About That...: A Small Town Romantic Comedy

by Sylvie Stewart

  I hated this game, although guys weren’t usually as touchy about it as women for some reason. Since he was already married and divorced and had a six-year-old, I guessed, “twenty-nine?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  Damn, that meant he’d had Phoebe when he was twenty-one. I gulped at the thought of my twenty-one-year-old self with a newborn. Yikes.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” His look turned sheepish. “Not many twenty-seven-year-olds have a divorce under their belts. All I can say is we were young and stupid. I like to think I learned a lot from the experience.”

  I merely nodded. I mean, what did you say to something like that? So I switched topics to football, only to find out that we supported rival college teams. Upon that revelation, I preemptively bet him on the outcome of this year’s head-to-head match-up. I was looking forward to my win.

  Again, Cal showed his good manners by opening all my doors and doing the hand on the back thing, ensuring my belly was swarming with butterflies by the time we reached our table at Keyfire Pub. I loved this place. It felt homey, yet modern, with perfectly blended décor and lighting. And the food was incredible. We were seated at a cozy corner table and both ordered drinks from the waitress before she left us to continue our conversation.

  The few times thoughts of the possible impropriety of our date threatened, I pushed them aside, preferring to take the ostrich approach—at least for one night. “So, if you’re a State fan, is it safe to assume you have terrible taste in other things as well?” I bit my lip to hide my grin. Huge mistake! Out came the melty eyes again.

  Cue womb clench.

  “As a matter of fact, I have excellent taste.” Cal’s voice turned deeper. “I like classic rock, I believe Italian food came directly from God himself, I think Die Hard is the best movie ever made, I’m a firm believer that it should be a federal offense to serve hot dogs with ketchup, and I have a thing for sweet, funny brunettes with gorgeous smiles who aren’t afraid to give as good as they get. Or, I should say, one particular brunette.”

  My belly swooped and dipped and I pressed my thighs together so they’d behave. “I can’t decide if you’re full of shit or if we should call off dinner so I can take you home.” My eyes widened at my own words. I did not give my mouth permission to say that! Across from me, Cal just chuckled and used the eyes again, combining them with the dimples for added ammunition. Where in the hell was the waitress with my drink?! As if reading my mind, she appeared with water and wine for me and a cold beer for Cal. I took several healthy sips of my wine before patting my mouth with my napkin and finally looking up at Cal again. He’d schooled his expression and was perusing the menu. Thank you, Jesus!

  “So, what looks good?” he asked, casual as can be.

  Chapter 4

  I broke the first rule of first dates.

  I got drunk.

  The second rule would surely have been broken as well had Cal not let the head above his shoulders do the thinking and stopped me from removing his pants.

  Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that bad, but somewhere between him walking me to my door and closing it behind himself as he took his leave, there were several moments where I contemplated lunging for his junk and/or offering my panties up as repayment for the bag of apples. Tit for tat, or, in this case, ass for apples.

  Needless to say, in the morning light, I was beyond grateful for Cal’s restraint, but I was even more grateful for the goodnight kiss I’d gotten.

  Dinner went better than I ever expected. As the wine flowed a little too freely, Cal entertained me with funny stories and asked all about my childhood and my new job. We talked briefly about Sam, and he delivered a painfully macho recounting of a time he and his brother greeted their sister’s date on the front porch swing with two baseball bats and a shovel. But Cal reassured me the guy was a known player, so I didn’t follow through on my instinct to reach across the table and smack him upside the head on his sister’s behalf.

  I also found out Cal worked as a cartographer and I gushed about how cool that sounded before he assured me it mostly involved sitting at a computer between rare excursions out in the field. We realized we had more acquaintances in common than just Sam, and I marveled that we’d never crossed paths before. Throughout dinner, the looks kept coming, and I’m sure I delivered more than a few of my own. So by the time we got back to my place, there was no way he was getting out of there without at least a kiss.

