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"Too fresh," she replied. "Not enough scar tissue yet. Still raw."
"Say no more. I'm in the same boat."
"We're a pair," she said and smiled. "Losers at love."
"Losers at love," I replied and held out my breadstick. We taped them together and chewed, each of us probably thinking about our cheating exes.
"Hopefully winners at life in general. We need something to make up for it."
"Have you dated anyone since you split?" I asked, interested in her romantic life.
She shook her head. "Nope. I swore off men for a full year."
"You came with me to the apartment..."
"I'm weak."
"So, you're ready to try again?"
"I was," she said softly. "Unfortunately, I ran into a really nice guy who ended up being my boss and I was pretty much ready to throw in the towel for the rest of the year because I promised myself I'd never do an office romance."
I shook my head. "Office romances aren't all that bad..."
She smiled at me, her smile warm. "My BFF told me I was being an idiot. That I was being prejudiced because I would have kept seeing you if you were only a bicycle courier."
"You liked me in spite of thinking I was just a bicycle courier putting myself through college with dreams of buying a newspaper one day."
She leaned back when the waitress brought the bottle of wine and we stopped talking while she uncorked it and poured me a sample. I nodded in approval and we were quiet while she poured us each a glass. Once she was gone, I held up my glass.
"To us. Losers at love. Winners at life."
"To us," she replied and we both took a sip.
"What do you think?" I asked when she put her glass down. "Do you approve?"
She shrugged and wagged her eyebrows. "Honestly, I wouldn't know a good wine from vinegar."
I laughed. "Well, this is a good Italian red. Dry and perfect for the world's best meatballs."
We talked for a while about her job and what it entailed. How she'd met Sharon at a conference, hitting it off during their meeting.
"So, tell me what you're writing. I'm a publisher. I might be interested."
She laughed. "Nah, I don't think so. I plan on writing a romantic comedy one day, but right now, I'm in this group of women who are all writing erotica."
"You write erotica?" I said, my body responding to the idea she was a hot little number under the innocent exterior.
"I do." She smiled and took a sip of her wine, her eyes twin
kling. She was enjoying teasing me. She had to know what it did to me to think of her writing erotica. Of me reading the erotica she wrote.
"You have to let me read some."
"Not on your life," she said and laughed. "It's for women, not men."
"Come on," I said and pouted. "You can't do that to a guy -- tell him you write erotica and then not let him read it."
"You couldn't handle it," she said.
