attempted to make conversation, pretending to myself that I was out with someone in whom I had no interest, didn’t find the least bit attractive, and with whom I had spent many an evening.
“So, Kevin tells me you’re a Joyce scholar,” he said, and took a sip of the beer that he had brought back for himself.
“Guilty.” Nothing says sexy like someone who reads obtuse Irish writers.
“‘Love loves to love love. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody,’” he said, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks as it may have occurred to him that quoting Joyce was either a show-offy move or one that would give me the wrong impression of our first date.
Neither possibility crossed my mind. “I’m impressed,” I said, and it was the truth. Not only did he quote correctly, but it was a quote from well into the text. That was a quote correctly rendered from someone who had read the book from start to…well, at least the middle.
He focused his attention on the game. “I’ve always loved Joyce. His writing has such a musical quality, it’s hard not to love it.”
We cheered as the Rangers scored a goal. I was careful not to jump up and down, spilling what tasted like a fine merlot all over my date. “So, what else did Kevin tell you about me?”
The look that passed over his face told me that Father Blabbermouth—my rather improper nickname for gossip-loving Kevin—had given Jack chapter and verse on the many sordid aspects of my life. How I had married a scoundrel but stayed married to him for seven years. And how the dead body of one of my students had been found in the trunk of my car. And how I had fallen in love with a very attractive, yet very married, detective. And how aforementioned scoundrel was found dead in my kitchen. It was all there, written on his kind face.
“He told me that you love hockey,” he offered weakly. “I hope that’s true.”
Nice save. “Yes, it’s true,” I said, and exhaled. “My mother and father were from Quebec and while my father was a dedicated Nordiques fan, once he moved to New York, he changed teams. I grew up a Ranger fan.”
“College professor, Joyce scholar, Ranger fan,” he said, smiling. “You don’t find too many people in this arena with that pedigree.” The buzzer sounded, ending the first period. “How about another glass of wine?” he asked.
I looked into my glass and saw that it was nearly empty. “Why not?” I said, and handed it to him. The moment he left his seat, my cell phone chirped. Max.
“You’re showing quite a lot of boob tonight,” she observed. “Unless that’s the glare from the ice bouncing off your cleavage.”
I peered down into my chest area; my cardigan sweater was unbuttoned just enough to say “yes, I’m a college professor but, boy, have I got game.” “Am not.”
“You’re doing quite well,” she said. “I’ve been watching your entire date on television.”
“He’s cute, right?”
“He’s very cute, I think. The guy sitting in front of the two of you has a huge head. It’s enormous. He should get that looked at.” And with that, she ended the conversation.
Jack returned with wine and some hot dogs, one of which I devoured as daintily as I could. I stretched out my consumption to five bites this time but he didn’t seem to notice. After the second glass of wine, the conversation flowed a little more easily and I found myself really enjoying his company. The game ended with the Rangers winning, leaving both of us in a great mood.
We left the seating area and returned to the lobby, where we had begun our date. “Did you drive in tonight?” he asked as we went with the crowd toward the front door. The night air was chilly even though, technically, summer had just ended.
“I’m taking the train home,” I said, and pulled my jacket tight around my body.
“I’ve arranged a car service to take you home. Let’s walk outside; the driver should be waiting out here on Thirty-fourth Street.” He took my hand and led me out to the street. Just as he predicted, a driver was parked along the street, holding a sign bearing the name “Bergerson.” Close enough.
I turned to face him. “Jack, thank you. This was a really lovely evening.”
He leaned in and I girded myself for a kiss. But instead, he took a piece of