by Poppy Parkes
“That's okay. I don't date much either,” he said, voice warm. “Ever, actually. So this is something of a first for me, too.”
This revelation sent relief coursing through her, muscles loosening. She realized that she'd been taking shallow gasps of air; she drew in a deep, full breath and felt it soothe her. “Well, that's reassuring.”
“From what I've heard,” he said, blue eyes sparkling, “this is the part where we get to know each other. So . . . tell me about yourself. What do you do, what do you love, who do you love to do it with?” He winked and her stomach flipped.
“Well,” Ruth said, swallowing hard, “I work at Baldwin Elementary here in Cambridge, teaching first grade.”
“Wow,” said Derek, nodding in appreciation, “that sounds like quite the, ah, engaging career. And by engaging, I mean exhausting.”
She laughed. “Yes, it can be grueling at times, with the endless grading and staff development and lesson planning. And don't even get me started on the parents.”
“That bad?”
“No, actually. My students' parents are pretty wonderful as a rule. But dealing with them scares the crap out of me. It's high stakes for them, and for me, and the kids are stuck in the middle.” She took a swallow of coffee. “But my students are amazing. Funny, and smart, and almost always excited about what we're learning. It can't get better than that . . . right?” Ruth shrugged.
Derek fixed her another one of those piercing looks that made her want to tumble into his arms right then and there. “It sounds like you're trying to convince me . . . and yourself.”
Now her mouth really did hang open. “Well, no – I mean – I –”
He shrugged. “Plenty of people don't love their jobs. Plenty of people hate their jobs.”
“I don't hate my job.”
“I believe you,” he said, pausing for a long moment before continuing. “But . . . I don't think you love it, either. I don't think it's that thing that you love, you know? I can hear it in your voice.”
She scowled at him. “Fine, maybe you're right. Teaching isn't my passion, like it is Padme's.”
“Your friend,” he said.
Ruth nodded. “Yes, the crazy one who was apparently passing out my number last night.”
“Passing your number out?” Derek pouted. “And here I thought I was the only one who got it.”
She made a face at him. “Well,” she said airily, “you don't know what kind of woman I am. Not yet, anyway. I could be anyone.”
“I hope you're not just anyone,” said Derek, voice dropping into a more serious tone. “I hope that you remain fully yourself. Because that is what I find so attractive.”
Ruth felt taken aback. “Oh.” She wanted to scowl again, to protect herself, to not show him how much his words seared into her in the most beautiful way. But instead she found herself smiling, a small upward curve of the lips that melted into an all-out wide and blushing smile. This man was opening something up inside her somehow – first last night with his gaze drawing some new brave out of her, and now this.
I'm starting to like it, she thought. “Tell me,” she said impulsively, surprising herself. “Tell me about what you see.”
Derek's smile returned, accompanied by a thoughtful expression. She wanted to squirm away, to look anywhere, everywhere but at those blue eyes. But she inhaled, slow and deep, and forced herself to return his warm gaze.
“Okay,” he said. “Well, I see a powerful woman. A woman full of mystery. Only she hasn't figured out how powerful, how beautiful in all ways she is, so she is sad. She hasn't quite found her feet in this world, but she is finding them now, I think, and when she learns to trust her legs – her quite sexy legs, I must say,” he added, making Ruth blush for what felt the umpteenth time. “When she learns to stand on those legs, to walk in the way she was born to walk, she is going to ignite the world, I think.” Derek leaned in across the table. “I certainly hope that you will ignite my world,” he said in a low voice. “You've already lit the match.”
Ruth felt her pulse racing, and her stomach twisting over on itself, but not in its usual anxious way. This was warmer, more exciting. It made her want to howl at the moon, to quit her job and just write already, to lean across the table and kiss Derek, hot and deep –
She blinked and realized that Derek was staring at her, wearing a bemused expression. Shaking her head, she said, “Sorry. That was – wow. I don't even know what to say.”
“You don't have to say anything. Just let me buy you breakfast.”
She grinned. “I can do that.” Derek grabbed the menus and passed one to her. She accepted and opened it, but her eyes weren't reading the offerings. The Brew was one of her favorite spots, so she already knew what she wanted – banana bread French toast with real maple syrup and a side of bacon. But she pretended to read the menu, taking the time to calm her thrumming heart.
Ruth sucked in long, slow breaths, willing her trembling nerves to settle. A man had never had this effect on her, attracting her body, mind, and spirit. But maybe, as Padme had always said when Ruth waved off her offers of set ups, she had never met the right guy. And maybe Derek was a right guy. Or – the thought slipped in before she could silence it – maybe he was the right guy. Ruth swallowed, hard, as her stomach swooped. Cool it, she told herself. Don't go there. It's just breakfast.
The shadow of the waitress's approach fell across the menu. Ruth looked up, opening her mouth to order, but before she could utter a word the waitress spoke.
