One Click Love

by T Gephart

  “Okay, Mack. Well, whatever you do today, try and have some fun or something. I don’t know, maybe crack a smile just to see if you still can.” The smart ass grinned. “And I know you already turned me down, but the dinner invitation tonight still stands. You can wow us with tales of the good old days, tell us what it was like before running water and electricity.”

  “Get out of here, North.” I chuckled, leaning back in my chair as Riley shot me a quick wave and headed out the door. Lord, that kid of his was going to be a handful and I couldn’t have wished it on a more deserving man.

  I was still wearing my grin as my phone rung, the name on the screen enough to make me lose whatever jovial mood I’d had.

  Melinda.

  Guess I should be grateful she didn’t call yesterday, counting my luck from not hearing from her a little premature as I lifted the phone to my ear, already regretting answering it.

  “John,” she purred, doing her best to sound like a phone sex operator. “I’m so sorry I forgot your birthday. Will you forgive me, sweetheart?”

  Part of me wished—and I’m ashamed to even admit it—that she had some kind of psychological disorder. That her behavior was due to an imbalance or—I don’t know—a fucking trauma. Not because I was a hateful bastard and wanted her to suffer, but so it made some kind of fucking sense. However, no, she was okay in the head department, and for some reason evil bitch was stuck as her default.

  “Why are you calling me, Melinda? I know it’s not to wish me a happy birthday so why don’t you just cut to the chase.” My fingers squeezed the bridge of my nose, wondering how the hell we’d stayed married so long. North had never liked her, warning me before I slipped a ring on her finger and thankfully saving the I-told-you-so after.

  She gasped, having the nerve to try and sound shocked. “I don’t know why you think I can’t just call to wish you well. You know, there was a time when you loved me and—”

  “And that was a long time ago. But screwing around and then taking the house and the car will correct that. So tell me, what is it that you want?”

  “Well,” she took a breath, pausing for maximum effect. “Todd and I were trying to have a baby and well, we’re having some difficulties in the swimmer department. All those procedures cost so much money and aren’t covered by insurance. You were always so amazing with Riley, and I know how good a man you are—”

  “Whatever you were going to ask, don’t.” My hand squeezed the phone, bewildered she’d taken fucking psycho to a new level. “Because I’m trying to be respectful here and I can guarantee if you ask it, I’ll lose the ability.”

  “C’mon John, don’t pretend like it would be so difficult for you to just fuck me while I lay there and look bored. You did it for years and never complained. Who knows, you might even enjoy it.”

  Never raised a finger to a woman.

  Not even as a joke.

  But the one on the other end of the line would test even a saint’s resolve.

  “I’d rather stick my dick in a blender, Melinda, and turn the fucking thing on. And do us both a favor, lose my number.” I ended the call, tossing the phone on my desk while I tried to wrap my head around her request. And in what alternate universe she’d thought I’d agree.

  I’d wanted kids—a son, a daughter, didn’t care as long as they were healthy. After seeing Riley grow into a man and having a hand in it, I wanted more. But she’d always thrown my job in my face, telling me I’d leave her to raise them on her own. And when I traded turnouts for a desk, I was fucking over the moon when she told me she’d reconsidered. Months we tried, the shit eating me up while I’d tempered my disappointment so I didn’t hurt her feelings. That was until I found the birth control pills she was secretly taking. Can’t say it didn’t chafe me that she’d lied, had me believing we were planning our future when really she was just biding her time. But now she wanted to have a kid with whoever the fuck Todd was and looking to me for stud services.

  Jesus Christ.

  Had she always been that bad? No wonder I didn’t fucking date. If my judge of character was so off the mark, I couldn’t trust myself not to end up with a serial killer.

  Maybe Riley and Quinn were right.

  Maybe I just needed to go get laid and stop worrying about trying to be everything to everyone, and what was it North said . . . go have some fun?

  Wow.

  Melinda had either thrown me more off kilter than usual, or I was way more tired than I thought.

  And without debating which of those two was responsible for my reasoning, I picked up my phone, scrolled to the newly downloaded app and opened the inbox of doom. It was going to take a while, probably better if I did it at home after a few hours’ sleep.

  Most of the messages were different versions of the same.

  I got sick of the hose/pole jokes real quick, likewise with the puns on fire/flaming/heat etc.

  And sure, some of the more colorful messages made me hard in all the right places, but not one of them were original in any way worth remembering.

  Except for one.

  Hayden.

  The honesty and lack of BS was both refreshing and fucking attractive. Not to mention she hated crowded nightclubs, which was a woman after my own heart. I couldn’t stand the places, would happily never step foot into another one again unless it was to fill out an arson report.

  I hadn’t even bothered to look at her picture, immediately hitting the reply so I didn’t lose the message in the sea of not interested.

  Hayden,

  Not interested in nightclubs or any other place I can’t hear a woman when she talks. Mind games and lies are also on my list of disinterests.

  As are half-way decent orgasms.

  Sounds to me like you’ve been settling, and if a man can’t see to it that you’re properly satisfied, then he’s not worth your time.

  Since our interests seem to be aligned, I say we grab a coffee and see what else we have in common.

