Chapter 7
SEVEN
NORA
The wiffle ball swooshes through the air, landing right between my feet.
Swooping down, I swing, but it’s a near miss—and the ball goes flying through my legs and down the court.
Fuck.
Charlie and Lydia tap paddles, each grinning on the other side of the court.
Jeremy shrugs next to me. “No problem. We’ve all got our misses.”
Well, if we all have our misses, this has been one miss of a last couple of days. First off, two days ago was my run in with Bruce, a.k.a the Masked Man, a.k.a Batman, a.k.a Mister-Anonymous-Who-Could-Be-Ryan-Fucking-Lane. And that ended so fantastically great as I hightailed it out of the pickleball court parking lot after we’d spent some time together.
Then, today, I spilled coffee on my white blouse on the commute to work. Dodged a tractor trailer that nearly side swiped my SUV. And wound up getting to work half an hour later—on a day when my boss had my entire team scheduled for a meeting. So, it was totally obvious I didn’t make it on time. My boss is laid back—but he’s not that laid back.
Not to mention I’ve spent approximately nine of my ten waking hours obsessing over every part of my conversation with “Bruce” yesterday, including all the fictitious banter between the two of us regarding his dead wife and children and fires.
Heh. Anxiety. Am I right?
I tell myself to get over this nonsense. To step up. To be more than the thoughts in my head. So, when Charlie serves again, I bend my knees and swing, ready to receive. Letting go of the panic in my chest, and the discomfort in my heart. The ball spins toward me, and my shoulder leans in without any thought. Like my body is on auto, I slam my paddle against the ball. It races back whence it came. Hard. Nearly hitting Charlie in the chest. He dodges at the last second, raising his paddle and sending the ball back.
The four of us reach the kitchen line, slamming the ball back and forth. The air thickens. Everything stops, save the ball quickly moving back and forth, and our paddles whacking the wiffle. The crack of the ball against our paddles causes my heart to speed up, the adrenaline rushing through me.
And then, Lydia hits the ball, and it pops up into the air and toward me.
With a low war cry, I hop up and off my two feet. The day races through my head. The spilled coffee. My inability to talk to people. The tractor trailer. All the social anxiety. My missed work meeting.
My inability to feel human. To have real connections the way normal people do. To feel normal for once in my life.
My paddle makes contact, and I slam that ball down. Hard.
It hits right at Lydia’s feet before ricocheting behind and rolling away.
“Hot damn,” Charlie says. “Good hit.”
“Yeah, really,” Lydia agrees.
Jeremy reaches his paddle out, tapping mine in victory. He’s nodding with a sly grin wrapped across his mouth.
Everyone is so excited for me.
Except me.
I feel absolute fucking nothing .
The minute I’m alone, I let down my hair and hang my head. So ready for this day to be over. The dark sky walks with me, my only friend, my only ally. Crickets chirp. The ocean waves crash somewhere in the distance, as I inhale a breath of sea air.
Sometimes I do truly wonder if there’s anything more than this.
I should be happy after last night—even if fleeting, I did connect to someone else.
But instead of making me happy, it’s only causing me to panic more. Should I have said things differently? Could I have given him my number? What if I don’t ever meet someone who fits me? Can I survive this entire life as a single person, one day closing my eyes for the very last time without any family by my side?
God, that’s sad.
I’m sad.
Pathetic, really.
Looking up as I wipe away a stray tear that’s slipping down my cheek, I see something bizarre in the sky. It’s on the faint side, but there’s a Batman symbol projected against the black sky. My brows crinkle.
What?
Did he…
No way.
Yet before I can doubt what I’m seeing, the Batman theme from the sixties show plays in the far distance. Which legit makes me giggle, instantly lifting my mood, as all the gunk from a minute ago releases out into the ether. As I’m walking toward the parking lot, the music grows louder, telling me I’m heading straight for him.
Right before I cross over to the concrete and head toward my car, there’s a restroom area—close to where the music is really booming. Men bathrooms on the right. Women on the left. There’s another building nearby housing utility storage equipment, such as a lawnmower and a power pressure washer (for the courts).
