A Little Lady Boner #2
“Please. You’re doing great. You’re making such strides,” I say to my redheaded friend.
“If by strides you mean I can walk around a pole in heels without tripping, then yes, sure I have.”
“Do not underestimate not tripping,” I say.
“Truer words,” Maeve adds, then we flip open our menus and order when the server arrives.
Once she’s gone, Josie taps the table, her eyes excited. “So, update time. How’s the makeover project going with the man who’s, ahem, admittedly handsome?”
Maeve scoffs, waving a hand. “I want to know how the dick project’s going.”
I furrow my brow. Does she mean because Max is a dick? Or something else? “Am I doing a dick project?”
She stares at me like I should know. “You were supposed to check out the guy’s dick. Your physical therapist.”
A laugh bursts from me but it’s chased by a kernel of guilt I’ve been feeling today. I’m not even sure how to deal with it, but I don’t have friends to keep things from them. “I’m seeing Lucas in a few days. But is it weird that I feel sort of…uncertain?”
“No, it’s a date. If you didn’t feel uncertain that’d be weird,” Josie says.
But that’s not it. I’m not experiencing normal dating nerves. “It’s more like…” I pause, take a breath, then confess, “I keep having really inappropriate thoughts about the man who’s admittedly handsome.”
Maeve sets her chin in her hand.
Josie bats her lashes.
Fable gazes at me eagerly. “Well, well, well.”
“I know,” I whisper-groan. “So should I cancel with Lucas?”
“Is something happening with Max?” Josie asks.
I shake my head. Only in my late-night fantasies. And my daydreams. “Just up here,” I say, tapping my temple. “But that’s all.”
“And is something going to happen?” Fable inquires.
I picture Zaire encouraging me to apply for the promotion. I imagine Clementine telling me it’s a bad idea to date a player, because it is. I think about the unwritten rule. There are so many reasons not to get involved with an athlete—top among them, it could detract from my ability to do my job.
Like what would happen if it went south? How would the media perceive me if word got out? Would they still trust me, respect me, talk to me?
There are so many cautionary tales from around pro sports of situations like this, and spoiler alert: The woman rarely comes out unscathed. The guy almost always does.
I see my future—the one I’m lucky to have. The one I want to grasp and hold onto. I want to learn and grow and improve. I’m so fortunate to be alive.
When I woke up in the hospital room after the accident, I made a promise—to live my best life. For me, but also for those who couldn’t.
That means not throwing away what I’ve worked for.
Not losing sight of what I’ve built. I need to do things right.
I need to say yes to the right things—not the tempting things.
Indulging in anything with a hockey player on the team I work for would be too risky.
Max is already a complicated enough project.
I can’t blow this job on a few tingles in my chest. “No,” I say, certain, strong.
“Then I say it’s a fine idea to go out with someone else to explore what it might be, even if you have a little bit of a lady boner for someone else,” Josie says.
“Sounds like it’s not really a little lady boner,” Maeve says dryly.
I roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong. “But nothing is happening with Max. And nothing is going to happen with him.”
Fable tilts her head. “This date is exactly what you need then.”
And the more I think about that, the more convinced I am she’s right.
Later that day when I’m home and my parents call on speakerphone, my mom’s first question is if we’re still on for our breakfast next weekend (of course). Her second is how’s work going (great), and her third question is whether I’m seeing anyone new.
Good thing I’m not on FaceTime. “No. I’ve been busy,” I say.
“Never too busy for love,” she chirps.
“Not true, sweetheart,” Dad corrects.
My shoulders tighten. Every cell tenses.
“Russ, it is true,” Mom says cheerily to him, like I’m not even here, but that’s fine. It’s totally fine.
“It’s true if you pick wisely,” Dad says. “Not everyone does that. Isn’t that right, Everly?”
What a leading question. What a dig. I swallow the hurt but don’t acknowledge the way it cuts. “How’s everything at the firm, Dad?” I ask, and turn the conversation around back on him.
I don’t want to discuss romance with them. Ever. Or really, much of anything.
* * *
On Monday night, I study my lingerie drawer, considering my options for tonight.
Lucas won’t see them, but that’s not the point.
The lingerie is for me. I pick up a few lacy bras and hold them in front of my body in the scalloped mirror in my bedroom.
A sheer tulle demi bra, pale yellow with purple lace edging.
It’s unconventional. A dark blue bustier.
That one’s elegant. Then, a pale aqua demi bra that’s so see-through the color barely matters.
It’s covered with embroidered roses and it’s called a balconette.
I don’t know why it has that name, but I don’t care.
It makes me feel pretty and powerful, so I slip on the set, then grab a black silk blouse and a dark gray skirt. Perfect for my business dinner later, and it’ll work for the date too. I catch a Lyft to The Spotted Zebra, my chest flipping with nerves.
Date nerves this time.
It’s normal to be nervous before a date. Of course it is. We only have an hour, and I want to make the most of it. Then I’ll need to head over to the dinner with Max, his agent, and my boss. It’ll be good to have a start and an end. Good for both Lucas and me.
When I reach the trendy bar in Hayes Valley, I clear my thoughts, focusing only on the here and now as I swing the door open and quickly find Lucas.
He smiles, a bright, warm greeting. He’s at a table in the corner, and he pops up, runs a hand through his sandy brown hair, then offers that hand in greeting when I reach him. “Actually, wait. Can we hug instead of shake?”
I smile. “I think we know each other well enough to hug.”
He gives me a quick one, patting me on the back. It’s nice, this hug. I’m not feeling sparks, but who feels sparks from a hug?
I sit, setting my purse next to me on the zebra-print booth by the window that looks out on the street. “I have to do a work thing later,” I say, explaining the big work bag.
“Totally get it,” he says. “I have a thing too.”
Does he though? What would he have at night? But then I tell myself not to be suspicious. To be present. To be engaged.
He asks if I want a drink, and I opt for an iced tea since I don’t want to show up tipsy to a work dinner. After he orders, he shoots me a grin. “How’s everything going? What have you been up to?”
We chat for several minutes, catching up on life, then trading book and movie recs, but when I’m about to ask him if he’s seen the newest episode of The Dating Games—a show we were both addicted to when I worked with him—the words die on my tongue.
Since my gaze catches on a man crossing the street.
It’s Max, and he’s headed this way.