  Mack

  Not sure what I was intending to write but I sent it before I had a chance to reconsider. It was probably more direct than I would have liked but something told me she would appreciate that. And if she didn’t and thought I was an asshole then I guess her lack of a response would speak loud and clear. No harm, no foul.

  It was only after my message was floating through the intersphere that I clicked on her profile and checked her out.

  Wow.

  She was beautiful.

  None of her photos looked photoshopped, uploaded without bunny or cat ear filters and about as honest as her message. Large slate gray eyes that smacked you right upside the head, her blond hair twisted in different directions and rested just above her shoulders. She had curves, the sexy kind like the old-school pinup girls I saw in my grandpa’s garage. Wish she hadn’t covered up with so many clothes, the full body shots only teasing me with the visual.

  But what I saw I definitely liked, with nothing about her being ordinary. And I bet that theme went far beyond just her looks.

  Well, maybe my judgment wasn’t so bad after all.

  Not that any of it mattered, she still hadn’t said yes to anything, and there was a very real possibility she’d tell me to take my TEDtalk and shove it up my ass.

  I was still gawking at her photos when my phone pinged, the alert letting me know there was a message from none other than Hayden herself.

  John/Mack,

  You’re either extremely confident or extremely cocky. Not sure it matters as long as you can back it up. Assuming we follow your logic—about men being unable to satisfy me not being worth my time—your invitation and by extension the use of my time, must mean you can. Coffee sounds great. I get off work around 7 p.m. and hoping it’s not too presumptuous to assume you have no plans for a Tuesday night. Probably being a little more eager than I should, but talk of decent orgasms will do that every time. Are you on the Island or somewhere in the outer boroughs? There’s a great place in Hudson Heights—Caffeine an
d Me—that’s open until late, but up for suggestions.

  Hayden

  I laughed, interested beyond measure if she was as forward face to face. After all, it was easy to talk a good game when you were behind the safety of a screen. But take that away and people could be different. And I really, really hoped she wasn’t.

  With a grin on my face, I typed back my reply.

  Hayden,

  It’s just Mack, and I like to think I’m a little of both—confident and cocky—but you can absolutely bank on me being able to back it up. As you guessed, my Tuesday night is free, just got off rotation actually so the timing works great. But if we’re throwing out suggestions without worrying about presumptions, let’s do dinner instead. I’m in Midtown, and there are lots of places to eat. Can I pick you up from work? Happy to provide references from the city to prove I’m not a deviant and willing to take my chances you aren’t either.

  Mack

  I wasn’t even sure who I was anymore. Flirting with some woman on a dating app I’d never met, spoken to, and knew very little about. Not that the insanity of it all made me rethink my offer. Nope, it just made things more interesting. Truth be told, I was kind of enjoying it, liking the back and forth and seeing where it ended up.

  And lucky me, I didn’t have to wait too long.

  Mack,

  Yes to dinner, but no to picking me up from work. As compelling as your references are, I’d prefer to meet you there. And since we’re doing dinner, let’s meet at 8 so I can go home and change. There’s this cute little Italian place in Midtown called Gino’s we could try. I’ve heard it’s a little loud and crowded, but the pizza is really good and service is quick. I can call and get a reservation if this works?

  Let me know.

  Hayden

  Was she shitting me? Gino’s? The pizza place right around the corner from our firehouse? We’d had more Gino’s than was probably legal, most of the station being on a first-name basis with all of the staff. Not to mention it was like a ten-minute walk from my condo. If there was some Higher Power trying to throw me a sign, I’d say it was well and truly received.

  Hayden,

  Meet you at Gino’s at 8. I’ll take care of the reservations.

  Mack

  Short and sweet, which was my only option unless I wanted to embarrass myself. Flirting was fine, but talking about coincidences and heavenly signs was too far over the line. So instead, I picked up the phone and called Gino’s, the number having been dialed so many times before, I knew it by heart.

  “Gino’s.”

  There was only one female who could answer the phone so clipped and impatient and get away with it, probably on account the restaurant shared its name with her dad and her grandpa before him.

  “Vera, it’s Mack. How are you doing?”

  “Mack! Hey, I’m doing okay, well as good as I can be when my brother is busy flirting with customers, leaving me to do all the work. How are you? You need a delivery?” Her disposition improved knowing it was me.

  “No delivery this time around, but I will take a table for two around 8 p.m. if you have one. I’ll even set your brother straight while I’m there, let your dad know he can send him around to polish the engines anytime he starts slacking off.”

  She laughed, something she usually reserved for North, Tibbs or Leighton. Well basically anyone else in my crew under the age of thirty. “Just as long as I get to come and watch. And a table for two at 8 is no problem, I’ll put you at a table along the back wall away from the kitchen.”

  “Thanks, Vera, appreciate it.”

  “My pleasure, Mack. See you then.”

  Guess she would be. Who knew when I turned down Riley and Quinn’s invitation I’d have actual plans? Not that I planned on broadcasting it, the shit I’d no doubt catch enough to have me shutting my mouth and saying nothing. And as long as no one walked into Gino’s and saw us, they’d be none the wiser.

  Best it stayed that way, at least for now.

