13. Come Again?
thirteen
Come Again?
Dylan
“ S o, what do you like to do for fun?” the cute blonde sitting across the table from me asks.
Her name is Stacy, and it’s our first—and maybe our last—date. We met in the frozen food aisle of the grocery store, and she asked if I’d like to have dinner. In an attempt to get Leah off my mind, I agreed.
Now that I’m here, though, I miss her even more.
Stacy seems nice enough, but we are in the awkward small talk portion of the date, and it’s almost painful. We don’t seem to have a ton in common.
“I like to watch movies,” I tell her.
“Oh, I love a good Rom-com,” she beams.
Not really my cup of tea, but it’s at least something in common.
“I also like to play football on the weekends.”
Her face scrunches up. “Sounds dangerous. Do you ever get hurt?”
“Not really. Just some bumps and bruises. ”
She sips her iced tea. “I’ve never understood the appeal of football. A bunch of big men tackling each other to get a ball? I just don’t get it.”
Oh, yeah. This is going swimmingly.
Changing the subject, I ask, “What do you do for work?”
“Right now, I’m working at a shoe store, but it’s a temporary thing.”
Before I can ask any follow-up questions, she says, “Can I say something?”
I take a sip of my Coke and wish I’d gotten something with booze in it. “Go for it.”
“I’m looking for more. I’m looking for the one. I’m ready for all of it—marriage, babies, the works. I’m ready to settle down in a cute little farmhouse. I want to stay home, raising babies while my husband brings home the bacon. I’m ready for the white picket fence life.”
Hearing her say she’s ready to settle down should make me happy. That’s what I’ve been waiting for, right? A chance at a future of something real rather than just meaningless sex?
But the truth is that I feel absolutely nothing for this woman. And her coming on this strong doesn’t do anything to help that fact.
“Did I freak you out?” She asks when I go quiet.
“Uh, no,” I say. “I guess part of me wants those things too.”
Some of them, anyway. I’m not sure the whole thing sounds appealing to me.
“Stacy, how old are you?” I ask, thinking she has to be younger than me.
“Twenty. ”
Holy shit, she can’t even drink yet.
I know age is just a number, but somehow, it seems crazier when my date is almost a whole decade younger than me.
“You seem a little young to want to settle down,” I tell her.
“Not really,” she says, taking a bite of her mashed potatoes. “Just leaves more time for babies.”
My forehead creases. “How many do you want?”
“Oh, I want a whole house full. At least five, but I’d love more.”
Good lord, I think I’m going to be sick.
“Do you come from a big family?” I ask.
“Nope. It was just my sister and I.” She smiles. “How many do you want?”
“Not sure, but I come from a family where there were five of us kids, so I’d like to keep it smaller than that.”
She does nothing to hide the disappointment on her face. “Oh.”
There’s an extremely awkward silence between us. I look at her plate and see she’s still eating. The woman picks at her food like a damn bird. It would be great if she hurried up so that our date can come to an end. With the way this is going, I don’t think there will be a second.
I ask Stacy what she likes to do for fun, and she tells me she loves to read and then sails right into a lengthy description of the book she’s currently reading.
I do my best to stay engaged, but my mind can’t stay off Leah. Our last night of fun was over three weeks ago, but she still occupies space in my brain.
I had a feeling she would .
Leah isn’t one that’s easy to forget.
I’ve wanted to pop in to visit her at the tattoo shop since I don’t have her number, but I’ve resisted. I told her I’d stay away.
But that hasn’t stopped me from thinking about her, hoping she’s okay.
And it hasn’t stopped me from fisting my cock while thinking about her ass bouncing against me. She was just so much fun and so uninhibited.
Maybe I’m still smitten because I know I can’t have her. The whole I want what I can’t have thing.
I think it’s about time to move on, though. It’s not like suddenly, she’s going to decide that she’s ready for more. And I’m not the type of man who is going to chase after someone who isn’t interested.
I need to stop going after women who want nothing more than a good time. It used to be fun, but I don’t know that it’s going to get me very far moving forward.
I should probably be trying to give it a shot with someone like Stacy. She’s cute and seems sweet.
Pulling me from my thoughts, she says, “It’s so nice going out with a nice guy. It seems like most guys are just trying to get into my pants.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
I’m thinking about getting into someone’s pants—just not yours. Does that make me better or worse?
She says, “When I tell them I’m a virgin, most of them seem even more interested.”
Come again?
“Oh,” I stammer, unsure of what I should say .
She goes on so that I don’t have to. “Yeah, they seem all interested until they hear that I’m saving myself until marriage.”
I don’t care what a woman decides to do with her body. If she wants to wait, more power to her.
Some guys may like the virginal women. Once again, more power to them. Virgins just have never been my thing. I like my women to have more experience.
Hell, even the woman who took my V-card was much more seasoned than I was.
Stacy speaks again. “It’s just nice meeting a man who doesn’t care about all that kind of stuff.”
I’m not sure what kind of energy I’m putting out here, but I think Stacy is getting the wrong idea.
Do I consider myself a nice guy?
Yes.
But I’m no virgin.
Not even close.
I may treat any woman of mine like gold, but I’ve also done horribly filthy things to women. I’ve fucked them every way imaginable, and I’ve loved every second of it.
In the future, I don’t plan on giving up the sex aspect of my life.
Yeah, I don’t think Stacy and I are going to work out.
