We didn’t find Jessica that day. Instead, we found the man of my dreams, and he’d just lost his father to cancer. I’d lost both Ben and my leg a year earlier. I was a hot mess, literally and figuratively stumbling my way through life. My need tostate the obvious “I have a prosthetic leg” was cringe-worthy. Cage was Cool Joe. To protect lives, I couldn’t tell him that I lived in San Francisco, so he believed I lived in New York.
We talked much ado about nothing, ate pizza, drank beer, and then I had to leave for New York, which was actually San Francisco. He asked for my number, but I couldn’t give it to him. I wanted to—really, really, really bad. But… lives at risk and all that jazz.
“Give me your phone number,” he called as I walked to the car.
I stopped and closed my eyes for a moment, wanting to just savor the feeling. Then I turned. “I can’t”
Cage deflated. “You can’t or you won’t?”
“Both. No, really just… I can’t”
“So you’re just going to leave me with nothing?”
My mind screamed “screw it.” I walked back and grabbed his face with both of my gloved hands, pulling his cheek toward my lips. At the last second he turned and his lips pressed to mine. I wasn’t going to kiss him on the lips. He did it. He turned into my kiss. Neither of us moved. It wasn’t a passionate, open-mouthed kiss, but it wasn’t a peck either. Our lips simply locked, idle like a statue, neither one wanting to end the feeling because it was The. Best. Feeling.
I knew him for a few hours.
Oneday.
Onekiss.
Onemoment.
Oneunforgettable memory.
“How…” Cage shook his head “…how long have you lived here?”
“Few months.”
“What brings you to Minnesota from New York?”
“Oh, well…” Just then it occurred to me he didn’t know the whole truth. He didn’t know Jillian Knight became Jessica Jones. He didn’t know New York was a lie. His dad died, Jillian left, and Cage moved on with his life.
Lives were no longer at risk, but the story behind it was too long to explain with an antsy Trzy in my arms and my date waiting for me at the restaurant.
“There’s more to my New York story, but I’m here looking for a change—freedom of sorts. My family wasn’t too thrilled, but…” I shrugged. “So… are you still playing football?” I really didn’t know. After our one day, I stalked him and his college football career online for a solid year before I decided two things: he was a fantasy—a reason to avoid reality—and I hated football.
Cage chuckled, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Uh… yeah.” His brow furrowed. “I take it you don’t follow football.”
My nose wrinkled. “Not so much.” Not at all. Worst game ever.
He nodded. “I’m the Minnesota Kings’ quarterback. Banks is a defensive end.”
Not surprising, but awkward, so very awkward. It was an enormous physical feat to not grimace.
“Oh… wow.” I laughed. “You must think I’m?—”
“It’s fine.”
“No, I mean… you’re a sports star. I should, I don’t know—ask for your autograph or something. Maybe we should get a selfie together.”
A brilliant idea. Face-palm. What was wrong with me?
“Wait right here.”
“Lake—”
I hurried into my apartment, depositing Trzy on the sofa before grabbing a marker from my kitchen drawer.
