“Sure. Like what?”
I search my brain for a conversation topic. I’m drawing a blank. I can help run a multimillion dollar company, but apparently I can’t hold up my end of a dinner conversation with a hot guy. “Um…”
He grins at me. “A while ago, right before I was being set up on a blind date, I memorized a list of questions you’re supposed to ask somebody when you’re out on a date.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “And is this a date?”
“Um, yes? Hopefully?” He stuffs another nacho in his mouth. “I mean, I’m not going to play games here. I didn’t buy you a drink because I wanted someone to play pool with. It’s pretty obvious what my intentions are, right?”
“Do you go out on a lot of dates?”
“No,” he admits. “There was a time when I used to. But after I hit thirty, somehow I lost the motivation. And I never entirely got it back.”
I study his face, trying to figure out how old he is. He doesn’t have any gray hair. He has a few lines around his eyes, but not as many as Richard. Somewhere around mid-thirties. I’d like to ask him, but then he might ask me. And that’s a secret I’ll take to my grave.
“Do you date much?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “Like, never.”
“Well, I feel honored then.”
“If this is a date.”
“Right. If.”
I take another nacho, loaded with greasy cheese and spicy guacamole. “So what were the questions on the list?”
He rubs his thumb against his chin. “Hmm, let’s see. Do you collect anything?”
“When I was a child.” I think back to my comic collection. I don’t even know what happened to it. All I’ve got now is the number one edition of Wonder Woman from Marley, which I keep in the drawer of my nightstand. “Not now.”
“Adults collect things.”
“Like what?”
“Like… Baseball cards. Match boxes. Stamps. Comic books.”
“Do you?”
He grins lopsided. God, he’s really cute. Marley wouldn’t have liked him—he’s a bit too geeky for her taste. She would have said he didn’t have enough game. But I always liked that type. “No, I don’t. But I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“What’s another question?”
“Are you close with your family?”
I wince. The last thing I want to talk about right now is my family. I don’t want to tell a guy I really like about my dad who ran out, my mom dying when I needed her most, and the sister I never see even though she begs me to visit. I don’t want him to think I’m a head case. This is a date, not a therapy session. “Not really. How about you?”
“My dad died when I was a kid.” He lowers his eyes. “So I never really knew him that well. And my mom did her best. She’s great, actually. She’s the kind of mom who always had cookies baking in the oven, you know? And obviously, I wasn’t the easiest kid.”
Obviously? What does that mean? Tim seems like a really nice, laid-back guy. Why would I assume he was a difficult kid?
“Also,” he adds, “I’ve got two older siblings, who are both way too interested in my personal life.”
I smirk. “Yeah, I can relate to that. My sister is always asking if I’ve met the one yet. If I let her, she would set me up with a different guy every night.”
He clutches his chest. “Blind dates. The worst, right?”
I nod emphatically and raise my glass of gin and tonic, which he clinks against his own beer bottle. “The worst.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a good one.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “It’s just a matter of how bad it is. Like, if she takes one look at me and says, ‘Nuh uh.’”
I laugh. “That is incredibly hard to imagine.”
“Well, thanks for saying so. But it happens plenty. Women can be just as superficial as men.”
What in the holy hell is this guy talking about? He’s super hot. What woman in her right mind would take one look at him and say, “Nuh uh”? I can’t even fathom it. Modesty is an admirable quality, but come on. I can only imagine he’s digging for a compliment.
“Well, I think those women are crazy,” I finally say.
His smile widens. “Oh, I agree. I’m awesome. Those women missed out.”
The waitress shows up at that moment with our dishes. In spite of the fact that I helped him demolish the plate of nachos, my mouth waters at the sight of his greasy burger. My salad looks unappetizing and just generally disappointing in comparison. Why did I order a salad? It’s been a horrible day—I deserve a greasy burger.
After the waitress sets down the food, she rests one of her hands on Tim’s shoulder, showing off her long black fingernails. She smiles at him with a sweetness that I never would’ve imagined she possessed. “Everything okay? Do you need anything?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Okay then.” Her voice is sugary sweet. “Let me know if you do. Just give a yell, hon.”
As the waitress saunters away, I stare at him, open-mouthed. “Wow, she was really flirting with you. Right in front of me. Unbelievable.”
He laughs. “Nah, she wasn’t flirting.”
“Then how come she asked you if you needed anything, but not me? It was like I wasn’t even here. I mean, come on.”
He shrugs. “That happens to me all the time. I barely even notice it anymore.”
He barely even notices when a beautiful woman is flirting with him? I know some guys are clueless, but this is over the top. But I’m not going to make a big thing about it. I don’t want to seem like I’m jealous. Anyway, it’s not like this is a real date. Or at least, there isn’t going to be another date. This is a one-night only thing.
Although as the night goes on, I’m sort of regretting those ground rules.
“Would you like a bite of my food?”
I look up at him. “What?”
“That’s one of the questions I memorized. Would you like a bite of my food? But also, I’m looking at your food and feeling sorry for you. Do you want some of my burger?”
