He laughed. “Impossible! We are very simple creatures.”
“No, you’re not,” I said.
“Trust me, we are,” he said again.
“Nope.” I shook my head. “You are so complicated. Not to mention very,veryconfusing.”
“How so?” he asked.
“Well, the problem with most of you is that, when you get into a relationship with someone, you somehow manage to sneakily take the reins, without us even knowing you’re doing it! Until a year later you wake up and can’t believe where you’ve landed up. And for a moment, you think you were the one who landed you there, until you realize that it wasn’t you. You never actually had any power, you had just been steered along, taken for a ride you didn’t even know you were on, or signed up for. Because if you had known, you wouldneverhave signed the indemnity form!” I concluded.
Mike looked at me for the longest time and then started to shake his head. “Nah, sounds like your ex was just an asshole,” he said, bringing his eyes up to me. He looked at me intently, as if he were searching me for something. Looking into me.
I sipped my Coke again and gave a big nod. “That he was. That he bloody was. And what about yours? She sounds like a real piece of work, too.”
Mike shrugged. “Well, she just fell in love with someone else. What can I do? And now they’re married with their first baby on the way, so . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know, Becca. Matters of the heart are confusing, aren’t they? You know what I mean. You wrote a book about it.”
I looked at him for a while, taking him all in, and then a slow, small smile spread across my lips. “Okay, fine. I’ll break the girl code and tell you what women want, because it seems like you really need some help in this department.”
He turned in his seat and looked straight at me. “Okay. Tell me.”
“Right, we want someone sensitive, but not too sensitive. We still like manly. We want someone who is funny and can make us laugh, but not so funny that they can’t ever be serious. We want someone gentle, but not so gentle that they can’t be a little bit rough sometimes, when required. We want someone who can listen, and we meanwe really want you to listen. And there will be tests; we will ask you random questions from time to time to make sure you heard us. And we definitely want someone who thinks we’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and tells us this. Tells us often, but not so often that it sounds insincere. And we might say things like, ‘I don’t like flowers,’ or ‘Please, don’t make a big deal out of our anniversary,’ but, really, we want that. We really do, even if we don’t think we do . . .” I paused and looked at him, my face flushing a slight shade of red—I could feel my cheeks tingle.
“Really?” His smile changed now, from amused to a little bit naughty—and a lot flirty. “For someone who doesn’t know what she wants, that sounded very specific,” he said slowly.
“I was speaking generally,” I quickly said.
“I see.” Mike moved in his seat, a little closer to me. “So, you don’t think crying istoosensitive?”
I shook my head. “No. In fact, it’s kind of sexy when men cry,” I heard myself say.
“Sexy?” He leaned a bit closer.
“Definitely,” I said, my voice getting a little whispery.
“Are you talking generally again?” He leaned in a little more. “Or are you being specific?” he asked, equally seductively.
Oh boy, how had this conversation gotten here so quickly?But I knew the answer to that. It was crystal clear. I had known the answer to that from the moment we’d laid eyes on each other, and then hadn’t been able to take our eyes off each other as we’d driven away down that dirt road, him casting glances at me in the rear-view mirror, and me, waiting for them.
“I might be being specific,” I said, playfully, sexily, teasing.
“And who, specifically, are you being specific about?” He matched my teasing tone and I heard a small giggle escape my lips. This was all so strange, and somewhat exhilarating; I hadn’t been flirted with in ages, let alone flirted back with anyone—well, not anyone worth flirting with. And Mike was definitely worth flirting with. Suddenly, his hand left his glass and moved up to my face, and then, without warning, he was pushing a long strand of hair out of my face. I watched his finger out of the corner of my eye as he tucked the hair carefully behind my ear, my skin prickling and shivering as he did it.
He smiled at me. “It was hanging in your drink.”
I quickly looked at the strand and, noticing that the tip was wet, I cringed. “Sorry, that’s a bit gross. That’s, uh . . . not exactly sexy.” I pushed the strand back into the messy bun at the top of my head.
“Are you trying to be sexy, Becca?”
At that, I burst out laughing again. “You must not have noticed the coffee-stained sweatshirt I’m wearing, or my knotted hair piled up on my head, and I’m pretty sure my mascara is smudged.”
“At least you’re wearing red lipstick and your clothes aren’t ripped,” he said, with a very pleased-looking smile.
“Mmmm. So, you noticed that?”
“Well, you did have your hands between your legs—unless that was something else? And, if it was, I do want to point out that, under the disorderly conduct statute, lewd behavior in public is punishable by a hefty fine, and, in some cases, jail time.”
I bit my lip as the conversation slid further and further south, towards the gutter. “Jail time?” I asked.
“In some cases.”
“What kind of cases?” I asked.
He leaned in. “Only the very serious ones.”
“I see. And, if you were to arrest me, would you use your handcuffs for that?” I asked.
His eyes widened for a second and then he smiled. “Depends if you’re into that kind of thing or not?” It was a question.
“Only one way to find out,” I said.