  It turned out Cal’s suggestion that we might find we despised each other had not come to fruition. In fact, I liked him a whole lot. More than I should, surely. But I chose to focus on reliving the hot kiss, not worrying about what came next for us.

  I’m unsure who moved first, but as soon as my front door had closed, we were on each other like super-strength Velcro. Cal’s mouth covered mine, our lips searching, frantic for connection. My hands tangled in his hair as his slid down to my hips and he angled so the scruff on his face tickled my chin. I wanted to lick him. That hint of manly hair and the feel of his hands holding me firmly in place—wow. I moaned when he shifted those hands to my ass, squeezing and pulling me into him so I could feel his arousal pressed up against my stomach.

  The kiss was a storm, ebbing and flowing with torrents of nipping teeth and lips mixing with slow slides of tongue against tongue. It was wet. It was hot. It was perfect. My moans turned to whimpers as he pushed me up against my door and our bodies connected from breast to knee, our clothing a maddening barrier requiring immediate removal. I believe that was the first time I reached for his belt. His fingers came between us and twined with mine, offering an intimacy that almost surpassed our horny kisses. The feel of his palm against mine and his thumb’s stroke over my pulse point had me weak in the knees.

  “Sofia. God. You’re so perfect.” Cal’s lips trailed down my neck, making my body tremble and every hair stand on end. “And you smell so fucking good.”

  My head fell back and I moved a hand to hold his head to me as his mouth worked its way down to the strap of my top. I slid my hand to the offending material with the full intention of removing it, but Cal groaned and pulled back. I’m fairly certain my resulting pout outdid any Phoebe could muster on her worst day.

  Looking as kiss-drunk as I surely did, Cal took both my hands in his, running his eyes over my face and making me want to go for his belt again. He shook his head, apparently reading my thoughts. “We can’t. Believe me, I want to more than anything, but we can’t. Not tonight.”

  Before I could respond, he leaned in for a sweet, lingering kiss, still holding both of my hands between us. Then he whispered, “Goodnight,” and was out the door. I promptly collapsed on the couch, where I caught my breath while staring at the ceiling and checking to see if I still had all my clothes on. I was disappointed to find I did.

  By the third knowing look from a fellow teacher, I resolved to tone down my I-got-some-action-last-night smile. Inside, I was still on my Cal high, though. The day sailed by with only a few hiccups, one of which involved a boy named Ethan getting a Lego stuck up his nose. I was slowly making my way to the bottom of Nurse Bolanger’s Christmas card list.

  I smiled all the way to my car, except when I had to suppress it while passing our principal, and spent the ride home singing along with the radio. Playing it cool wasn’t exactly my specialty, so I hoped Cal would put me out of my misery and just call. But I knew guys had their rules and all that, so I promised myself not to get upset if I didn’t hear from him that night.

  It turned out I didn’t have to worry. A text waited when I checked my phone an hour later, and Cal and I proceeded to shamelessly flirt while I pretended to prep the next day’s materials for school. He was at the office late—who knew there were mapmaking emergencies?—but it didn’t stop him from chatting with me over text. We agreed to get together again on Friday, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face and hand down my pants.

  Good mood still firmly in place, I walked the hallways Thursday morning alternately w
anting to tell every person I passed about my upcoming hot date and set any single staff members up with their own hot dates. Everybody should feel this way. If not, God wouldn’t have invented hormones. Even the scheduled after-school staff meeting couldn’t dampen my spirits. I shot a couple waves and smiles at some of the teachers as I found a seat in the gathered chairs.

  Bart Hollister, our principal, took his place at the front of the room and shuffled through some papers while preparing to speak. A peek at my phone showed a new text from Cal.

  Cal: I remembered the name of the show I was talking about last night. It’s Curb Your Enthusiasm.

  My lip curled and I surreptitiously checked to see if I was being watched before typing my reply.

  Me: No way. I tried watching that show once. I couldn’t stop cringing.

  Cal: I know. It’s like a car crash in your living room.