The door is slightly ajar, dark shadows spilling out toward bright, streetlights illuminating the night. My lips quirk into a smile, and I jaunt toward the storage area. Jogging as I near the door. If it weren’t already obvious enough, with the light in the sky and the booming music, now I’m also starting to see black, Batman -shaped cardboard pieces lining the floor. They’re laid out in a path that leads to the storage area, ending right by the base of the door.
At the end of the path of Batman cut-out shapes, I stop. Gently placing my hand on the doorknob, hesitating before entering. From this spot, it’s clear that the music is cranked up all the way, on full blast.
He really wanted me to find him.
Fortunately, there’s no one else here now—I was the last person to leave the courts. Otherwise, more people would’ve found him, too.
Slowly, I peek my head inside. Near the middle of the storage room, a faint light covers half of a man’s body. He’s right smack in the middle of the space, probably the only spot without a ton of things. And he’s wearing a similar pair of jeans as the Masked Man wore the other day. I can just feel his familiar presence. All Batman references aside.
Stepping into the space—a tiny, square room, surrounded by boxes and other large items meant for tending to the grounds—I notice that he’s literally wearing a Batman mask today, in place of the cloth mask and bucket hat. I take a few more steps until I’m close enough to reach out and touch him if I wanted.
A small sliver of light from the outside drapes over his head and face. This time, it’s his lips that are the most visible. Full lips that appear colorless in the dark—lips I’d like to see in the light.
For the first time, too, I see his hair. Thick, dark, wavy locks with tips styled upward at the top ever so slightly. My brain’s still trying to figure out if this is Ryan Lane, straining to recall if the hair or the lips match. I honestly can’t tell—it’s not like I’ve stared at his photo before or anything or watch the show.
In any case, if this is Ryan Lane, nothing about him screams celebrity. Not in person, anyway. Which would make him even more appealing to me.
“Isn’t Batman supposed to be inconspicuous?” I whisper.
“On occasion he acts ostentatiously,” he says in his full gravel voice. “It’s all in the presentation.”
I quirk a brow. Not that he can see me too well in the dim lighting.
“So, you found me,” he adds. “Figured you’d be here.”
I take a breath, getting ahead of any jitters that’ll try to creep in. This guy wanted me to find him, and he’s nice. That thought alone helps me to calm down a little and to feel more relaxed.
“You figured right,” I say. “I’m just, er, in shock you came back.”
“Why?”
“I thought we made a silent pact that we’d never see each other again.”
“Huh? How’s that now?”
“You know… I thought… well, that we just… well...”
“I can leave if you’d like.”
“No, I don’t want you to.”
I gaze down at my feet, wringing my hands once more, the same way back when we first met at the café. My mouth is open, but I’ve lost my voice. I don’t know what to say to this guy.
I don’t know what to say to anyone.
His hands fall on top of mine, causing me to startle. He clearly notices and starts to pull back. But my brain has gone on auto apparently—without realizing what I’m doing, I tug on his fingers to stay put. To put this in perspective, I’ve only ever been this brazen with guys I’m in a serious relationship with. (There have been a couple, believe it or not).
Yet here I am with this stranger, keeping his fingers on mine.
My eyes start to adjust in this lower light setting, compared to having all the streetlights outside. His eyes fall on mine with a speck of concern. For the briefest of moments, I worry he can feel everything going on inside of me. Which only causes me to panic, my heart racing. Everything tightens.
He gently squeezes my hand in his.
“Breathe,” he murmurs.
“I can’t .”
“You can.” He tugs in my hand again, this time short little pulses. “Tell me about the best day of your life. Your absolute favorite day.”
“The best day?” My nose scrunches, mind still racing. “I don’t, uh, know… I, erm, well… I need to think about that… uh…”
“No, wait. I change my question. Tell me what a really good day would look like for you.”
I swallow, trying to imagine it in my head—he read me correctly; the idea of a good day is easier to just spit out than trying to remember one of the few really good days.
“I mean, there’d be pickleball, of course,” I say.
“Of course. What else?”
“I’d have time to read. Catch up on some shows.”
“What do you watch?” he asks.
“I’m a sci-fi person. Especially anything Star Wars .”
“ Star Wars . Nice.” He’s still squeezing my hand in short little contractions. “The movies or are you more into the shows?”
