Page 62 of Rock Me

"Hah, none that counted."

"I bet they counted."

"I never led anyone to believe anything that wasn't true. They may have believed it was going to be truer for longer than they thought..." He gives me a wink and I feel both envy and pity for the women who have been lucky enough to have had their hearts broken by him.

"Playboy."

"I'm only about 70% guilty of that."

"Honestly though, I never told any woman I loved her, I never told her I'd be exclusive only to her. I may have told her she had eyes that sparkled like the moon. But I meant it, at least in that moment. Not my fault the next morning the sun dims the moonlight.”

“You are terrible.”

The grin he flashes me tells me he has no regrets. And I can’t blame him. If I looked like him, I’d probably want to have some fun as well, and as someone who had been flashed that smile and fed those lines, I don’t blame the women for falling for it either.

The question is – do I allow myself to fall for them now? And do I even have a choice.

We spend the next half an hour devouring the food and arguing over who is the best Batman. The sexual tension of the lip licking and the seriousness of the dreams spilling conversation is temporarily over, and I feel more comfortable with him than I do with almost everyone else in my life.

Comfortable, with a side of complete terror of what’s happening between us.

Our spoons battle for the last piece of the decadent tiramisu, which I win, and we both fall back against the couch, clutching our stomachs.

“Oh my god. That was amazing.”

“Yeah, Brad is a lucky, and probably very soon to be, fat man.”

“Is there any way I can get her to make me lunch every day?”

“Actually, she’d be happy to. She’s great. She has a little boy, Ben, who is going to grow up to be president of the world, or a pineapple. He hasn’t decided which just yet,” Jez tells me, a chuckle on his lips.

I realize that I’m slowly becoming addicted to hearing him talk about the people in his life, and I crave to know more. I can’t help but wonder, how many of these stories I’ve heard before and how much I knew about him. But I was the one who suggested the start afresh rule and It still feels right to try to stick by it. He talks about his friends for a little while longer, nothing specific, just how they like to horse around and how he's happy that they've found some really wonderful women to be with. I could sit and listen all day; he's funny and animated and makes me feel like he's known me his whole life.

He makes me wish he has.

Somewhere in the middle of his story, I feel a yawn coming on and try to stifle it, but it takes on a life of its own and a hand over my mouth barely hides it.

"I knew it, I'm boring you."

"No," I say, although my mouth is still half open and my jaw locking. "I'm just so full from the amazing lunch. I guess I could use a nap."

"I was actually, er, I was hoping you could help me with something."

"Sure. Anything. Unless it’s eating."

"I was actually wondering, would you come to my PT appointment with me?” He glances at clock on the wall. I notice he’s not wearing a watch on his wrist. “It starts in a few minutes." I don't know what to say, I'm so touched that he'd want me there. "You don't have to, of course..."

I shake my head and jump to my feet. "Are you kidding? I'm... yes. I'd be happy to come. Just let me freshen up a bit.”

"Yeah, go ahead, I'll meet you at the elevators in five minutes?"

"It's a date," I say, before I can stop myself, and I close the bathroom door fast behind me before he can see my face flush beet red.

Stupid! Why did I say that? I run my fingers under the tap and flick them on my burning cheeks.

Because he licked your lip, you giddy school girl. And now you have to sit on your hands in case you rip his clothes off.

I can't help it. There's just... there's something about him that just makes me utterly and completely alive. Feminine, sensual... and understood. The way he looks at me when he talks, never breaking eye contact, like it matters that I listen to every word he says. And when I talk, he does the same, his head tilting to the side, his face breaking into smiles or concern depending on what I'm saying.

And the few times we've touched, it just makes me crave him more. It's been a long time since I felt a connection with anything other than my recovery, but he makes me feel like this is just temporary, and that I can't wait to get back to my life. A life I want him to be a part of.

So yes, I said it's a date.

Because he wants me to be there.

And I want to be there for him.

And already, in the space of a few days, I care more about this mystery man's recovery than I do about mine.

I run my palms over my hair, glad that I'd taken the time over my appearance today and open the door to meet him.