I can’t suppress a smile. “Yes, please.”
Tim picks up a knife from the table and carefully slices about a third of the burger off for me. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing this because I don’t want your cooties. I actually would love your cooties. I’m trying to be polite though, and I’m presuming you don’t want my hands all over your food. Although…” He holds up his hands. “I want you to know that my hands are very clean.”
“Yes.” I smile at him. “I agree. They are very clean.”
Tim’s burger is just as good as it looks. I take a big bite, and it’s almost orgasmic. The truth is, I don’t get to eat big greasy burgers or have orgasms very much anymore. So even just one of the two is fantastic.
He watched me make what are actually very embarrassing noises of pleasure while eating the burger. When I put it down, he is laughing into his napkin.
“What?” I say.
“I’m just really glad I offered you my burger.”
I roll my eyes.
“Also,” he says, “you’ve got some ketchup on your lip.”
My cheeks burn as I quickly grab for my napkin. The last thing I want is to look like a slob in front of this cute guy. But after several seconds of dabbing as daintily as I can, Tim shakes his head. “Let me,” he says.
He reaches out and very gently dabs at the corner of my lips. As he leans in close to me, it’s like time stops. Ed Sheeran stops playing on the radio. I can’t hear the dishes clinking together anymore. The only thing I’m aware of is Tim’s lips less than a foot away from mine.
And when I look up at his blue eyes, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing.
He leans in slowly. Slowly enough to give me time to back away if that’s what I wanted. But no way that’s what I want. I haven’t been kissed in a very long time, and this is like breaking a famine with lobster from the best restaurant in town. Ti
m kisses so good. His lips are soft but his breath is hot. His calloused fingers slide along my jaw and a tingle goes down my spine. I don’t know what sort of kiss he meant to give me, but it ends up so intense that when our lips finally separate, I’m shaking.
Jesus Christ.
I’d say only a player could kiss that good, but when I look at Tim’s hands, they’re shaking too, and there’s a slightly bewildered expression on his face. “Wow,” he breathes.
“Yeah,” I say.
Both of us cast glances at our plates. A minute ago, we were devouring our food. But right now, I’m only hungry for one thing. Even this amazing burger is a poor substitute for what I really want.
I want to rip his clothes off.
I swallow hard. “I don’t live too far from here. Would you like to… to come over to my place for… coffee?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Coffee?”
My cheeks burn. “I’m trying to figure out a way to invite you over without sounding like a slut.”
He laughs. “That would be great. I would love some… you know, coffee. I’ve got my car right outside. I could drive us.”
“You got parking right outside? There’s never any parking here.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, well.”
That doesn’t explain it, but I’m not going to question his primo parking spot. And I’m not going to worry about the fact that I’m inviting a man I just met to my apartment. I know any woman would tell you that’s a mistake, but when I look at this guy, I know it’s not a mistake. He’s not going to hurt me. There’s no way in hell.
Tim holds up his hand to signal for the check. The waitress fawns over him again when she hands it over, and he gives her his credit card. I chew on my lip. “We can split it,” I offer.
“No. Come on.”
“But you’re a public school teacher. And I’m an… architect.”
“I may not make the big bucks, but believe it or not, I can afford to pay the tab for dinner at a bar,” he says good-naturedly. I start to protest one last time, but he shakes his head. “I’m the guy. I want to pay.”
By the time the waitress returns with his credit card, I’m trembling with anticipation. I can’t believe we’re going to my house and we’re actually going to have sex. When I close my eyes, I imagine him ripping my expensive suit off my body. It makes me dizzy. God, I can’t wait to get home. If we don’t leave in the next sixty seconds, I’m going to explode.
He signs the check, and I get to my feet. Tim reaches under the table, and to my surprise, he pulls out two metal crutches. Not the kind I used when I twisted my ankle in high school, but the kind with handles that you grab onto and plastic rings that go around the forearms. The kind of crutches somebody uses when he’s been using crutches for a long time, and intends to use them for the rest of his life. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he grabs the handles and drags himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the crutches.
When he lifts his eyes, he sees the expression on my face.
“Oh,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say. There’s no way I could hide my reaction. “I didn’t realize…”
His face falls. “You didn’t? I thought you saw me when I went to the bathroom before you came over…”
“No.” I clear my throat. “I didn’t. I didn’t see…”
Well, that explains a lot. It explains his rough palms. It explains the muscles in his arms. It explains the great parking spot. It explains how nice the waitress was to him. And the fact that even though he’s hot as hell, a woman might take one look at him and say, “Nuh uh.”
“Shit,” he says under his breath, so low that I almost don’t hear it. He let out a long sigh. “Listen, Ebbie, I didn’t realize you didn’t know that… Anyway, we don’t have to do this. You’re off the hook. No hard feelings, I promise.”
This has happened to him before. He’s being gracious about it. But the fact that he needs those crutches to stand doesn’t change how ridiculously intense that kiss was. Or how attracted I am to this man. I’m still dizzy with desire.