“Derek,” the young blonde said flatly, a statement rather than a question or an exclamation, eyes blazing into Derek.
He looked up from his menu and the light fell from his face. “Oh. Uh, hi.”
“Hi?” the waitress said, hands on her hips. “That's all you have to say to me? I thought you said you had to work today.”
“Well –” he began, glancing at Ruth, but the waitress wasn't done.
“I should have known when you came onto me that last night was going to be just a one-off for you,” she spat, shaking her head.
“Wait,” Ruth broke in. “Wait. Last night?” The pleasurable twisting in her belly turned into what felt like a writhing knot of snakes.
“Watch out for this one,” the waitress said to her. “He's a womanizer. Fuck 'em and leave 'em, that's got to be his motto. I really hope you're not his girlfriend, because if you are – well, now you know he's a jerk-faced cheat.” She turned and stomped off, blonde bun bobbing.
Ruth breathed, and breathed again. This isn't happening. It can't be. Please, she pleaded silently, not sure who she was talking to.
“Ruth –” Derek said, reaching across the table for her hand. She jerked it away.
“Don't,” she said, shaking her head. “Just – don't. I should have known. I did know.” Ruth grabbed her bag and slid out of the booth. She practically ran out the door, the tips of her ears hot and flaming.
Derek followed her outside. “Please. Let me explain.”
Ruth turned her head to meet his sapphire eyes as her feet flew over the sidewalk. They were filled with pleading, regret. Damn, he's good, she thought. I almost believe that he feels bad. “Explain what? That you're just after a night or two with me, using my body for some fun before you move on to some other woman?”
“No, that's not what I want with you.”
She shrugged, quickening her pace. “How the hell am I supposed to believe you? Last night you seemed like you were all about me, and today, too. And now I find out that in the few short hours I've known you, you've already slept with someone else. That's – that's seriously messed up.” She stalked down the sidewalk, the Harvard Square traffic spinning by. She prayed that the tears she felt threatening behind her eyes wouldn't fall until she was alone.
“I know,” Derek said, falling in beside her. “I know, it was totally messed up.”
“You led me on. With all that crap about what you see in me . . . I want to vomit.”
“No, I didn't
lead you on. I mean, that was true, every word. I promise.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your promises don 't seem to carry a lot of weight.”
Derek pulled around and stood squarely in front of her, forcing her to stop. His eyes held a fierce light. “Look, I didn't lead you on. I didn't make any promises, any commitment. You left me at the bar last night with no explanation. If I'd known you were interested, I never would have slept with that woman, I swear.”
“You told me that you don't date.” She glared, hating how her heart tripped over itself in attraction even as she met his cerulean gaze with her own seething one.
He shook his head. “I don't.”
“Well, that waitress told a different story. And right now I'm thinking she's a hell of a lot more credible than you.” Ruth folded her arms over her chest.
Derek dragged a hand through his chocolate colored hair, subtle natural highlights glinting gold in the sun's light. “I don't date. I never have. I . . . okay this is going to sound bad, but please, hear me out. Just for two minutes, and then you never have to see or hear from me again if that's what you want.”
Ruth sighed. “Fine. Two minutes. Talk.” She didn't know what to hope for, only that in spite of everything her skin seemed to whisper for his touch.
“I don't date,” he began.
“Okay, that's the third time you've said that, and I'm feeling that there's a huge 'but' coming after, so just spill it. There's no use in trying to pretty it up for me now.”
“Fine. I fuck.” Derek spoke in an even, matter-of-fact tone, but even so Ruth found herself wincing at the hard word. He continued, “I don't date women – I sleep with them. It started after high school, born out of insecurity, I guess. I know that doesn't make it okay, but that's the truth of it. I was the school whipping boy, until I started working out and got my body. Then I realized that I could get back at those assholes who made fun of me. One night stands would hurt the girls I slept with along with the guys they were with or who wanted to be with them. And from there . . . it just became habit, I guess. Easier. A way to blow off steam.”
“And now I'm your next conquest,” Ruth said. “Fabulous. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“No, you're not just another tryst,” he said, voice earnest. “I swear. There's something about you . . . something different. And honestly, I've lately become dissatisfied with my way of being with women, even before I saw you last night. It's not fun anymore. It's not what I want, I think.”
“So now you just want to do me, to make me your little sex partner, is that what you're saying?” she said with disgust. “Because that's so much better.”
“No. Well, yes, obviously I want to have sex with you, because I'm damn attracted to you. But I want more than that, too. I want to know you, not just hop in bed with you. Which is a first for me.” He sighed. “I'm not saying it right.”
“Well, your two minutes are up,” Ruth said. She knew she should walk away – no, run away, far away. This guy was bad news. He had to be.
But there was something urging her to stay, to give him a second chance. Bad idea, self, she thought. And yet she stayed where she was, pedestrians flowing past them like river water around a pair of stones.
