The band had just started when we walked in the door. They were playing a
song that I despise. Probably not the best of omens for this evening. As if
it needed to get any worse.
My date was two hours late picking me up this evening. Because the game had
gone into overtime and I didn't just expect him to leave now, did I? Of
course not. Silly me. So he'd stayed at the sport's bar and watched the
game, stuffing himself full of chips and salsa, those little buffalo chicken
wing things and God knows what else, while I had waited and wondered at home.
He'd neglected to inform me about the overtime, or the fact that he'd been
at a bar, until after he'd arrived on my doorstep.
He wasn't hungry, so we didn't stop for dinner. He wanted to go dancing, so
that's what we did. I was starving. Stll am. Although, it's probably a
good thing I didn't eat. These jeans are so tight, I can hardly breathe as
it is. I'm getting too old for this. What I really want to do is order in a
pizza and curl up on the couch with a couple of movies and a quart of ice
cream.
So what am I doing here? And with such a boorish specimen of manhood? Well,
it may surprise you, but beneath all this blonde hair and cool journalist
facade, there's a woman who didn't have sex for three years after her husband
died. And the boorish specimen happens to be incredibly good looking. All
right. I can say it. These are my thoughts, after all. No one else is
going to hear me. He's effing hot!
I know. Where's my pride? Surely I can do better than this. Yada Yada
Yada. The judge just frowns and shakes his head disapprovingly every time
I drop Billy off for him and Evie to watch while I go out with Doug. (The
judge has another name for him that I pretend not to know about.) None of my
friends understand it either. But they will. They will.
Being late wasn't the worst of it, though. Neither was neglecting to buy me
dinner. As I said, the music proved to be an omen. After we walked through
the door, he sat me down at a table and strolled out on the floor. Like he
owned the place. It was my connections that got us in. He grabbed the
first sweet thing that gave him the eye and left me sitting there feeling
like a damn fool. I could see the couple at the next table turn to look at
me. The woman smiled pityingly and then patted her date's arm with an
unconscious air of pride in ownership. That man's days as a bachelor are
numbered. I wonder if he knows?
I had several offers to dance, but I refused them all. Liberated woman that
I am, I can't quite seem to shake the good manners instilled in me by my
Mother. One does not dance with anyone other than one's escort. And so far,
no one here has tempted me to turn a deaf ear to Mom's strictures.
I can feel eyes on me. I know I'm not imagining it. I've felt them for the
past hour. Ever since we first walked in. I just haven't been able to
locate them in the crowd of people surrounding me. But this time they feel
close. Very close. I turn my head slightly and find myself staring up into
a pair of green eyes. Doug has brown eyes.
"Hello, Chris." I smile, hoping to alleviate some of the anger I see in his
face. Although, why he should be angry is beyond me. We never quite managed
to get to the point of having an actual date, much less a relationship. We
came close a few times, but that only counts in horseshoes and in checkers
with my seven year old son, Billy.
I can see Buck standing just beyond Chris, talking to a woman, of course.
Although, at least this one is a woman. Unlike the girls Doug is
surrounding himself with, tonight.
Chris Larabee attracted me from the very first. It took me a long time
before I was willing to admit that, however. It hadn't been all that long
since Stephen had been murdered when we met and I felt disloyal. And Chris
was still grieving and angry over the death of his wife. And he worked for
my father in law, A.D. Travis; another reason to feel hesitant. I was a busy
single Mom struggling to make a career of journalism. There seemed to be an
endless number of reasons not to pursue matters. And then when I was finally
ready to start thinking about it, along came that bitch Ella.
It still infuriates me that Chris could have been so foolish, so willing to
throw everything away. And for what? The chance to forget? To go back? To
what? To the woman who had quite possibly caused the death of his wife and
child. Men. Always trying to take the easy way out. Never able to let go
and move on. I swear Chris Larabee enjoys being miserable. He wouldn't
know what to do with happiness if it came up and planted a big wet kiss right
on those chiseled lips of his. And no. It never crossed my mind to do any
such thing. And if you buy that, I have a bridge I'd like to sell you.
"Pardon me?" I ask. I know he said something, but I'm not sure what it was.
I was too busy not thinking about his lips. And not looking at those tight
black jeans he's wearing. I wonder if he can breathe. Maybe that's why
he's scowling.
He asked if I wanted to dance. Mother may have told me to dance with my
date, but she also told me that there is an exception to every rule. And
that's as good a definition of Chris Larabee as any. Not that I would tell
him that. A lack of confidence is not one of his failings. Pride.
Stubborness. Hot temper. Those are. Of course, he says the same thing
about me. He's wrong, though. Those aren't my worst failings, by far.
We danced every slow dance the band could play. I felt deliciously sinful.
Like a cache of gold being stolen by some romantic outlaw. Jesse James,
perhaps. I wonder if it was this easy for Jesse? Doug is apparently blind
tonight. Or, at least, he's blind to anyone but those tender, barely legal,
girls he's been dancing with all night.
I reach up and released the pins holding my hair. I laugh as I feel it fall
down my back. The look in Chris's eyes warms me to the bone. My tight jeans
even feel good. Everything does.
So, if Chris is the one who makes me feel this way, then what the heck am I
doing with Doug? Well, it's not so easy for a thirty two year old widowed
working mother to meet a decent man. And even when she does, there always
seems to be problems or impediments or a case of bad timing or something.
It's easier with the bad ones. And at least I can tell myself that I don't
sit home alone all the time.
When the band stopped playing, we walked to the car, or truck in this case.
Chris opened the door for me and helped me in. As he closed the door, Doug
ran out of the bar. The man might be hot, but he looked ridiculous standing
out there under the parking lot lights, shaking his fist. You'd think we
were back in high school. Chris just smiled and got in the truck. I glanced
over at him and caught him looking at me. He still had that gleam in his
eye. The one that said something was going to happen between us tonight. A
smile still quirked the corners of his lips. Chris Larabee liked to win, yes
he did. And he wasn't the type of man to allow a lesser man the victory.
Which was exactly why I couldn't date a nice guy. Now do you understand?
What? It worked, didn't it? You don't think I got to be a successful career
woman/single mom by sitting around and waiting for things to happen, did
you?
The End