  “Thanks for your patience.” Bart’s voice rang out, always a bit too loud for the space. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and cleared his throat. My phone went back in my purse and I did my best to focus on the meeting. “I know it’s only the second week, so the last thing you wanted was another meeting. I’ll make it quick.”

  He shuffled his papers again and I crossed my legs, shooting a polite smile at the teacher to my right. I was thinking she taught fifth grade, but I couldn’t remember her name. Amy something-or-other? I swear, if I spent as much time focusing on getting to know my co-workers as I did thinking about a certain someone, I’d be a much better employee.

  “Right. It’s been brought to my attention that we need a review of a few policies. Then we’ll get on with the agenda.” He consulted his paper again before looking up. “First, no food is to be left in the lounge over the weekends. The maintenance team doesn’t need to start Monday mornings with our leftover tuna sandwiches from the previous week.” A few snickers passed through the assembled crowd.

  “Next, please encourage your students to use the sidewalks. We’ve already had one small incident with a car rider and we want to avoid any injuries.” These were no-brainers, but I resisted the temptation to bring my purse to my lap for another look at my phone.

  “Lastly.” Bart removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “While it’s not strictly forbidden, it’s most certainly frowned upon to engage in a… romantic relationship with the parent of a student in your class. Please, people, let’s use good judgment. That’s all I’m going to say on that.” He replaced his glasses and his eyes scanned the crowd. My face drained of all blood and I was certain he’d single me out.

  Visions of a big scarlet “H” on my chest swam behind my eyes, the letter calling me out for the horny, hot-dad harlot I was trying my hardest to be. But Bart’s gaze merely drifted over me. I shifted in my seat, afraid to look anywhere but at my lap. Amy what’s-her-face made a sound which my panicked mind determined was directed at me. Probably a warning to get ready for my letter.

  How I made it through the rest of the meeting was beyond me. The phrases “frowned upon” and “use good judgment” echoed in my head as I drove home, the radio silenced, along with my good mood.

  That night, I put a call in to Mallory while I sorted laundry. Her combination of brutal honesty and healthy sex drive made her the best candidate. She listened as I spilled the whole unfortunate tale.

  “Well, that sucks.” These were her first words of wisdom, making me wonder if, perhaps, Didi would have been the better choice. But, no. Didi’s moral compass was known to take convenient vacations down south when it came to men. We still loved her, though.

  “Oh, thank you, mother of helpful advice.”

  She tsked me. “Well, it does. I don’t know what to tell you, girl. Do you really think the principal knows about you and this hottie? I mean, you just had your first date.”

  I pulled some workout clothes from the hamper, immediately regretting it. Yuck. “I don’t know. But even if he doesn’t, there’s the principle of the thing.”

  “No pun intended, of course.”

  “Of course.” Mallory’s ability to make me smile amidst such a crappy situation was heartening. “I just started this job. It’s not worth risking over a guy, is it?”

  “That depends on the guy, I suppose.”

  The offending clothes went in the colors basket and I reached for the next handful. “Aren’t we supposed to be strong, independent women who put our success first? You know, establish a career and then worry about men and babies and all that?”

  “Well, sure, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a hot boyfriend too. The idea is to be able to have it all.” The sound of a wine cork popping came through the line. It seemed this conversation required alcohol.

  “Yeah, but I could be risking having nothing. And I don’t even really know this guy.” I tossed some socks in the whites basket and then abandoned my task altogether and threw myself on my bed.

  “Then it shouldn’t be a hard choice.”

  My silence spoke for me.

  “Dammit!” I punched the mattress.

  Mallory stifled a laugh. “Sorry, Sof. I’m not laughing at you, I promise. But it sounds like you really connected with this guy. If I were you, I’d at least sleep with him.” She didn’t even try to hold back her laugh that time.

  “Yes, I know you would.” Trouble was, that was exactly where I knew this was heading, good sense be damned.

  “Go out with him one more time. See where it takes you, and then make a decision. Your principal does not have a hidden camera in your living room—or bedroom.” Another cackle.