“The movies, the shows, the comics. Literally everything. I breathe Star Wars .”
“I thought you couldn’t breathe?” he teases, which makes me laugh a little.
“Aww, fuck. You’re right. Let me go back to not breathing then.”
“No, don’t do that.”
He smirks, still working on my hands. The longer he moves, the more his fingers begin to glide across the backs of my hands. Like a dance. Like he’s doing less quick movement and more massaging. There’s a warmth where his hands touch mine. A fire that’s slowly building, burning.
“I met Larry Kasdan in passing once,” he says, referencing the guy who wrote Empire Strikes Back and breaking our silence. “I was twelve.”
“Twelve?” I ask. “Where’d you meet him?”
“My very first Wizard Con in Philly.”
“You attended a Wizard Con?” My voice sounds shocked, surprised—because if this is Ryan Lane, he doesn’t strike me as the type. Then again, this might be some random guy from Philly with a blue Porsche who I know nothing about.
Except, I know in my gut that isn’t true.
Whether I want to face it or not.
I could still walk away. Except, my feet are planted solid.
He nods. “I’ve gone every year since. Which is twenty years. In case you wanted to know my age.”
“Huh. Thirty-two. Yeah, that sounds about right for the Bat.”
And probably about right for Ryan Lane, too. Although, I have no clue how old he is.
His fingers are still massaging my hands. I sink into the essence of him, wondering how the touch from someone I hardly know can feel so natural.
He’s succeeded at doing something no one can achieve.
I’m not panicking. My brain is relatively calm.
He’s succeeded in working me out of a panic attack.
“Aren’t you going to tell me your age?” he asks, voice as gravelly as it has been while this entire conversation. Somehow, I’m starting to find it to be a little charming.
But because I’m a sadist who will sabotage everything good—I’m about to say something stupid.
Because all good things come to an end.
Because I’m scared of a man—no, a stranger, really—who brings me peace.
Because my brain is broken.
I want him to run. I want to run. I want to stop feeling the emotions starting to swirl around my heart—the warm ones that might lead to something magical.
Because magical means heartbreak in the end.
And heartbreak doesn’t feel good in a place like this, am I right?
“I’m seventeen,” I joke, just to mess with him (re: my sadism, and I have a sick sense of humor).
His hands abruptly stop. “Umm, what ?”
He tenses. Staring at me with a huge flash of concern, he takes a huge step back.
“You’re underage? Look… I’m sorry… this… wow… for so many reasons, this needs to stop right now.”
I almost say nothing. Almost wait for him to turn tail and leave me alone in the storage closet.
Almost.
Until a niggling feeling in the back of my head forces me to admit the truth.
“Bruce,” I say in a stern tone. “I’m fucking with you. Relax. Do you really think I look that young?”
For the record, I don’t look that young.
Even so, he’s staring at me with unconvinced eyes, so I reach for the wallet in my pocket. After finding my ID, I begrudgingly hold it up at his eye level.
“Can you read my birth year or is it too dark?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes, keeping some space between us. Using his phone, he turns on the flashlight option, carefully peering at the lettering on my ID card. Like air released from a balloon, I watch as the tension deflates inside of him.
A second later, there’s a smile on his face I can see even with the mask.
“It’s nice meeting someone my own age, Nora . That is a beautiful name, by the way.”
I snatch my ID back. “You weren’t supposed to read my name, Bruce. That isn’t fair.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Batman.”
“Right.”
“No, really. You said so yourself.”
“Right. Come on. Tell me your name.”
“Nora Spiegel,” he muses, ignoring my request. “Who lives off Evergreen Lane.”
“You gonna come and stalk me now, Batman? I know your car.”
“Maybe I might. In between fighting crime. Do you have a balcony? That feels like a place a masked knight would meet a beautiful woman such as yourself… on a crisp evening with the lights of the city twinkling in the backdrop behind them.”
“Beautiful woman?” I scrunch my nose, literally glancing behind me. Because he doesn’t mean me. He can’t mean me. “I’m the only one here, Bruce.”
“I know.” He’s staring at me with a laser focus.
I legitimately scoff. “Okay, Bruce.”
