Wrong Place, Right Time

by Elle Casey

  He looks over at Melba. She’s standing behind the counter near a cash register. “Do you want dessert?” he asks.

  “My god, no. I have no room left in my stomach. Not even for a bite.”

  He signals to Melba and makes some gesture with his finger, swirling it around and poking the air with it—some kind of restaurant sign language I do not understand at all. When he finishes, he shifts his attention back to me.

  “What was that all about?” I ask.

  “I told her to wrap me up a dessert and bring the check.”

  I nod, a little sad that our date is almost over. Not that it was a date. We’re just two friends going out for a catfish dinner. That’s it. I’m going to keep saying that to myself over and over until I actually believe it.

  “Jacob is going to be psyched about Halloween.”

  I’m back to smiling again. Who cares what this is? It’s fun, and that’s all I need to know. “My kids, too. They really liked hanging out with Jacob. Sammy is having a little bit of a hero worship issue, I think. Jacob’s an older kid and his wheelchair is really fast, so . . .”

  Dev smiles. “That’ll make Jacob happy. I won’t tell him, of course, but he doesn’t get to interact with other kids very often, so it’s good that they started off on the right foot.”

  I tilt my head at him. “Doesn’t he go to daycare or school?”

  “Sometimes, for a couple hours at a time, he goes to daycare. He was too young to start kindergarten last year. It’s really hard to find a place that can take care of his needs, so he spends a lot of time with my mother and me. It’s also why you don’t see me full-time at the warehouse. I work there as many hours as I can, but I have to be there for my son a lot, too.”

  I nod. “I get it. Do you do his therapy for him?”

  “Most of it. I get training from his physical therapist, and then I continue the work at home. He doesn’t like it, so it’s a bit of a battle, but it needs to be done.”

  “He told Sammy that he has cerebral palsy. I’m not really familiar with that disability. What does it mean for him and for you?” I pray that I haven’t stepped over the bounds of social decency by asking him these very personal questions, especially because I’m doing it almost out of selfish reasons. I don’t want to make assumptions and say or do something stupid the next time we’re together.

  Dev doesn’t hesitate. “There are a few different kinds of cerebral palsy. He was diagnosed with spastic CP, which means essentially that his muscles spasm a lot and get really tight. It was caused by a lack of oxygen at birth. His joints are painful, too. It’s really tough for him. I have to keep him stretched out, and we do a lot of massage to try to keep his muscles from pulling his skeleton into bad positions and wearing down the cartilage in his joints. Because his muscles and tendons are always pulling in directions that aren’t good for his bones, they don’t always grow properly. That’s why he probably looks a little crooked to you.”

  My heart aches for Jacob. “It sounds very painful.”

  “It is, but he’s a real trouper. He’s tough. He has been since the day he was born. You could see it in his eyes when he was just a day old. Even when he’s in pain, he’s determined to push through. He’s my hero.”

  “Geez, he’s my hero, too. To be so young and to have such a heavy burden? I couldn’t even imagine . . .” I don’t finish my thought, but inside my head all I can think is how stupid and shallow I’ve been, whining about how tough my life is. How much time have I wasted fretting about my son’s lisp? A lisp is nothing compared to Jacob’s challenges.

  “Everybody is given his own burden to carry, and we’re never given anything we can’t handle. When I look at my son, I see a superhero. I see a human being who is handling something so tough, most of us would be crushed under the weight of it. But he doesn’t get crushed. He rises above it all. I admire his courage, and at the same time I’m there to whup his butt when he starts to forget how amazing he is.”

  I want to cry, I’m so in love with this man right now.

  My heart lurches as that thought crosses my mind. Is it possible that I’m in love-love with him, like not just right here in this moment but in general? Gah, how lame is that? He’s relegated me to the friend zone and I’m looking at him with goo-goo eyes, hoping he’ll decide one day to be my boyfriend.

  I could spend days, weeks, or even months beating myself up about this, but I’m not going to do that. Any girl would feel the same way, and I don’t think any woman in the world would blame me for being so mixed up and full of hope. He’s not only a great guy, but he’s also a great dad. Why didn’t I marry a guy like him instead of a turd like Miles? What a waste of ten years that was. I console myself with the fact that I have three great kids . . . and the thought that Dev is probably horrible in bed. He has to be, right? No man can be everything—great dad, great coworker, great friend, great in the sack . . .

  “I’d really love to know what’s going on in your head right now,” he says.

  My eyes widen. “Why?” Was it written all over my face that I was falling in love with him? That I was imagining him naked and on top of me?

  He gives me an almost evil-looking grin. “Because. It looks like sexy stuff.”

  “Oh, be quiet.” I’m completely and totally busted. My face burns bright red. Thankfully, the lighting is bad in here. Perhaps I’ll get lucky and he won’t notice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look anywhere but at him.

  “Okay. If you say so.” Clearly, he doesn’t believe me. So much for being sneaky and incognito about my feelings. I’m about as incognito as a peacock in heat. Look at me! Over here! Ready to get it on like Donkey Kong and bear your children too!