  Hayden

  SO MUCH FOR me and my bright ideas.

  When I’d suggested coffee with John, sorry, Mack, it was no big deal. I wasn’t playing the hard-to-get game, and dragging it out for a week before we finally met served no purpose. Honestly, I was too tired and worked too many hours to bother with the pretense. We either clicked or we didn’t, and if his fancy words ended up being nothing but talk then I would have preferred not to waste a whole week wondering.

  But dinner had not been part of the equation.

  Not that dinner in itself was a problem, we all had to eat, and usually by the time I finished my shift at Target, I was starving.

  So I’d agreed, willing to kill two birds with one stone and glad cooking and dishes were going to be someone else’s responsibility at least for one night. And I’d heard the food at Gino’s was good.

  The problem was my wardrobe.

  Or more to the point, the lack of options in it suitable for a date.

  There wasn’t a chance I’d be able to squeeze into my old Levi’s and lace T-shirt even if it wouldn’t make me look ridiculous. Which left me with yoga pants, work clothes, and a printed floral dress I’d worn to my cousin’s wedding last spring. It was also February in New York, so unless I wanted to suffer hypothermia there was a greater chance of me turning up in my work khakis and red polo than slipping into the dress.

  Lucky for me, the realization had occurred before I’d left the store, running to the ladies’ department and putting my employee discount to good use. And as tempting as it was to pour myself into one of those beautiful knitted sweater dresses and pair it up with equally stunning knee-high boots, the allure of not wearing control undergarments won out. So I settled for a pair of skinny—ironic since I was not—jeans, knitted sweater and woolen blazer to both keep me warm and stop me obsessing about how my butt looked in my new jeans. I also picked up some new panties and a bra, just in case.

  Then I raced home, furiously pulling off labels before throwing myself into the shower and redressing. It was the quickest turnaround in history, my makeup being applied with one hand while I tried to tame my errant hair with a hairdryer.

  It was a losing battle, the kinks and waves kicking out disobediently despite a healthy amount of hair product and a generous amount of heat.

  Oh well, with any luck he’d be too interested in my boobs to even worry about my hair. I smoothed down the front of my new sweater, my old B cups having swelled to Cs without the aid of a push-up bra.

  I was nervous.

  There was no way around it.

  As much as I wanted to not care what he thought, Mack was, hopefully, going to be the first man—other than my disinterested ex-husband—I’d been naked in front of for twenty years.

  Which was why I had to get it over with as soon as possible.

  Tossing insecurity out the window, and throwing myself at someone I wasn’t in love with was the plan. So if—and that was a HUGE if—I did find someone I cared about later down the road, I wouldn’t be hauling extra luggage he didn’t deserve.

  Ha! Look at me being delusional in thinking I’d ever fall in love again. Yeah, because being in a long-term relationship had worked out so stellar for me the last time. And considering I didn’t have another twenty years to waste, I’d say it was better if I just tucked that idea back into the far recesses of my mind where it belonged. I allowed myself one more look at the mirror, fussing with lint that wasn’t there before grabbing my keys and heading to Midtown.

  It would have probably been smarter to leave my old Ford sedan at home and taken the subway. But I was tired, it was already so dark, and I wanted the option to get the hell out of there in a hurry if I needed to. So driving—however impractical—was the better option.

  Not sure if it was better or worse having time to contemplate. The time spent from getting from my humble little condo at the top of Manhattan to the bustling center giving me time to mull over every good and bad thought. I had purposely not asked Mack about himself, wa
nting to keep things casual and distant. It would be easier that way.

  The plan was we have dinner, and if things were going well, I’d casually invite myself to his place, and then sleep with him. Sure, there was the possibility he’d turn me down, which is why I was giving myself the whole dinner before broaching the subject. And if I read the situation wrong, asked and was turned down, well I’d just wave him goodbye, get back in my car and find some other guy who was willing. No sweat. But as I got closer, I was starting to have some doubts whether or not I was going to be able to go through with it.

  My sedan eased into a parking space not far from Gino’s, a few deep breaths needed before I got out of the car and made my way to the entrance. I ignored my sweaty palms, wiping them down the front of my new jeans as I edged my lips into a smile and walked to the hostess desk.

  “Hi, I’m meeting a friend. Is there a reservation for Joh—I mean—Mack?” My manufactured confidence doing its job so my voice wasn’t shaking.

  The hostess looked me over, her dark brown eyes surveying me with more interest than I would have liked. “Suuuuuure, right this way.”

  Her voice was artificially sweet, as was her smile, glancing at me over her shoulder multiple times as she led me through the dining area to a table where a man was already seated.

  The man was huge.

  His big body was folded into the chair while his wide shoulders protruded from the backrest. Muscular and obviously tall as well, his head was down, studying his phone intensely as we neared. And I was almost going to tell my overly friendly escort she had to be mistaken when he turned and looked up.

  Oh.

  Holy.

  Hell.

  Those kind brown eyes I’d seen in his photos weren’t half as sweet as they’d seemed. Heat licked at his irises, simmering warm as he smiled, and making what I’d thought was a handsome face turn into waaaaaaaay out of my league.