It absolutely wasn’t going to be that dude Paul from Monday night either.
Don’t get me wrong, I had always loved living the slut-life. That fire of physical attraction where time and the grind of day-to-day didn’t smother out the flames. Just sex, unadulterated by the bills, the clogged dishwasher drain, the horrible client, the aches and pains that might be more than aches and pains. Sex was enticing. Sex was sometimes so good it was easy to overlook all the numerous red flags.
I had friends, family, a job I loved. It had been easy in the past to convince myself I didn’t need anything more than a quick, hot screw. But then I’d think about my parents, about my numerous siblings who were all married, and I’d feel a strangeemptiness in my chest. Mom and Dad…it was like they could read each other’s minds sometimes. There was a comfort in shared experience, a strength in building a life in partnership together. And I knew that their fire burned just as bright as when they’d first laid eyes on each other. Maybe not every second of every day, but enough for me to know there were some seriously hot coals banked in the foundation of their marriage. The way they’d look at each other and smile. The way they touched each other. The way they always knew where the other was even in the crowd of family events, as if invisible threads tethered them together.
It was both creepy and reassuring to know that my parents were still getting it on at their age.
I wanted that. The sex. The deep love. The building a life together.
But in the meantime, I’d continue swiping right on hot guys like Dean here. And if the connection felt like it might be more than physical, I’d give it a shot.
Dean and I had been texting for a couple of days because I liked to get to an in-person meet up with these things as soon as possible. No sense in wasting time with an online relationship. I wanted an in-person thing, and if the Tinder guys wanted otherwise, then I left them in the dust. Luckily, Dean felt the same.
The guy was a total gym rat like me, dedicated to his lifting routine. From what I could see, he had the body to back up those claims, and the detailed monologue of his program led credence to his passion of working out.
We both loved our training routines. He also had grown up with a large family. He’d also gone to college in the state, although he’d majored in Civil Engineering. His family owned a carpet and flooring company in Silver Spring, but he worked for a large construction firm out of Bethesda.
So why did I have a knee-jerk reaction that Dean wasn’t boyfriend material? He checked all the boxes. We had interests in common. Dude seemed nice enough and was smoking hot. But the thought of taking him home left me sorta meh. And the idea of a second date brought up the same lack of enthusiasm.
I needed to get over myself. Mom often scolded me for not giving nice boys a chance—the lecture that always led to a retelling of the story of her and Dad’s courtship. She’d initially not liked him, thinking he was cocky and brash, too sure of himself. She was a school teacher, and he worked at the Port of Baltimore. He was first generation Polish-American and she was African-American with a lineage before the Civil War freed her ancestors. He was rowdy and hard-drinking, and she was a teetotaler who enjoyed concerts in the park.
Somehow they blended beautifully, just like the eight children they’d filled their house with.
“Hey! Isn’t that one of those hockey players?”
Dean’s words broke through my reverie, an abrupt shift from the one-sided discussion of his leg routine.
I glanced over in the direction of his gesture and did a double-take that nearly gave me whiplash. There was indeed an orc at the bar. He was indeed a member of the Tusks.
And it was Eng.
Fire roared up through me.
“Did you see the game Saturday night?” Dean continued. “It was a total massacre.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I was there. My friend had tickets.”
My words felt as if someone else was saying them. I could barely tear my eyes away from the orc, barely get a handle on the urge to ditch my date, walk up to the bar, and drag the orc back to my place.
Dean shook his head and sighed. “I’d been excited to have another NHL team in the tri-state area besides the Caps, but I can’t see these guys even making it through the season.”
I forced myself to focus on my date. “They’ve got potential. They just need to learn the game, learn to skate, and get some decent coaching.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You think? I mean, coaching and some training wouldn’t hurt, but I can’t imagine they’d ever be equal to guys who have been playing hockey since they could walk.”
He was probably right, but there was a part of me that made me fiercely support the underdog. I guess being the child of a man who’d grown up poor in a Polish neighborhood and a woman whose family had fought since before the Civil War for a toehold in this world had made me into someone who didn’t give up easy.
But for some strange reason I didn’t feel like an argument tonight. I listened to Dean talk, keeping an eye on Eng through my peripheral vision. I came out of my fog enough to tussle with Dean over splitting the check, finally agreeing to let him pay this time with the promise that he’d let me pay the next.
The next. Damn it, had I just agreed to another date with this guy? Although, thinking of my mother scolding me, I realize there was no reason for me not to see him again.
We got up and left the restaurant, Dean’s hand light on my lower back. He walked me to my car, then kissed me.
It was a good kiss. I draped my arms around his neck, leaned against him, and threw myself into the moment. When we pulled apart, he kept his hands on my waist a second before skimming them down to rest on my hips.
“Can I see you again?” His voice was husky, his blue eyes bright.
“Yes.” There was no good reason for me to say no. And Mom was right; I did need to start giving men more than a few hours to connect with me.