  Melba comes over with the check and a big box wrapped up inside a plastic bag with the handles tied together. “Here you go. One hot fudge brownie with all the toppings and extra cherries on top.”

  Dev reaches into his back pocket, but I stop him with my hand out. “No, no, this is my treat. I lost the bet, so I’m paying.”

  Dev shakes his head at me as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “Sorry, but I have a personal policy of never letting a woman pay for meals. My mother would never forgive me if I made an exception just because you lost a bet with me.”

  I frown at him. “That’s not fair. These were your rules.”

  He shrugs. “You can get the next one.”

  I want to argue that this violates his so-called rules, and that by his reasoning he’d always end up paying, but I don’t want to talk him out of a second non-date that could maybe by some chance turn into a real date. I’m not that stupid. “Fine. But don’t think you can invoke this personal policy on our next . . . meal together.”

  Dev gives Melba a pile of cash and tells her to keep the change. She walks away happy.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  I nod, not sure where we go from here. Will he just drop me off, or will he come into my place for a drink? I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m a complete newbie at this non-dating, maybe-dating thing. The last time I went out with anybody, I was practically a teenager. I’m tempted to text my sister for advice, but I don’t want him to see how clueless I am. I fight the urge to take my phone out and instead busy myself with gathering my things and smoothing imagined wrinkles out of my dress.

  Following him out to the car, I decide on my way that I just need to keep doing what I’m doing, namely following his lead and seeing where it takes us. Knowing him as I do now, I trust that he won’t lead me astray. He’s too good a man for that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  I don’t know if Dev is as nervous as I am on our ride to my house, but it seems like he might be. We share maybe five minutes of small talk all the way back, and then we’re pulling up into my driveway.

  Will he keep the car running? Will he assume I’m going to invite him in? Will he ask if he can come inside and take my clothes off? These are the thoughts that are traveling through my crazy, confused, and
sexually starved brain as he parks in the driveway. He pauses as the motor idles, staring out the windshield. I wish I could get inside that brain of his and read it.

  He puts his hand on the ignition and turns to look at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m going to walk you to the door if that’s okay.”

  I nod. “Of course. I appreciate it.” I’ll pretend I live in a scary neighborhood and that I need a big, strong man to walk me to my door. Save me, Spider-Man!

  It’s not the sexy invitation I was fantasizing I might get from him, but maybe I’ll be able to steal a kiss good night. I’m feeling a little bold for some reason. Maybe it’s a side effect of eating fried catfish.

  He shuts off the ignition and comes around to open my door for me once more. It’s just as charming the third time as it was the first. As we walk up to the front door side by side, the schoolgirl in me is sweating it, big-time. I want him to hold my hand and ask me if I’ll be his girlfriend! I’m fifteen years old again! Wheee!

  I wish I could walk up the porch in slow motion and make the moment last longer, but his strides are those of a seven-foot-tall man. We’re at the front door in no time.

  I fish around in my purse for the keys and then, when I find them, hold my purse against my chest as I look up at him. “I really enjoyed our evening, even though you cheated.”

  His grin comes slowly. “Cheated? Who cheated? I played fair.”

  “The deal was that I was supposed to pay. You changed the rules to suit your purposes.”

  “And what purposes would those be?”

  This doesn’t feel like a conversation between just friends, but I don’t want to ruin it by pushing for something that I can’t have. But will that stop me from flirting? No. Not tonight. Not when he’s using that dimple to make my heart go pitter-patter.

  “I have no idea,” I say, grinning. “You should just tell me instead of making me guess.”

  Oh my god! I forgot how fun flirting can be. He’s still smiling down at me as he tries to come up with the perfect response.

  I jingle my keys in my hand, letting him know that if he doesn’t come up with something quick, I’m going to open that door and disappear. Does he want me to do that? Or does he want me to remain out here on the front stoop with him in this sticky heat, with the cicadas singing all around us. I swear, I could stay out here all night. All he’d have to do is ask.

  “You in a hurry?” he says.

  I shrug. “Not really. Are you?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to a glass of wine.”

  My heart hammers loudly in my chest. I hope he can’t hear it. “Come on in. I have a bottle in the fridge.”

  My hands are shaking so badly I can’t put the damn key in the lock. How embarrassing! So much for being a cool cucumber; my cucumber is warm and limp, left out on the counter for days and days . . .

  He doesn’t say a word; he just takes the keys from me and gently slides the one we need into the lock. “Are you cold?” he asks close to my ear.

  I laugh self-consciously. “It’s like eighty degrees out right now.”

  “I guess that means you’re shaking for another reason.” He pushes the door open and gestures for me to precede him.

  I sigh at him, annoyed that he won’t let me be a dork in secret. “I’m just nervous, okay?” I hate admitting that. For a moment there, I was living in an illusion where I knew what I was all about and was making him sweat.

  He’s smiling again. I swear he looks like the devil himself, and very pleased about it too. “What are you nervous about?” he asks. “You’re not worried about being alone in the house with me, are you?”

  I frown at him, feeling bad that he might actually believe that. “You’re crazy. I actually feel safer with you here in the house with me than I would by myself.”

  “Hmm, that’s very interesting,” he says, following me into the front hall. “So if you’re not nervous about me being in the house with you alone, then what is it?”