“I know,” he said, rubbing at the back of his head in frustration. “I know. I'm really sorry things went like this, Ruth. I screwed up. I'd love to make it up to you, if that's even possible. What I said before, about what I saw in you – it's all true. Even if you decide you're done with me, please believe those words, for yourself.”
“Why should I?”
“Because you're worth it. Because you are those things, and are becoming those things. Because you are amazing. I barely know you, and I can see it so clearly.”
She shook her head, brain suddenly feeling muddled and thick. “I don't know what to think.”
“I know.” Derek grimaced. “I'm really sorry.”
Ruth took a deep breath, and the cigarette smoke spewed by a passing pair of hipsters wafted into her lungs, calming her in an unexpected but wholly welcome way. “I think I'm going to go home,” she said slowly. Derek sighed, nodding. “But . . . you've got one more chance. And not,” she stabbed a finger into the center of his chest, “because you deserve it. Because I like you, except for all this stuff you just put me through. And if you're for real then I'd hate to miss out on that because of something so stupid.”
“You're serious?” he asked, blinking hard, understanding washing surprise across his skin. “You are actually willing to give me a second shot?”
“A last shot,” corrected Ruth. “I won't let you drag me through hell, no matter how much I think I might like you.”
“I understand,” Derek nodded. “And – I'm glad. You are worth it, like I said. Worth not putting up with shit.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, more emphatically than she felt. “You'd better not forget that, because if you do, whatever this is between us will be over.”
He nodded again, smiling. “Thank you, Ruth. I won't let you down.”
She returned his smile in spite of herself. “I hope so,” she said, even as she cringed inwardly. She hoped she wasn't making a massive mistake.
* * *
Derek threw himself onto one of the T's plastic seats, craving the soothing wander of the Saturday midday crowd populating the public transit system. He couldn't believe what had just gone down at breakfast. Brunch? Damn, it didn't even matter, they'd barely had coffee before that woman – Tina? Tara? – had shown up as their waitress. Of all the luck.
But. He had her number. Ruth's number. The one that mattered. And, even better, he had her yes. Her willingness to let him try again – just one time, but that was all the chance he needed.
Well, it usually would be, given his track record. But with Ruth, he wondered if it would be enough. If it even could be. She was so different from his usual conquests. Not to mention that she was not the kind of woman who'd tolerate being a mere conquest, as she'd made so exquisitely clear.
And that was just it. He didn't want a conquest, either. Not this time. Not with her. He was craving something with depth and texture, something that grew with tendriling shoots down through the strata of his heart, rooting in his sinews and synapses. In his soul.
At least, that's what he thought he was longing for. He didn't have the experience to know for sure. But now, with Ruth, he had a chance to find out.
As the train lurched into motion, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He drew it out and tapped the answer button.
“Yeah?” he said into the phone, the train shuttling into the black, musky subway tunnel that seemed to mirror the unsettled feeling in his gut.
“Hey, man,” came the familiar voice of his friend Ridger on the other end. “What are you doing tonight?”
Derek smoothed his free hand along his jeans. “Nothing much,” he replied. “Why? Did you have something in mind?”
“Hell yes, dude. My girl's band is playing a sick set at Plow tonight, and you don't want to miss it. You in?”
Derek sighed. The last thing he felt like was another night out. “I don't know, I'm kind of tired . . .”
He heard Ridger snort on the other end. “Tired? Are you kidding? What are you, a senior citizen?”
“Don't be an ass.”
“I can't help it, your ass-ery is coming through the phone and infecting me. You are coming tonight. The Plow, seven o'clock. If you don't show, I am calling 911, because the only way you'd miss something this amazing is if you had fallen and couldn't get up.”
“Fine. I'll be there. But you're still the ass.”
“I have no problem with that. I'm just looking out for your health here, man,” said Ridger. “See you later.”
“Yeah, see you,” Derek said hollowly, hearing the click on the other end of the phone as the line went dead. Maybe Ridger was right. Maybe he was getting sick or something. Could illness cause his uncharacteristic attraction to Ruth? He wasn't sure what answer to hope for.
/> * * *
“I cannot believe you gave Derek my number,” Ruth told Padme as they sweated alongside each other on a pair of elliptical machines at the gym that afternoon. “He could have been a serial killer or a stalker or something. He still could be, for that matter.”
“My serial killer spidey senses didn't tingle . . . although other certain parts of me did,” Padme said, wiggling her voluptuous eyebrows, earning herself a playful swat on the arm from Ruth. “That guy is hot. And he was totally into you. How could I let him get away?”
“Well, apparently he's totally into everybody,” Ruth said sourly. “He slept with the woman who was our waitress. Last night. In a city like Boston, we just happen to end up with one of his headboard notches as our waitress? The odds are incredible. He must have slept with every woman here practically.”
