  “And on the one night when I wanted everything to go right.” My ears get hot—maybe I shouldn’t have confessed how much I like her and had been thinking about this date. How much it meant to me. “And now, after one mess after another, I blow a fucking tire and we’re stuck here for an hour. It’s the icing on the cake.”

  “Hey,” Callie says, “hang on a minute.”

  I look at her.

  Her smile is wider this time, her lips teasing me. “You’re telling me being stuck together in this nice, toasty car on a deserted road for an hour or longer is a bad thing?

  “Uh….”

  “I have to tell you, Dean,” she says, “I think it’s the best thing that’s happened to me all year.”

  I grin at her. “This calendar year or this school year?”

  “How about this century?”

  This is my moment. It’s my chance to kiss Callie after one disappointment after another. I’m not going to mess this up.

  So I lean forward and I do it.

  Chapter 9: Callie

  Who knew?

  After all that bad luck… the lost reservation, the upstairs table, the drunk ex-girlfriend… who knew this rotten night would end with Dean’s lips on mine?

  Maybe I should break mirrors before all my dates.

  He is such a good kisser. The last time we kissed, the day we met, I took him by surprise. But this time, he’s ready for me. His lips are soft and he pulls me closer to him, wanting me as much as I want him. His tongue tastes like the wine we just drank at the French restaurant.

  I notice him grab his legs to shift them in my direction so he can have a better angle to get to me, and then we’re grasping at each other desperately. His fingers are in my hair, and it feels so nice for him to touch me there, reminding me of how long it’s been since a man has had his hands on me, and how much longer it’s been since a man I’ve really liked has had his fingers there. Then his hands move to my back, running up my spine, touching the bare skin between my collar and my hairline. He has fantastic hands—if this is any indication of what he’ll be like in bed, I’m in for a treat.

  And the parts of Dean I can get my hands on feel very nice indeed. He’s got crazy muscles in his shoulders and chest that aren’t like anything I’d expect from a guy whose job is to write computer code. I’m always embarrassed to admit it, but I’m a sucker for hard, tight muscles. I don’t get Dean’s shirt off, but just the mental image of him topless gets me all worked up.

  We make out for the entire hour. He doesn’t press me to go further than first base. If he’d tried, I suspect he could have gotten a home run out of me tonight, but he doesn’t try, and I respect that. He goes as far as I’m comfortable with, but no farther.

  There’s probably steam on the window at the point that the triple-A guy raps on the car. Dean pulls away from me, grinning dopily, and smooths out his clothe
s quickly before turning to the window. He rolls it down to reveal an impatient-looking man in a blue puffy coat.

  “You called about a flat tire?” the guy says.

  “Yeah, it’s…” He glances in my direction. “Callie, can you show him?”

  I sigh regretfully. I pull my coat back on and dutifully get out of the car to point out the flat tire. I can tell the triple-A guy is irritated with Dean for not getting out himself. After he spots the flat, he raps on the window of the car again.

  “You gotta get out so I can change it,” he tells Dean.

  I’m sure the guy is perfectly capable of changing the tire without Dean leaving the car, but it’s clear he thinks he ought to get out. I could give the triple-A guy a piece of my mind, but suddenly the idea of being close to Dean out in the snow is extremely appealing. So when Dean shoots me a look, I quickly retrieve his chair from the back of the car for him.

  “Oh shit,” the triple-A guy breathes to me as he watches Dean climb into his wheelchair. “I didn’t realize he was crippled. I thought he was just being lazy.”

  I roll my eyes, deciding to let his ignorant comment roll off me. Some people aren’t worth it.

  Dean and I wait on the curb, the snow falling faster now, so that big flakes land on his hat, turning it partially white. I nudge his shoulder.

  “Hey,” I say. “I’m cold.”

  “I know,” he says. “It’s pretty freezing out.”

  I nudge him again. “You know the best way to stay warm?”

  “What?”

  “Body heat.”

  He grins up at me and holds out his arms. I climb onto his lap gratefully. He holds me close to him, and this time we don’t kiss. I just lean my head against his broad shoulder, enjoying the heat of his body on this cold night as huge snowflakes fall around us.

  “Sorry this date was such a disaster,” he murmurs into my hair.

  “Are you kidding?” I say. “This was the best date I’ve ever had.”