A Matter of Trust: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance

Mitch was, in short, everything Morgan’s sister Jane had told her he was when Jane arranged their blind date. Two dates ago. Making this the third date.

“Sorry,” Morgan told him. “I’m just a little distracted tonight, I guess. Long day teaching.”

Telling the fib didn’t bother her because it was better than telling Mitch the truth, which would have gone something like, “Sorry, I’m just a little distracted tonight by the fact that this is our third date and for some reason, I really, really don’t want to have sex with you later.”

But Mitch was too sweet to say that to. Besides, Mitch didn’t seem like he’d press the whole third-date-means-sex thing. Morgan was willing to bet Mitch would be perfectly fine waiting until the tenth or even the twentieth date before they consummated their relationship.

What Morgan couldn’t understand was why she didn’t want to have sex with this gorgeous (and sweet) man having dinner with her, whether on this date or ten dates from now. She’d had sex with less gorgeous and less sweet men.

Though not for a while…

Actually, how long had it been?

“Do you want to leave?” Mitch asked, thankfully distracting Morgan from adding up the…

Jesus Christ, months?!

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…since she’d had sex.

“Um…it’s kind of noisy in here, don’t you think?” Mitch went on.

Morgan was confused.

They had managed to secure one of the indoor tables at the seafood restaurant Mitch suggested in downtown Carlsbad. In normal times, Morgan imagined this place would be rather noisy, even on a Thursday night; however, due to Covid restrictions still in place, the dining room capacity was reduced considerably. Most of the restaurant’s patrons were actually seated outside on the patio meaning that in the dining room, it was nice and quiet because of the fewer tables. Quieter restaurants were one of the few perks of the pandemic, in Morgan’s opinion.

Mitch was rubbing the back of his head. Kind of nervously, Morgan thought.

“How about we head back to my place where it’s a little more peaceful; maybe have some coffee or a nightcap?”

Shit!

So, he was going to press the whole third-date-means-sex thing.

Morgan was about to come up with some excuse about why she couldn’t go back to his place tonight but then stopped herself. What was wrong with her? Didn’t she just add up in her head how long it had been since she’d had sex?

Seriously, months?

And how many dates had she been on since the last lucky guy? Even during a pandemic Morgan had had an impressive dating record. Her best friend Naomi joked that Morgan herself could possibly be considered a super-spreader event.

Sitting across from her was a great-looking guy with a good job, who was kind and sweet and wanted to take her home.

And why wouldn’t he? Morgan knew she looked great tonight. Her slender five-five frame was dressed in an off-the-shoulder sweater that fit her bustline snugly and she was showing a bit of leg with the pencil skirt she had paired the sweater with, a skirt she also knew fit her snugly in all the right places. Her chocolate-brown hair she had simply pulled back into a ponytail but for some reason a ponytail always looked a little sexy on her.

She smiled.

“That sounds like a great idea,” she said.

But less than ten minutes later, as they were walking on Oak Avenue towards where they had parked their cars, Morgan suddenly stopped and grabbed Mitch’s arm, stopping him also and turning him to face her.

“Mitch, I’m sorry,” she began, looking down at her shoes. “I don’t know what it is with me but I’d rather not go home with you tonight.” She looked up then. His expression was confused. She couldn’t blame him.

He placed both his hands on her shoulders.

“Hey, Morgan, listen, if you think I’m rushing things, I apologize. We don’t have to go to my place if you don’t want. We can go somewhere else for a drink. And as far as anything else goes, I’m more than willing to wait until—”

“No, Mitch,” Morgan cut him off. “Thank you; that’s really sweet and trust me when I say you’re a great guy but I’m afraid it’s more than that. Or not more than that, or something. I don’t know! But I’m just not feeling what I think I should be feeling at this point in our relationship and the last thing I want to do is string you along.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”