“Do you really not know how beautiful you are?” He crosses his arms, tilting his head forward.
“Look at me.” I gesture over my body—the curvy body I’d rather hide. The hips that I wish I didn’t have. The thicker thighs that have been the bane of my existence since puberty hit.
“I am looking.”
“You said you live in LA. This…” I wave my hands over my body once more. “…this body is not the definition of beauty, especially by LA standards.”
He shakes his head. “There is no definition of beauty. You’re beautiful because you are. And when I look at you, I see an attractive woman who doesn’t know her own worth, in any way.”
My face flushes. “Uh… er… um…. well…”
“You’re cute , too,” he adds.
Heat warms my cheeks. “I… erm…”
Fuck.
No.
I need to do something. Right now.
Inching closer to him, I close the distance between us. My hands land on either side of his face, touching the plastic of the mask.
The attention needs to move to him, so I attempt to direct it there.
“Let me see your face,” I dare, knowing full well I’m playing with fire.
“No,” he says in a quick, husky voice.
“Yes,” I insist, placing a little bit of pressure on the mask with every plan to lift it off his face and find out who he is.
Hey, the guy clearly memorized my address. I should be allowed to see him.
He studies me with stoic eyes as I start to pull the mask up. There’s thick tension between us. The space has grown humid, hot. His breath lands against my nose.
“Wait.” His gravelly voice lands like stone.
“Why?” I breathe as the mask starts to move off his face.
I get as far as to uncover his chin. One of my hands slides down on the mask, brushing against his chiseled jawline. Stubble rubs against my fingers.
A movie star’s jawline, that’s for damn sure.
Heat dances in his eyes. In one swift movement, he leans forward and steals my lips, capturing my mouth in his. He’s gentle. Slow. Kind. Warm. A spark shoots from where our lips touch, down my throat, and into my core. His lips masterfully navigate around my mouth, taking and giving equally. Like he’s a professional. One kiss is all it takes. My hands slide down his face, down to the back of his neck. His arms cup around my back, tugging me in as he continues to press his lips to mine.
Like his fingers massaging my hand, his lips also work magic, dancing against my own. Stealing my top lip in his mouth before returning for the bottom. My knees grow weak, face flush. I’m no longer thinking about his name but rather the way his full lips press against mine. I don’t want him to stop. His hands knead against the small of my back, activating senses inside of me I didn’t even know I had. Tingling reaches all the way down to my toes.
Only when his lips release from mine do I let out a small pant.
Our foreheads meet, my skin against the plastic of his mask.
We’re both catching our breaths.
When I said I needed to do something to detract the attention off myself, this is not what I had in mind.
“Give me your phone for a sec,” he says after a moment.
I raise a brow.
“I want to see you again,” he adds. “But I’m not a guy who gives out his number. So, just give me your phone. Quickly. Before I change my mind.”
I decide to trust him and hand over my device, unlocking it for him. As I watch, he goes into my contacts and adds a new number—labeling it as Bruce.
“Burner phone or real phone?” I ask.
“Call me, and I’ll give you the answer then, beautiful.”
Still staring at his contact in my phone, I hesitate. Debating whether I should do something about this or ignore the number he’s added. He showed up for me again. Wanted to see me. And I did want to see him again, too, even though I’m scared shitless.
I’ve already told him I suck at this human interaction stuff.
And he’s still here. Still gave me his number. Even though it was clearly hard for him to do this.
Before I think up all the millions of reasons why this is a bad idea, I click on the message button in his contact entry. When the text app opens, I type, “Hello, Batman” and hit send.
“And now you have my number, too,” I say.
Leaning in, he gives me a quick kiss on the lips—then, he pulls back and holds out his hand, inviting me to take it.
Bruce smirks. “Walk me to my car to make sure I get there safely?”
I laugh, accepting his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I fend off any attackers. Even Batman needs a break.”
“Where have you been my whole life?”
With that, we collect his things—a boombox, the cardboard pieces, and his Bat light projector—and I walk him to his car (which actually ends up being close to my own). After we’ve put his things in the Porsche, he pulls me in toward him.
He plants another slow, soft kiss on my lips.
Then, like he really is Batman, he disappears into his car and into the night.