“Correction, Iwasdoing a good thing. My professor thinks I need to start over, maybe with a different topic.”
Tears drip down my face and I dab at them with a napkin. “I’m s-sorry. I’m poor company, today.”
He leans over and takes my hand. How I wish my sex would tingle but there’s nothing. The ladies stubbornly refuse to take notice of anyone but Lochlan.”
“Tell me more. Perhaps I can help.”
I explain everything I’m doing and the time flies by quickly. Not used to having someone intelligent with whom to discuss my work, I forget my worries and order another glass of wine.
When the desert menu is placed in front of me, I realize I’ve monopolized the whole date. “We’ve done nothing but talk about me. Let me ask a few questions. Where were you born?”
He chuckles and leans back in his chair. “I fascinate you, don’t I? Don’t blush, please. I will answer all.”
Smiling, I relax. With no sexual tension, I enjoy his company without the worry of where this relationship might end. Could I ever prefer Yuri to Lochlan? What happens when the incredible heat wears off, what will me and the bodyguard have in common? Will I end up like my mother and father, living on different continents?
“... and so, we came to the United States.”
My face heats because I haven’t been listening, rather daydreaming. I suppose, when homo sapiens lived in caves, survival of the species depended on picking a mate who was strong, virile, and could make you melt into a puddle with a look.
Modern women must overcome her natural instincts. Yuri is a decent man who would understand my research. Perhaps, given some time, we could become friends and then more.
Companionably, we finish our dinner, order desert, and more wine.
When finished, I give him my cheek for a goodbye kiss, but he holds my face and finds my lips.
Eww. His kiss is mushy, moist, and plain awful. I’m certain I could never get used to that.
Thankfully, the awkwardness is hidden by honest surprise. “Oh damn, I’m late for a double massage with my mother. Bye. Thank you for everything.”
“May I call on you again?” Standing, he helps me into my coat.
“Uh, sure. That would be nice.” I did enjoy his company. Maybe I could get beyond the kiss.
Who’m I kidding? No way. Never.
When I booked a massage with Mom, I thought we’d be celebrating my thesis, not wondering if I’ll end up as a cashier in a Seven-Eleven for the rest of my life. I text her that I’m running late and for her to start without me.
A lifetime of her criticisms bounce around inside my brain. Punctuality is the mark of a true lady, timeliness is next to godliness.
Seriously mother? The idiom starts with cleanliness.
The Uber driver drops me off in front of a fountain where the landscaping probably costs more than the average person’s home.
“Thank you.” I shut the door and try not to slip on the ice-covered paver-stones.
Inside, a woman behind a large wooden desk eyes me over half-glasses, her voice thick with disdain. “May I help you?”
“Yes, thank you. I have an appointment with my mother, Mrs. Bradford-Clarke.” I stuff my mittens, hat, and scarf into my coat’s sleeve and hand it to her.
“You’re late.” The woman stares down her long nose, mouth curled into an unpleasant sneer.
“I know. I’ll pay for the half hour I missed.”
Sighing deeply, the receptionist rolls her eyes as I follow her down the hall. Apparently, my being late has ruined her whole day.
Seriously? Where the hell does she get off dissing me?
Whatever. I’m probably over-reacting because of my thesis. If my mother doesn’t yet know of my abysmal failure, she will soon enough.
