Knocking Boots - Willow Winters Page 0,14
I see Grace in my mind. I picture her absently checking her phone with that sad look on her face. She would never cheat. She knows what she wants. Suzanne wasn’t sure. That’s what she told me. I was all she ever had and so she needed to be sure.
I close my eyes as I shush Evie, forcing that conversation out of my head, my lips close to her head and my right hand patting her back. I know Grace has gotta be hurting about not being able to have kids. She’s talked about it more than once to me. I don’t like seeing that sadness behind those beautiful doe eyes of hers. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who’d cheat. A woman like her isn’t interested in a man like me though. She wants a commitment and a man with stability, and there’s no way I’m getting her without promising her just that in return.
I’ve made too many mistakes, been burned too many times. The bar does great some weeks, not so great the next. She doesn’t want me. She’d make cute little babies though.
Evie starts crying a little harder the second my bouncing stops. Crap. Cheryl hops up from her seat with her arms out ready to take her. I don’t fight her in the least and pass Evie back to her.
I’m not ready for a relationship, let alone to be a father.
Grace
I’ve realized my nervous habit is tapping my foot, mainly because I keep catching myself doing it in between sips of white wine as I sit at the bar of The Brick Store Pub, waiting for my date to arrive. All around me, there are people in motion; waiters carrying trays of beer and food out to the tables, customers heading to the bathroom or upstairs to the Belgian beer bar with the chefs peeking their heads out of the back to check out the crowd.
With stylish deep-red sailor pants and a cream-colored blouse, I really tried to look cute. I debated on keeping the third button undone to add a little bit of sexy but opted to keep it modest. After another sip of Zinfandel, I suck my teeth, a habit that reappears when I feel like I’m at a disadvantage. I haven’t dated in how long?
At least I made it on time.
It’s 7:48, exactly eighteen minutes past when Jason and I agreed to meet. I’m officially nervous now and I keep checking my phone to see if he’s messaged. I’m sure it’s just traffic. I drum my fingers against the arched bar top, shaped like a large horseshoe and stop myself from tapping my foot again. The red stilettos are too pretty to ding up over a date that never happened. I contemplate ordering a second glass after finishing the wine… or maybe a drink I’ve been eyeing since I’ve been here for something like twenty-seven minutes. Not that I’m counting.
Right as I’m about to wave to the bartender, my hand rising, Jason appears. I do a double take while he grins at me. His eyes are level with mine, and I’m five foot four. There’s no way he’s six feet tall, as it says on his dating profile.
He’s also paunchy and balding a little. His photos must have been REALLY old, like they were probably taken in college.
He’s still cute though. I remind myself and force any hint of my thoughts off my face. Those pictures did not prepare me though.
Deep breaths. We’re doing this!
I swallow and extend my hand to him as he walks up, reminding myself that looks aren’t everything. Even though my photos are recent.
“Hi. I’m Grace,” I say, managing a smile although my mouth feels dry. Oh my goodness my heart is racing with nerves out of nowhere.
“Hey,” he says, ignoring my offer of a handshake. Instead, he crushes me to his body, hugging me forcefully. Oh, he’s a hugger. My inner voice sounds as shocked as I feel. The nervous laugh that leaves me probably gives that away. When he pulls back, his hands still on my shoulders, I’m a little out of breath. “I’m Jason,” he says with a grin, patting my shoulders before finally releasing me.
He’s wearing khaki shorts and a blue button-up, with fancy sunglasses peeking out of the pocket. He tosses his car keys on the bar, making sure the Porsche insignia is visible. From the look on his face to the air around him, this guy is cocky. I’m so shocked that