“Wow, thanks. My hand ... I would’ve been under a dark cloud, or even more of a darker sky without it.” I bend and brace my arm into my belly so I can clip it closed around my wrist.
“Let me,” he offers.
After I raise my sweaty forearm and shove up my sleeve, he fastens the bracelet on. His fingers graze my wrist, and my knees nearly buckle at his touch. Of course, I pretend not to feel attracted to this man—this sexy, maybe younger-than-me man. Probably younger-than-me man. No, I don’t feel a thing.
Except, my pulse is sprinting and I’m standing still.
“See? I saved the day. I’m a regular hero.”
“A cocky one at that,” I tease.Me, teasing. I feel like I should take my temperature. I may have a fever. “Thanks, really.”
“Hey,” he says, “let me buy you a drink sometime. A friendly thing, no strings, a get-to-know-you. We’ve run into each other twice. It’s practically destiny, don’t you think?”
I swing my head left and right. “Are you punking me?”
People don’t ask me out, mostly because of the situation we don’t discuss. Which I’m not bringing up now in its entirety. I’m only referencing there was a situation, and it stayed with me.
His laugh is loud. “That show’s old. No, I’m not punking you. Let’s get a drink.”
“I have a kid.”
This is the only deterrent I can come up with. Notyou and I spoke earlier today. I’m Andrea.And notI’m a crazy, bitchy anonymous blogger.
“So? I like kids. I was a kid a long time ago. Plus, even if I didn’t like kids, I wasn’t inviting your kid to have a drink. But to clarify, I do like kids.”
“Okay,” I say, agreeing with one word.
“Why don’t you give me your number.” He pulls out his phone.
All of a sudden, I’m sweating. I’m pretty sure I blocked my number earlier when I called him, but still. “Why don’t you give me yours?” I slide my armband down and pull out my phone.
“How do I know you’ll call?”
“I’ll call when I get a babysitter. Are you free most nights?” I can’t believe the words spewing out of my traitorous mouth.
“I teach on Wednesday nights.”
“Got it, but I really have to hustle now.”
“’Bye, Andi.”
I’m an out-of-breath, sweaty mess by the time I make it home.
“Hellooo.”
My screen door slaps shut and I hear Leona hollering through my house on Friday.
“In here, Ms. Leona,” Gabby yells back from the kitchen.
I continue to hide in my bedroom, backing up my laptop.
“What are you doing, pretty lady?”
“Having a snack, waiting for Mom. We’re going to get some new shoes. Mom said I could get sparkly ones.”
“Is that so?” Leona says in that tone I know so well. She’s prepping to meddle. “Sounds like a fun way for your mom to spend a Friday night. But I was coming over to see if you wanted to watch a movie with me.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but then Mommy will be alone ...” The last part trails off on a whisper.
