11. Dang, this guy has hot hands.
11
"Dang, this guy has hot hands."
Marissa Martin
Greg is wearing a dark-blue suit that brings out his eyes, instantly reminding me why I fell for him so hard in college. He has a pretty muscular body for a non-athlete, a killer smile, and those cobalt blue eyes that trap you whenever you look at them. I may be the queen of jumping to conclusions, but maybe I was too quick to break up with him back in the day.
“Hey, you look great,” he says, assessing me, which makes my cheeks flush pink. I’m wearing the same clothes I’ve worn all day. I just accessor ized a little and touched up my makeup. I didn’t know he’d be wearing a suit.
“Work attire,” he says, glancing down at his own outfit. “Didn’t have time to go home and change.”
“Ah.” I nod. “I was wondering when you got so fancy in the few years we lost touch.”
“Nope.” The corners of his lips tilt into a smile. “Still the same old me, though I do work in finance now.”
We chat about his job and his move to New York until we reach the restaurant. He asked me to pick a place, so I chose this cute bistro. I’ve been to it a couple of times, and it’s very casual. I didn’t want something that screamed “date.”
We sit down at a booth and order our drinks before opening our menus.
“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “How long have you been in New York?”
“A year and a half. I moved here the same time my dad started coaching the Raptors.”
“You stayed in Detroit for a while after college, right?”
“I did, but I hated my job. Turns out, project manager wasn’t exactly my thing. I wasn’t a big fan of the ‘eight to seven,’” I say with a chuckle. “And that was on the slow days. Plus, being away from my dad sucked. Aaron was there, but his schedule was crazy to o, and we barely saw each other.”
His eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly. “Oh, Aaron Miles. You guys are still friends?”
“We are.” I smile, just like I always do when I think about him. “He’s here now too, actually, so it worked out perfectly.”
He focuses on his menu. “Good. Never really was a fan of the guy, but it’s nice you have someone here. And Beth’s your business partner?”
I grimace. Right. I totally forgot about the frigid attitude Greg always had toward Aaron. “She is. I fell in love with our cute little street, found a building, and offered her a partnership. She’s always been an amazing baker, and she’d been working for her parents’ catering company and was ready to branch out.”
He leans forward, smiling. “That’s great.”
“And it’s no coincidence our coffee shop is right across from a bookstore. You know me.”
“Oh, right. Still blowing all your money on books, then?” he asks with an accusatory tone.
I straighten in my chair. “Yes. I love reading.”
A short silence falls between us as I suddenly remember all the reasons why we stopped dating. Even if he was nice and kind of funny, Greg’s strong opinions on everything and everyone got on my nerves. Espec ially when it came to me and his many takes on what I should do with my life. Invest in actions. Be more interested in politics. Be smarter about my money . When I told him I was fine with the way things were, he would either go on a rant trying to convince me or straight-up belittle me about how naive I was about the world because of my luxurious upbringing.
As if. My dad never showered me with presents. It’s true, we didn’t struggle, but with him ending his career prematurely to take care of me, we weren’t exactly rolling in gold either. Funny how, after a while, you start forgetting people’s flaws. Maybe it’s the same with their positive qualities? Like, if I were to spend time away from Aaron, would I forget how perfect he is? Probably not.
I try to enjoy my night out with Greg, but I find myself counting down the minutes until I can go home.
Finally, we both eat our dessert and call it a night. As we say goodbye, I don’t suggest a next meet-up, and neither does he. Clearly, we were both smarter in college when we ended things. Or maybe I’m smarter now, because I’m not letting that guy back into my life just so he can make me feel small and ignorant like he has so many times before.
When I get home, I latch the front door as silently as I can in case Aaron is already asleep. He tends to go to bed early before game days.
“I’m up,” he calls from the living room, and I let out a breath. I take my coat and shoes off before dragging myself to the living room.
He’s sprawling on his usual spot on the couch, his e-reader open, and suddenly, everything feels right in the world. This is where I belong. “How was it?” he asks.
I shrug. “Honestly, it sucked.” I collapse next to him. “I forgot how annoying and controlling he could be. Why didn’t you remind me?”
“I don’t know. I never liked the dude but couldn’t pinpoint why.”
“Yeah. Well, now I know. If I ever lose my sanity and accept another date with him, in like ten years, knock some sense into me, okay?”
“Will do.” He laughs as he taps my thigh, his large hand covering it—trust me, it’s not an easy task. Dang, this guy has hot hands. And before you say there’s no such thing, I beg to differ. Think long fingers, callused pads that are somehow still soft, and plenty of range, but still somehow elegant.
“Is the book good?” I ask, dropping my head on his strong shoulder.
“It is. Already figured out who did it, though.”
“Really?” I breathe a chuckle. “Are you that sure of yourself?”
“Oh, yeah. I read enough to see the signs. The doc did it. See, he had the motive because . . .”
I drift off listening to him talk. It’s the best way to go to sleep, and in my head I create fantasies of my own, where Aaron is the guy for me. I envision how perfect it would be. No belittling or judgment. Only love, compassion, and so much laughter. Like it’s been since the first time we met. Aaron has a unique gift for making people feel happy and safe—or maybe it’s just me. But if circumstances were different, I just know we would be the perfect match.