Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

Don’t do It, Amanda. Don’t you go there, gurl.

The air between us feels energized, the hair on my arm standing on end. It’s only because of the friction between us. That’s why I feel weightless and the rest of me hot and prickly. That’s why my stomach grows wings and takes flight.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. Otherwise I would have to admit that I’m attracted to him and that would be bad.

And then I recall honey and my joy goes splat on the stone floor under us, taking my smile, my stomach, and everything else along with it.

“I’m on a date,” I announce, as if that matters.

“I know.” His face goes back to neutral, not even a ripple crosses his staid expression.

“I need to get back to it.”

“You do that.” He looks to the women leaning up against him. They’re still there. The brunette has an arm draped around his neck and the redhead an elbow on his shoulder. Yes, the bar is packed, but does he really need to wear these two around his neck? “What can I get you ladies to drink?”

If he was trying to annoy me, he’s won. On the pain scale it nails a perfect ten. It’s also, my cue to exit. “See you later, Hendricks.”

“Enjoy your date,” he volleys back. Why do I feel like there’s a lot of subtext being thrown around here?

“Enjoy your neck warmers.”

The confused look this earns makes me irrationally happy. I’m fully aware of how childish it is but I need to get my kicks where I can. With that, I head back to my date with an extra pep in my step. This is the sad state of my social life, that getting the last word with Hendricks is the highlight of my night.

Back at the table, Steven gets up and pulls out my chair. “I almost came looking for you,” he admits. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great.” Sitting, I lace my fingers together and take a deep breath. “Steven, I promised myself I was going to do things differently, and in that spirit, I have to tell you that you are about as perfect a date as any woman could wish for.”

He really does deserve the praise. He hasn’t checked his phone once since he picked me up. That alone is worth a standing ovation. Steven returns a broad smile. “But I don’t think this is going to work,” I add, placing my napkin neatly on the table, preparing to leave if he asks me to.

His smile falls, the mood now sober. Guilty pricks at me but I persevere. Pretending won’t do anyone any good. “I should probably leave so you can enjoy your dinner.”

Exhaling, he looks toward the bar, the spotlight illuminating the disappointment already settling on his angular features. “Most women see me as a wallet with legs,” he tells me. “It’s nice to get some honesty for a change.” I have no doubt Steven will make some woman thank her lucky stars one day soon. It just won’t be me.

Having come to a decision, his warm brown eyes meet mine squarely. “Stay?” He shrugs. “Have dinner with me anyway?”

The smile he gives me does the trick, convincing me that if nothing else we could at least enjoy a nice dinner. “Okay.”

He raises his water glass, preparing to toast. “To honesty and new friends.”

Now that the atmosphere’s relaxed I’m happy to be out. Smiling, I raise mine as well. In the periphery of my vision I catch Hendricks watching us. He pauses a beat, expression unreadable, before he walks out––alone, I note. Not a neck warmer in sight.

“To honesty and friendship,” I repeat, touching glasses while a comfortable ease seeps through me. Maybe that’s all I’m destined for in this life. A life that is already filled with family and friends who have my best interest at heart––people who love me and I love in return. I have nothing to complain about and everything to be grateful for. Maybe hoping for true love is asking for too much.

An hour and a half later, after a healthy debate over whether the Game of Thrones television series is better than the books, Steven drops me off. I walk into a dark, silent house and almost get pile driven into the ground by my lovely dog. Hendricks must have gone elsewhere, I determine. Glancing around the empty house, disappointment comes over me. It knocks out of place the leftover joy I brought home from my non-date. Which irks me. He doesn’t get my leftovers, dammit. He’s not entitled to them.

Kicking off my heels, I slip on my rubber thongs and take Roxy out to do her business. Fifteen minutes later, outside my bedroom, I hear the unmistakable sound of heavy breathing. I step inside with a good idea of what I might find, or hope I find. The small lamp on the nightstand is on, bathing the large man sleeping in my bed in gold light. And Goldilocks is snoring––faintly, but snoring nonetheless.