No way I’m letting him off the hook.
“I still want you to come over,” I say.
He narrows his eyes at me. “If you’re doing this because you feel sorry for me, then don’t bother. Really.”
“I’m not. I wouldn’t.”
He stares at me for a moment, studying my face. Eventually, a smile creeps across his lips. “Okay, then. Let’s get out of here.”
It’s obvious that navigating a crowded bar is not an easy thing while leaning on crutches. The tables are all squeezed together and Tim is carefully picking his way between them. At one point, the bottom of one of his crutches snags a chair, and for a moment, I’m scared he’s going to go down. But he manages to maintain his balance. When we get past the tables, I hear him let out a breath.
I start for the exit, but he stops me. He nods his head at a different door on the side. “There’s a ramp over there,” he explains. His ears turn pink. “It’s a little easier for me. If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” I say quickly.
I’m dying to ask. Why does he need the crutches? Has he had them forever? Will he have them forever?
But it’s not appropriate to ask. I know that much.
Chapter 10
Tim’s car is beat-up old Corolla. It’s the sort of car that a computer science teacher at the worst high school in Manhattan might drive. I don’t own a car, but if I did, it would be a nicer car than this. Richard’s got a Porsche.
“Sorry I can’t open the door for you,” he says.
“I don’t expect that. I’m perfectly capable of opening the door myself.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He slides into the driver seat, and I settle down next to him. He shoves his crutches into the backseat. “So where to?”
I tell him my address, and he lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Architects do better than I thought.”
I search my brain for another lie to explain why I live in such an expensive apartment, but I’m coming up blank. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m never going to see him again after tonight. Why bother with lies?
The gears in Tim’s car are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Granted, it’s been many years since I’ve been behind the wheel. But given this is a Corolla, I feel like it should be pretty easy to figure out. He notices the perplexed expression on my face and says, “Hand controls.”
“What?”
He smiles crookedly. “I can’t work the pedals with my right leg. So I control the gas and the break with my right hand.”
“Oh…”
He glances at me as he starts up the engine. “Cerebral palsy.”
“What?”
He rolls his eyes as he backs out of the parking spot. “You’re wondering. So I’m telling you. I have cerebral palsy. I’ve had it my whole life. I was born too early, and this is what I was left with.”
“Oh.”
He shrugs. “It could’ve been worse. Fortunately, it only affects my legs. Arms work fine. Intelligence—not too shabby. But when I was born, the doctors weren’t sure how bad it would be. They told my parents I might not ever walk. Or speak. Or even be able to feed myself. They had no idea.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Well, I might not have been able to walk if my parents weren’t such great advocates. They had me in physical therapy starting when I was a baby. Even after my dad died and we didn’t have much money, my mom made sure I got the therapy I needed. When I think about it I feel really guilty. I mean, we were dirt poor. It wasn’t fair to spend that money on me.”
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “So were we. I mean, poor. When I was a kid.”
He raises an eyebrow at me.
“My dad took off when I was seven.” I tug at my designer shirt. “He just… disappeared. With some other woman. He had a business and she was his secretary, and when the business failed, he took off before the creditors could come after him. She went with him,
and he left my mom and me and my sister behind.”
“Jesus.”
I turn away, looking out the passenger side window into the dark night. I had promised myself I wouldn’t tell him all this, yet here I am. “He was a crappy dad, so it’s not like I missed him. But it was really hard on my mom. She relied on him too much, and when he was gone, she had to start over with nothing. It was awful for her. And for us. And all I could think of was that I would never let myself be in that position.”
The car eases to stop at a red light. “So is that why you only do first dates, not second?”
“Maybe partly,” I admit.
“You know, not all guys are dirtbags.”
“To be honest, I’ve yet to meet one who isn’t.”
“You’re sitting in the car with one.” The light changes to green and he increases the speed of the car with his right hand. “Obviously, I’m not perfect. But I’m a good guy. I always treat women right. I can promise you that much.”
“I believe you.” But it doesn’t change anything. I don’t have room in my life for a relationship. “Anyway, I’m killing the mood, right? Usually I avoid this sort of serious conversation when I’m about to hook up with a guy.”
“Please. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I don’t think you can possibly kill the mood.”
“I am not the most beautiful woman you’ve ever met.”
“Uh, yeah, you are. And right now, I feel like I should be driving faster so we can get to your place before you change your mind.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
“It’s not impossible.”
“No. I won’t. You’re too hot.”
Tim laughs as he slows down at another red light. “Hey, I’ve got a question. You’re an architect, right?”
Uh oh. “Right…”
“So the building over there on the left. I always wondered—would you call that Federal or Greek Revival?”
I look at the large white building with thin pillars surrounding the entrance. I haven’t the slightest idea. I don’t know a damn thing about architecture. “Oh. It’s Greek. For sure.”
Tim nods. “That’s what I thought, but sometimes I have trouble telling them apart. How do you distinguish?”
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