it’s safe to lay down my sword and shield—that I won’t get ambushed in the night because someone else is watching the perimeter. It’s nice to be part of an army, even if it’s a small one.
Asshole had chest hair. I used to weave my fingers through it. And suddenly I miss him more than I can bear. I think his name, his real name, and feel his embrace. I feel his skin against my skin, arms and legs weaving, torsos locked together. Warm breath on my neck as his mouth finds its way to mine. A deep kiss. A sigh.
He said the words as we lay still. I love you.
And I believed him. For once, I let myself believe.
I got it wrong. It won’t happen again.
And now … I have to start over, make another long journey from strangers to lovers. I’m so tired and we haven’t even begun, Jonathan Fields.
He pulls the key out of the ignition and looks at me with a smile. He says something corny like Shall we? and my brain feels like a circuit’s been tripped by the conflicting information. The car. The Shall we? But then the jeans and the chest hair. I feel confused, so I smile and open the car door. I need air.
“Where should we go?” I ask. I haven’t actually eaten here before. I come here with Rosie and Mason to watch the boats. There’s a huge playground and it’s a long drive from her house—all the makings of an outing. And Rosie loves her outings. I feel a surge of warmth wash over me as I think about Rosie and Mason and Joe, and my work and the future. There is so much that is good.
I hear Mason call my name. Lala!
I hear Rosie in my head. You don’t need a man.
And I think, as I watch Jonathan Fields walk, But I want one.
“I know a place,” Jonathan says. He waits for me to walk ahead of him and I feel his hand on the small of my back as he gently guides me into a bar, sending that shiver. But this one is prickly and uncomfortable, replacing the warmth. It’s not the way someone touches someone before they’ve had a decent conversation. Or a drink, at least. Or maybe they do and this is just me not knowing what the fuck I’m doing.…
There’s a table in the back corner, and I sit facing the wall because he takes the other seat, facing the crowd. I’ve been told that’s what a gentleman does. Something about keeping watch—watching our backs. But, really, let’s be honest. We’re at a bar with a whole mess of attractive young people. I can think of other reasons he might want to sit facing the crowd.
Maybe he wants to keep a lookout for women who might recognize him and call his name and chase after us as we scurry to the door.
He leaves to get us drinks and I need one the way a fish needs water.
I used to think that I think too much. That I search for answers when there are no questions, find solutions that have no problems. That I make mountains out of molehills, as my dear mother used to say. My mother and Dick. They both used to say it.
And then I stopped thinking too much and guess what happened. I slammed right into the side of a mountain.
Seriously. Just give me a magic pill to make it all go away.
Or a cocktail, which is exactly what appears before me.
“Thanks,” I say to Jonathan Fields as he sits down. I glance up inconspicuously as I swallow a large portion of my drink, just waiting for his eyes to find someone younger or hotter or sexier. But he doesn’t. He looks at me and only at me.
And suddenly I want to be the woman I think he wants. New me.
“Okay,” he says, leaning back in his chair. He’s comfortable now, not like he was in the car or even at the first bar. It’s like he’s just come home from a long day at the office and kicked off his shoes.
“Let’s start over. I’m so bad with first dates. I never know what to talk about. What to ask about. It’s like walking in a field of land mines.”
And just like that—bull’s-eye. I kick off my shoes as well.
“I know,” I say to him with as much relief as I can possibly display in one facial expression. “It’s so horrible,