Page 26 of Property of the Woodsman

I’m way too old for this, though I’d never admit that out loud. Out loud, I pretend nothing bothers me. Out loud, I pretend like I’m happy being single, that I’m not at all affected by the fact that I’m a forty-one-year-old virgin.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure if those words ever slipped from my lips, I’d be the laughingstock of town. Heck, at the rate that information travels nowadays, I’d probably end up the laughingstock of the world. I’d bet The Today Show would call me and request an interview. I’d bet comedians would make me the punchline of their jokes. I’d bet I’d become the poster woman for old maids everywhere.

Truth be told, a few of the guys I dated would’ve given me a night or two to remember. Looking back, I probably should’ve taken them up on the offer, though back then, I knew none of them would’ve made a very good husband and therein lies the problem.

I take dating far too seriously.

Plenty of folks date for a good time. They meet someone nice, they have a couple of fun nights, and they move on. Me, I start right off with the interview for a life partner. Worst part is… I haven’t even learned my lesson.

“Damn,” my boss Mike lifts the office shades and stares out into the snow-covered street, “looks like we’re gonna get hammered. You sure you shouldn’t reschedule your date tonight?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug and divert my gaze away from his broad shoulders and at the wreaths tucked over the lampposts lining the street. “We both live in town, so it shouldn’t be that hard to get to the diner for a few hours. Plus, the worst of the storm isn’t supposed to hit until after midnight.”

“You know the forecast is never accurate, though.” He glances back toward me, then leans against the desk opposite mine, his biceps stretching the flannel on his shirt. “What do you know about this guy, anyway?”

I hate when he sits like this. I can barely think straight. “Umm,” I shake my head, “I don’t know. He has his own heating and cooling business.”

“That’s what he does,” Mike says gruffly. “What do you know about him? As a person?”

“That’s what first dates are for.” I shrug. “Plus, it’s a blind date. My friend Ally set me up. He’s a friend of her husband’s. So… the point is to get to know him tonight.”

Mike stares at me, his head nodding slowly as though he’s holding back from saying more.

“What?” I roll my eyes and slide up from my chair before pacing toward the little kitchenette at the back of the small office we’ve shared for the better part of ten years. It’s an immediate escape from the torture chamber that is the way he looks, the way he stands, the way he smells. I can only assume it gets me going because of the sheer amount of masculinity dripping off him. That, and somewhere along the way, I may have developed a harmless, little, schoolgirl crush.

I’ve Googled it plenty of times and it’s common for women to crush after their boss. A boss teaches you things, stands up for you, and in this case, mine has broad shoulders, bulging biceps, big hands, and a barreled chest I can’t stop thinking about.

It’s this. What I’m too old to be doing. I’m too old to be crushing on a man I can’t have. I need to get it together. I need to focus, so I’m not a fifty-year-old virgin.

Dear Lord, help me.

I’m pouring coffee from the old drip style machine when he steps in beside me, his thick arm brushing mine.

“Aren’t you getting tired of dating?”

My chest tightens as the fantasy of why he could be asking me this question rattles through my head at hyper speed.

Has he been harboring feelings about me, too? Does he fantasize about what it would be like to bend me over the back of his desk and have his way with me? Would he boss me into place, then fuck me like a wild animal?

My clit throbs at the mere thought. God, I’d bet he’d touch me right. I’d bet he’d be a good husband, too. The kind with patience and confidence. The kind that would build me things and teach me what he knows.

Okay, I need to stop all this. It’s getting out of hand.

“What does that mean? Am I tired of dating? Is that a dig about my age?” My response is laced with defensiveness I hadn’t planned.

“What?” His tone deepens as he shakes his head and says, “Fuck no. I’ve been thinking about dating again myself, but everyone I know who’s out there hates it.”

“Oh.” My stomach churns. Of course, he’s thinking about dating. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s an attractive man, he’s getting older, and his divorce has been final for almost two years. “Yeah, it’s not that bad.”

He laughs under his breath. “Something tells me that’s bullshit.”

“Depends what you’re looking for, I guess. I mean, I’m being picky.”

“Hey, I wasn’t picky enough the first time around.”

“What are you talking about?” I narrow my brows dramatically, remembering how gorgeous and successful his ex is. “Shannon is great.”

“Sure is,” he nods once and takes a sip of his coffee, “for someone else.”