  I look up at him and bat my eyelashes. “Don’t make me say it.”

  He tips his head back and laughs really loud. “Say what?”

  I shove him out of my way and walk down the hall. “You cannot possibly be that dense.”

  He follows me into the kitchen, still chuckling. I expect him to continue teasing me, which is why I squeak with surprise when his arms come around me from behind.

  He leans down and puts his mouth near my neck. “Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”

  Shivers move over my entire body, making goosebumps stand up on my skin. I can barely speak, my voice coming out a mere whisper. “I know you won’t.” Suddenly I’m jelly inside. I can barely stand on my own.

  I’m staring at the inside of my refrigerator, but I don’t see anything there. Not the wine or the other things I bought to have for dinner over the next couple days. My vision has gone blurry with all of my body focused on the sensations he’s creating with his hands. They’re so huge!

  His right hand is open and resting on my stomach; it covers the entire thing, creating the sensation that I’m this tiny person in his big, strong arms. I love it! His other hand is on my hip, his fingers pressing into that small space just in front of my hipbone. So intimate. God, I want him so badly!

  “If you don’t like this, you need to tell me,” he says in a deeply gruff voice.

  I shake my head vigorously but say nothing. I don’t trust myself to speak. I’m liable to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, which will no doubt be way too heavy for this occasion. We’re just having fun. We’re two single parents without their kids for a change, goofing around in an empty house. It’s almost like we’re teenagers again, and our parents have gone away for the weekend. Dev has managed to turn back time for me. It’s a gift on several levels.

  He uses the pressure from his hands to turn me around. I’m afraid to look up at him, but I do it anyway. He’s impossibly tall and impossibly handsome. I can’t believe he’s here with me.

  “You are so beautiful,” he says.

  I smile, charmed by the almost innocent look on his face. “I think that sweet tea went right to your head.”

  I expect him to smile, but he doesn’t. He looks as serious as a man can be. “Oh, no. I have all my faculties and perfect vision. I feel very lucky tonight.”

  Who feels like a million bucks? Me. I do.

  “Me too.” I put my hands on his upper arms as he draws me closer. I slide my fingers around his biceps, secretly enjoying the bulges underneath his shirt. I would so love to see this guy naked. Is that wrong of me? We haven’t even been on a real date yet.

  He leans down, and I tip my head back to try to make it easier on him. The foot-and-a-half difference in height between us is not conducive to a sexy, romantic moment; he’s bent nearly in half to kiss me.

  When our mouths meet, I’m surprised; his lips are softer than I expected them to be. He pushes them against mine, first gently and then with more pressure. I’m also thrilled. This doesn’t feel like a friends-only kiss. This feels like a he’s-interested-in-being-more-than-friends kiss. I’m not going to question why he’s asking me about dating other guys when he’s ready to say goodbye like this; I’m just going to try and enjoy the moment.

  When our tongues join the game, I start to panic, though. I realize that I have no idea what I’m doing. I haven’t kissed a man in almost a year, and before that, the only man I ever kissed for ten years was Miles. The awkwardness has me backing my head up and breaking off contact. It feels so strange to be here with him. Good, but strange. Like I’ve done something I shouldn’t have. My head is going crazy with questions, the foremost being Are you going to break my heart playing games with me?

  “Is something wrong?” he asks.

  “No. I’m just . . .” I shake my head and look down. I’m so embarrassed and disappointed in myself. I have the hottest guy in town standing right here in my kitchen and I can’t even kiss him without turning it into a soap opera? What am I? Brain dead
?

  His finger lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Am I going too fast?”

  I laugh bitterly. “Jesus, I hope not.”

  He smiles. “That’s good news. I think.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry I’m being such a freak. It’s just that . . . I’ve been alone for a year, and I suddenly realized that I am really out of practice. I think I forgot how to kiss.”

  He leans down again, talking gently as he comes closer. “Don’t worry, it’s like riding a bike. You just need to get on and start pedaling.”

  I lift my mouth toward his as he gets closer. “Start riding?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a smile in his whispering voice. “Get on and do your thing.”

  Oh, what the hell. Why not? Why not just throw all caution to the wind and take a leap of faith? My heart races as I realize what I’m doing. I’m going to give this a shot. I’m going to kiss this man and see where it takes us.

  Our lips come together much more confidently this time. Both of us give in to the passion that’s been building between us. Screw being just friends. This feels too good to keep it on a mere friendship level.

  His hands are all over me. One is grabbing my ass and squeezing, the other is at my back, pulling me into him. Our bodies are touching everywhere. My arms are almost straight up in the air, wrapped around his neck and pulling him down to deepen our kiss. I guess I haven’t forgotten how to kiss . . .

  When he moans against my mouth, it ramps up the heat another couple notches. I didn’t think I was capable of experiencing this kind of passion in such a short period of time. Two minutes ago I was talking myself into being his friend; now I’m trying to figure out how long we have to mess around before I can get him into my bedroom.

  One of his hands slides around and grabs my breast, and all I can think is, Go under my shirt! Take off my bra! Let’s make this happen!