  My eyes automatically scanned the ceiling for anything unusual before sanity kicked in. “Ugh. Okay, maybe you’re right. What I should really do is talk it out with him.”

  “So do it.” The glug, glug of wine filling a glass was audible

  “Problem is, whenever I’m around him, there are other things I’d rather do.”

  I heard the bottle land firmly on her counter. “Now, that’s my girl!”

  Chapter 5

  Again with plans and good intentions! When Friday night rolled around, I had it all worked out. I’d invite Cal in and sit him down for a talk—with him in the armchair and me on the couch so he wouldn’t be within touching distance. Distractions had to be kept to a minimum. Discussing the situation over the phone hadn’t seemed right. I wanted to do it in person, so I waited and carefully planned our Friday interaction.

  What I didn’t account for, however, was the delicious way Cal would smell and the look he’d give me when I opened the door. Silly me. No sooner had I cracked it open when I found my back pressed to the edge of my kitchen counter and Cal’s mouth colliding with mine. And it was good. Hands wandered, fingers drifted over taut muscle, tongues tangled, moans were exchanged. You know, a classic hello kiss.

  I was the one to pull away this time. Believe me, I’m as surprised as anyone. If we didn’t get out of my apartment that minute, we were never leaving. And we had talking to do. Impromptu plan B went into effect as I dragged Cal out the door.

  “So where are we going?” I forced the breathlessness from my voice and threw a look back at Cal. He was checking out my ass. Aww.

  He shook his head to clear the sex cobwebs and looked up at my face, a smile forming. “Oh. I thought we might check out the blues festival downtown. Sounds like there’ll be some good food and vendors along with the music.”

  “Cool. I’ve never been.” I returned Cal’s smile as he opened the car door for me.

  “Then it will be a first for both of us.” His words came out holding more weight than they should have. I swear, this guy could deliver an unfortunate medical diagnosis and it would sound sexy. At least to me. Three months to live, you say? Then you’d better do me now!

  I’d chosen a modest outfit for the evening, anticipating a more serious mood. My black shorts and flat sandals would work perfectly for a street festival. Cal let me pick the radio station for our drive and I chose a local Cou
ntry one. Of course, I could have used the drive to talk to him about the school thing, but, dammit, I didn’t feel like it anymore. This date was off to a great start and I wanted to enjoy it since it might be our last one. Our talk could wait till the end of the night.

  “Phoebe would approve of your taste in music. I believe she has a crush on Luke Bryan.”

  I filed that away before responding, “Don’t we all?” earning me a scowl that had me laughing. “I’m not surprised she likes Country. She’s a smart kid, after all.”

  “I think so, although I may be a bit biased.” Cal winked at me.

  I sang along with the radio, not caring that my voice wasn’t the best. Cal kept shooting glances my way as he drove, always with a small grin that told me he didn’t mind my voice either. I felt comfortable with him, which was rare this early on. When we reached downtown and found parking, Cal opened my door and helped me out, keeping my hand in his as we walked toward the festival.

  The crowd mingled among sounds of blues guitar and brass as Cal and I walked down the main stretch. We stopped for a while to watch a guy playing harmonica and practically breaking my heart with the depth of emotion he was able to generate with just his mouth and a piece of metal. I caught Cal watching me instead of the musicians a few times and it sent my belly tumbling. He was looking hot as always in a pair of cargo pants and a grey band t-shirt, his dirty blond hair falling in front of his ears and a bit mussed from either my hands or the breeze. There was really no telling.

  We walked around some more, stopping at a few booths and picking up some barbecue along the way. Perched close together on the edge of a raised flower bed outside some random shop, we ate our meal. I made a comment about how good it was and Cal bragged that he and his brother cooked up some mean barbecue that could probably beat this meal.

  “I’ll believe it when I taste it.” He may as well understand my close, personal relationship with food right from the start—if that’s what this could possibly be.