double my usual dose, spraying enough perfume to gag a maggot and forcing myself to leave the confines of my bathroom.
I check my watch. I have thirty minutes before this date is officially supposed to start. There were no new messages from my date, so I have to assume we’re still on. Is he feeling nervous like I am? Is he wondering where this will go? Or is he one of those guys who’s just looking for a quick roll in the hay?
There was a place on the profile to say what you’re looking for, and I sure as heck didn’t put that I was looking for a one-night stand. Of course, I’m not silly enough to think that a guy wouldn’t go for that option if it were presented to him. But I’m not presenting that. The thing with Dev last night? When I brought him up to my bedroom? That was an anomaly. It won’t happen again. I’m not that kind of girl. Unless Dev wants it to happen. I might make an exception for him.
I force my brain away from that line of thinking, refusing to let myself go down that path again. I need to focus, put my game face on. I’m going out on a real date with a perfect stranger who reminds me so much of Dev it’s uncanny. I reread his profile and it only solidified that feeling for me.
I don’t want to show up early, but standing around my house, berating myself in the mirror, and dreaming of what can’t be with Dev isn’t getting me anywhere. It’s tempting to cancel this thing altogether, so I know I have to leave. Besides, it’s better if I’m gone by the time May gets back from the playground with the kids. They’ll whine about me leaving and then I’ll have a guilt trip to battle on top of my other worries.
I get into my car and head toward the tavern. I’ll be there in twenty minutes, traffic willing. On the way there I let my mind wander, replaying the events of the night before. I wonder if Dev and I would’ve actually done the deed if his mom hadn’t called and he hadn’t destroyed my bed doing his superhero dive. I had to sleep on my mattress on the floor last night. I have no idea what I’m going to tell the kids when they ask me about it.
Dev must weigh 250 pounds, maybe even 275, of pure muscle. He probably has to have a special bed at his house: extra long and extra strong. I get all hot and bothered just thinking about that. Long and strong. Big bed. Hmmm . . .
“Stop that!” I look around me, almost hoping I’ll see a neon sign flashing on a nearby business saying, Get your dildos here! Special sale! Total anonymity guaranteed! Obviously I’ve gone way too long without sex, but what the hell, man . . . I’m a healthy woman. I’m practically at my peak, medically speaking. I should be having sex daily! This kind of frustration is to be expected.
The lightbulb goes on above my head. That’s what my problem is! That’s why I’m falling in love with a guy I barely know! I need more sex! I have coitus on the brain. An affliction, almost. I’ll call it coitus-wantus-way-too-muchus. And it’s getting in the way of my normal cognitive processes. It would explain everything.
Maybe this guy I meet tonight will be cute. That picture he put up on his profile was pretty nice. Dev says that everybody Photoshops their photos or uses old ones from when they were younger, but even if this guy is older than he appeared, he’s probably the kind of guy who gets better with age. Maybe we’ll hit just the right vibe together, and he’ll proposition me, and I’ll be like, Sure, I’d love to have sex with you tonight. I’m free, I’m open to new things. I’m a risk-taking, adventurous type, living purely for the moment. Ha! My palms are sweating just imagining it. No way am I going to pull this off.
As I drive into the tavern’s parking lot I’m feeling pretty good, all things considered. I look down at my dress, enjoying the way it hugs my waist and flares out at my hips. My hair is cooperating, its natural waves framing my face, and my makeup is perfect—not too much and not too little, with a slightly smoky lid. Dev seemed to