An hour later, I’m on my couch with a beer in had and Stand by Me playing on the TV. Nothing beats a classic when you’ve had a rough evening.
When Stacy and I parted ways, she suggested a second date, but I knew that it wasn’t a good idea.
I told her, “I hope you find what you’re looking for, but I don’t think I’m it. We want different things, but I hope you meet the one sooner rather than later.”
I was honest, and she seemed to take it well.
As nice as she was, I couldn’t be the perfect caricature of the man she illustrated in her head.
So, for now, I’ll just sit on my couch and drink my beer.
Alone.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I lift my ass just enough to pull it out.
Looking at the caller ID, I answer, “Hey, Jack. What’s up?”
“Hey, Dylan. I need a favor.”
“Alright, what is it?”
I hear my sister, Liz, in the background. “Jack, did you call my brother?”
Jack says, “Yes, but—”
She cuts him off. “Dylan, forget that Jack called you. He’s being incredibly overprotective.”
“You’re carrying my child. Of course, I’m overprotective. ”
“Your child?” She cries. “Do you want to have the hemorrhoids and extra pounds?”
“I’m sorry!” He backpedals. “It’s our child.”
I manage to interrupt their arguing. “Guys! What’s going on?”
“Hold on,” Liz says. A moment later, a video chat starts, and I see the two of them. My sister’s crazy curls seem even wilder than usual.
Liz has always been thin and athletic, and honestly, she doesn’t look that different. I can’t even tell she’s pregnant unless she turns to the side.
“Looking good, sis,” I say.
She grits her teeth and points at me through the phone. “Don’t you dare patronize me, Dylan! I will waddle over there and kick your ass!”
Man, she’s kind of mean.
She turns her pointed finger toward Jack. “And you! I don’t need an escort.”
“An escort to where?” I ask.
Jack replies, “Liz has a doctor’s appointment next week. I have to fly to Miami to help my mom with something. I’ll only be gone a couple of days, but I need someone to take Liz to the appointment.”
“I am more than capable of taking myself. I can drive. I’m not an invalid,” she argues.
“The doctor said you’re two seconds away from bed rest, so no, you can’t.”
They get right back to arguing, but I don’t let them carry on for long. “Hey, Bonnie! Clyde! Shut it! Liz, I’ll take you to the doctor, and I’ll take you to lunch too. Wherever you want to go. ”
The mention of food seems to calm her down a little.
“Fine. But I’m not going to be pleasant company.”
You don’t say.
A knock on the door has me hanging up the phone.
“When did I become so popular?” I mutter as I head for the door.
I open it to find my mom standing on the porch. Looking at us, you’d never guess we were related. Suzanne Lawson stands barely more than five feet tall with blonde hair and blue eyes. Poor woman had five kids, and none of them look like her. We all favor our dad’s Greek genes.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hey, Dyl.” She smiles.
“Everything okay?”
She holds up a brown paper bag. “Brought you some leftovers from the bar.”
I step out of the way to let her inside.
Our mom has always been amazing. She may have never been the most affectionate when we were growing up, but we all knew she would burn down the whole damn world for us. She was a great sounding board and always gave the best advice—even if it wasn’t what we wanted to hear. Our dad was always the more affectionate one. They were the perfect Yin and Yang to each other.
And now that we are all grown, Mom has gotten a little more warm and fluffy.
She walks over to the counter and takes out the to-go containers and sets them in the refrigerator .
“There are onion rings, jalapeno poppers, and some chicken fingers,” she tells me.
“Thanks. Sounds great.” I pause for a second. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t have to bring me food.”
“I just wanted to come check in. Make sure you’re okay.”
“Mom, I’m almost thirty.”
“Almost thirty-year-olds still need to eat.”
“Did you do this for your other kids?”
She lets out a quiet laugh. “Well, Liz moved to LA right out of high school and wasn’t too keen on me when she got back. Michelle got pregnant at sixteen and lived at home for what seemed like forever. Jo moved in with her boyfriend, and Ronnie travels constantly. Sorry, but you get the brunt of the leftovers.”
“That’s alright. I love to eat.”
“What are you doing home on a Friday night?”
I walk to the fridge and pull us each out a bottle of water and hand one to her. “I had a date, but it was over almost as soon as it started.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
A lot of moms may be pushy and try to pry into their kids’ personal lives. But not Suzanne Lawson. She knows if we have something we want to talk about, we’ll tell her. She doesn’t ever seek out more than we tell her.
She’s our sounding board without overstepping.
“Mom, can I ask you something?” I say randomly.
“Always.”
“How did you know Dad was the one?”
“I didn’t. ”
“Come again?” I find that hard to believe since my parents are the two most in-love people I’ve ever met. Together thirty-five years and still acting like a couple of lovesick puppies.
“Well, I didn’t know he was the one at first. He pursued me, but I just wasn’t sure so I kept telling him no. That dad of yours is a persistent little bastard, though. When I finally gave him a chance, I realized how wonderful he was. I just couldn’t see it until I was ready to see it.”
“Any regrets?” I ask.
“Those five kids have been a pain,” she jokes. “Why are you asking about your dad and I?”
“Just curious.”
“For what it’s worth, you’ll find the right girl. You may have to stop sleeping with every skirt in town, though.”
“Mom!” I cry. “How do you—”
“Sweetheart, I own a bar. I hear everything.”
Maybe that’s why she never pries about our secrets.
She already knows them.