Have a drink with him? Tonight? His date must’ve fallen through. I’m not going to be his plan B this time.
Me: Sorry, I can’t.
I was about to throw his own words back at him: ‘Sorry, I can’t. I have other plans tonight,’ like he’d said to the girl on Twitter. But then he’d know I was snooping in his feed and that would make me look desperate. Which I am, only, he doesn’t need to know that.
Heath: Come on, please? I turned down wine and handcuffs for a chance to be with you tonight.
Wait, what? I’m the “lucky girl” in his Twitter conversation? This time when my heart takes flight, I don’t try to hold it down. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
Me: What time?
Heath: I can be in Brettsville in an hour.
Me: I’ll see you then.
After sending him my phone number and address, I turn off my computer. After the initial shock wears off, I squeal and jump on my bed, doing my happy dance. The neighbor downstairs thumps on her ceiling to quiet me down. Obviously she’s not accustomed to a ruckus in this particular part of the apartment. It’s been a while since I hosted a man in my bedroom.
To keep the peace, I climb down off of my bed, but the celebrating doesn’t stop. Even while I dance to the living room to turn on music while I get ready, I’m telling myself not to get too excited. ‘Drinks’ is just another word for booty call. I’m okay with that, but part of me wishes there could be more. He’s the kind of guy I could see myself with and not just for the explosive orgasms. It’s a huge bonus, but it’s not everything.
6
I stare out the window at the fat snowflakes falling down in the cone of yellow porch light like dying moths. Not exactly mini skirt and heels weather. I want to look sexy, but that’s not going to happen if I slip and fall on my ass.
A dress is out, so I go for my tightest jeans—not so tight that he’ll have a hard time getting them off at the end of the date—and a sweater cut so low in the front that he’ll be holding his breath, waiting for a nip-slip.
Boots are unfortunate but at least they’re cute. Once my makeup is on and my hair curled, I clean up the clutter in my apartment and remove anything that might be embarrassing. Like my collection of porcelain dolls I’ve had since I was six, and the doilies my grandma crocheted for me. Sorry grandma, but I don’t want anything in this apartment to remind Heath of old people.
He knocks on my door exactly an hour after he told me he would be here. He’s punctual. That’s definitely a plus. I take a breath, square my shoulders and open the door. A cloud of powder rushes into the room around him, the smell of fresh snow and expensive cologne an aphrodisiac that has me concerned about Heath’s welfare. I want to pounce on him. Eat him alive. He looks so good in a pea coat and scarf, his face cleanly shaven, and hair pulled back in a sculpted, yet effortless way. His smile punches me in the stomach, leaving me breathless.
“Mind if I come in for a minute?” he asks.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” I say, stumbling on my words. Why didn’t I think of that? I should’ve invited him in. Great, I’m going to be a neurotic idiot all night.
“Are you okay?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips. “You seem a little nervous.”
Shit.
“Nervous? No. Why would I be nervous? It’s not like we haven’t met before.” The warble in my voice gives the lie away.
He doesn’t call me out on it, just laughs and shakes his head.
“Um, do you want something to drink; coffee, juice, water?” The open floor plan of my apartment gives me a straight shot to the kitchen and a reason to turn my back on him so I get my emotions in check.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” His voice is playful, light. Just the sound of it is enough to make my knees feel like they’ll buckle under my weight. “How about a tour,” he says.
A tour? Thank god I cleaned all the rooms before he showed up.
“Sure,” I say. “Well, you’ve seen the kitchen and living room.” I feel my cheeks heating up. I’ve never been embarrassed about my little apartment until this very moment. Before then I’ve always been pretty proud of it. I got my lease when I was eighteen without any help from my parents and I’ve made it my own. It’s cozy and feels like home to me. Or at least it did until he stepped into the room. It’s like having someone so beautiful and perfect in my little space has tainted it somehow. Everything is dull and inadequate compared to him.
“This is the bathroom,” I say.
He squeezes into the tiny space and goes straight to the shower, looking behind the curtain. “A tight squeeze for two people.”
I’m unable to stop the smile forming on my face. “I don’t have to worry about that too often,” I say.
“No? Hmm,” is all he says, and that’s the end of that.
I show him my bedroom next. He takes his time in there, staring at each little item on my shelves and on top of my dresser. It’s like he’s a scientist studying my habitat, and I’m dying to know what he thinks.
He looks at a keychain with my name on it that’s hanging from a tack on the frame of my mirror. On the backside is a picture of me taken last year. “What’s this from?” he says, picking it up.
“My boss surprised us with a trip to an amusement park. There was a booth where you could make keychains like that.”
“Is it sentimental?” he asks, running his finger across the picture.
What an odd question. “No. It’s just an overpriced keychain.”
“Can I have it?”
I feel my face contort with confusion. “Are you a serial killer or something, collecting trophies from your victims?”
He looks at me very seriously. “Would that be a deal breaker?”
I shrug it off. “Not really. Still better than the last guy I went out with.
His smile cracks. “So can I have it?”
“Have at it.”
He attaches it to his keychain, then
puts his hands on my bed, and pushes on the mattress. It gives a little squeak in return. “So is this where all the magic happens?” he says with a wag of his brow.
I look him straight in the eye, trying to pull off the whole cool, calm, and collected look. “Apparently, for me, magic only happens in hotel rooms.”
He looks taken aback for a moment. A bit shy when he smiles. He clears his throat and lets out a quiet laugh. “Should we go get drinks now?”
For some reason, when he asked to come in, I didn’t think we’d actually make it to the bar. It’s disappointing in a way. I want him all to myself. But then again, I don’t mind being seen with him either. It’s an ego thing. Like hunters gunning down the buck with the largest horns. I can strut around in front of all the girls like, “bitches, look what I caught.”
“I’ll just grab my coat,” I say.
It’s no surprise that he drives a truck. From all the outdoorsy photos on his Instagram account, he’d have a hard time trekking through the wilderness and on dirt roads in a sedan. It suits him. Rugged, masculine. I like the way he drives with one hand draped over the top of the steering wheel while the other rests on the center console. He radiates confidence.
“No subway today?” I say.
I don’t know why he would want to drive the freeway from San Pedro County, maneuvering the icy roads, and sitting in traffic when the subway is a straight shot and would cut off about 15 minutes of travel time. It’s cheaper too. A big truck like this must cost a fortune in gas.
“I never take the subway,” he says. “Can’t stand the smell or being packed in with strangers like sardines.”
“Then why were you on it yesterday?”
He bites his bottom lip. “Yesterday was different. My truck was in the shop.”
His truck is new and top of the line from the looks of the leather, sunroof, and navigation system. So why would it be in the shop?
There was a change in his voice when he said it. A slight rise and fall of his words that didn’t sound as smooth and natur
al as it had when he’d spoken before. I don’t know him well enough to say he was lying, but if that were Stephanie, I’d call her out on her bullshit.
He takes me to an upscale restaurant with a bar in an adjoining room. I didn’t know this place was even here. It has a breathtaking view of the river and its snowy banks. Inside is just as beautiful with a waterfall sculpture and saltwater fish tank that covers the entire wall behind the bar.