Читать книгу The Unexpected Affair - Monica Richardson - Страница 15
ОглавлениеShe sat on the rooftop patio, at the high-top table, and sipped on a glass of water. She checked her watch. It was already seven fifteen. They’d agreed to meet at seven, and she was there at six forty-five. She was always prompt and expected nothing less from her suitors. Promptness was an item on her Man Menu. It was right up there with cleanliness. In the past, she’d have walked out and never answered her phone again. But something made her sit there and wait, even as seven thirty flashed across the big-screen television where the Cowboys had just scored a field goal.
“Can I get you something else to drink, ma’am?” asked the blond-haired server.
“She’ll have a Heineken,” said the male voice behind her, “and one for me, too.”
She wanted to tell him about his tardiness. Had already rehearsed the speech in her head, but when she looked at his beautiful chocolate face and he flashed that beautiful smile, everything she thought she wanted to say dissipated. He cleaned up well, and the jeans and black shirt were a nice change from his work attire. Lane kissed her cheek and took a seat across from her at the table.
“What makes you think I wanted a beer?”
“It’s a sports bar. The game is on...” He grinned. “I can order you something else if you’d like.”
“What makes you think I wanted you to order for me at all?” She almost smiled. “I’m fully capable of ordering for myself.”
“I couldn’t tell. When I walked in, you were sipping on a glass of water.” He grabbed a menu and began to look it over.
“You were late,” she mentioned.
“I’m sorry. My last job lasted a little later than expected. I had to rush home, shower and change.”
“No text to say ‘I’m running late’?” she asked.
“I’m so sorry. That was totally inconsiderate of me,” he said. “Forgive me?”
She grabbed a menu and held it up to her face. “This time,” she said.
“Thank you.”
The server placed a beer in front of each of them. She looked at the green bottle and watched as Lane poured his into the chilled mug. She wasn’t a beer drinker but liked the idea of trying something new. She poured hers into the mug and took a sip. It wasn’t as bad as she’d anticipated.
“So what are you having?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You seem to know what I like.”
“What do you like?”
“I’d like for my date to be on time. And in the future, if he’s going to be late, I’d like for him to call or text and let me know.”
“So you’re saying there will be another date. Or should I say, future dates.”
“Let’s get through this one first.” She smiled at him.
He was easy to be with, she noted. Some dates were so strained, uncomfortable.
“Fair enough,” he said.
“I’ll have the fire hot wings,” she said.
“Can you handle the fire hot wings?” he asked with a grin.
She peeked over the top of the menu. Took note of how handsome he was—dark face, silky smooth skin, perfectly trimmed hair and mustache with just a hint of gray. His arms were strong, and his hands were huge. She wondered what it would feel like to be hugged by those arms, but more than that she wondered what the story was behind those sad eyes.
“I can handle a lot,” she flirted.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” She smiled.
“I know you teach kindergarten for a living, but what do you do for fun?” he asked.
“I sing, play the piano and write music.”
“Really?” He was surprised. “Let me hear something.”
“No!” She smiled.
“Why not? It’s just me and you,” he encouraged.
“Not the time or place.”
“Chicken.”
“I guess I am,” she said. She felt comfortable with him, but not comfortable enough to sing. Not just yet.
“Fine. One day.”
“One day.”
“You’re beautiful.” He watched her, and even when she looked away, he didn’t break the stare.
“Thank you,” she said while looking at the television.
“Your accent is sexy,” he said. “I bet you get that all the time, though.”
“I get it quite a bit.”
“So what do you do when you’re not teaching children or singing?”
“Either hanging with my girls or watching Netflix—alone. Not Netflix and chill,” she said.
He laughed. “Okay.”
“What about you? When you’re not driving a cement truck, what are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m at my son’s football games, yelling at the ref to call the right plays. I’ve been banned from the field twice.” He laughed.
“Wow! No self-control.”
“I have self-control. I just like to get my point across.”
“By getting thrown from the field,” she said sarcastically. “Yeah, that will definitely get your point across.”
“You’ve been teaching little people too long.” He pointed a finger her way.
She laughed. “We need to exercise self-control.”
She pointed a finger at him. He unexpectedly grabbed her small hand, stroked in between her fingers. Rubbed the ring finger on her left hand.
“No shadow where a ring should be.”
She pulled her hand away. “What? I’m not married!”
“You can’t be too careful with these women out here.” He laughed. “They pretend to be single, when they’re really married.”
“What type of women are you running into?”
“All types. It’s why I’ve been single for so long. I don’t trust anyone.”
“That’s a hard way to live.”
“You always get taken for a ride in this game,” he stated. “No feelings. No trust. It’s the only way to be.”
“When was your last serious relationship?”
“My marriage. Been divorced five years. Since my son was five years old.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? I’m not. She got what she wanted. She wanted out,” he said. “My only regret is that I can’t live in the same home with my son. But it’s okay. I see him often, and we talk every day.”
“That’s good.”
“We were young, fresh out of college.”
She mentally checked his education off on her Man Menu. He was a college graduate, and that was definitely a plus.
“What college did you graduate from?”
“Mizzou.”
“Tigers, huh?”
“All day.”
“What’s your degree in?” she asked.
“Computer science.” He took a sip of his beer.
“Why aren’t you working in your degree, for some major software company? I bet there are millions of them in Dallas.”
“Because I don’t like corporate America!” he stated emphatically. “Got no time for the bullshit that goes on there. Besides, I make a good salary.”
“Seems like a waste of a good degree.”
He shrugged. “I just wanted to play ball. And I did. I was the star running back for my team.”
“But now you’re all broken down and old. How is football helping your life now?” She laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know you like that.”
“It’s cool.” He balled up his napkin and threw it at her. “You can’t be much younger than me.”
“I’m thirty-six.”
“Okay, I’m thirty-eight with bad knees and a terrible back. So what?” He laughed.
“How did you end up in Texas?”
“Ex-wife wanted to move here. She wanted us to have a fresh start.” He sighed. “I’m here now. I’ve built a life, own my home.”
She made another mental check to her Man Menu. He owned his own home. That, too, was a plus.
“That’s great,” she said.
“What about you? You’re a long way from home.”
“I came here to attend college. I wanted to be as far away from the Bahamas as I could get! It was the only way to express my independence.”
“Independence from what?”
“From my family, my parents. They would run my life if I let them. My mother would, anyway,” she stated. “I promised to move home last year, when my siblings and I inherited some property. We now own a bed-and-breakfast, and they wanted me to come home and help run it. But I don’t want to go back there. Like you, I’ve built a life here in Texas.”
“I hear you.”
Though Lane held a few of the traits on Whitney’s Man Menu, he was coming up short on the ones that made the biggest difference. He was definitely tall, dark and handsome. He had a college degree and owned his home. But her ideal man wasn’t supposed to drive a concrete truck. What would Kenya and Tasha think about that? No, the ideal man would own his own business or he’d be an executive at a Fortune 500 company. He wouldn’t be a blue-collar worker with calluses on his hands. Though she didn’t mind calluses so much, her friends’ husbands might notice them when he shook their hands. And her ideal man certainly wouldn’t be a divorcé with a kid. She had to draw the line somewhere. She’d taught eighth grade before and knew that preteens could be brutal, particularly the ones from broken homes. And even though she was enjoying his company tremendously, he definitely wasn’t her type.
