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“You don’t sound overly happy,” he says tentatively. “I swear I researched this and crossed all my t’s and dotted my i’s.”
“I’m happy. It’s great news.”
“Just making sure,” he says. “You threatened me with malpractice.”
“I was upset,” I assure him. “Truthfully… I’m happy.”
A horn honks from my driveway, and a tremor of excitement runs through me. “Listen, Teddy… I have to go. Thank you so much for calling.”
“Sure.”
“Okay, bye,” I say even as I’m disconnecting the call.
I run to my door and open it. Holding up my index finger, I silently tell Coen to wait a sec and then turn to run back inside.
This is me… often late, usually running around trying to grab all my stuff, and forever making people wait on me.
We’re headed to the county fair.
As friends, of course, and this is most certainly not a date. Just something fun to do on a weekend, but it won’t be as fun as what we’ll do at my house after the fair tonight.
It’s been a week since we agreed to have a fun, no-strings involvement until the court date.
I thought it might mean we’d hook up a few times, but in actuality, we’ve been together every night since then. Always at my house.
We’ve spent time together out of bed, him helping me set up my mom’s sculptures along the trails. But for the most part, our days are our own. My painting pretty much follows a standard work week between completing the actual art, scanning high-resolution images, using digital methods of touch-up, and then uploading to retail sites for purchase. I also have to do some social media marketing and administrative work keeping track of sales. On top of that, I always have at least one commission going, which takes far longer than the art I sell online.
And once a week, I teach painting in the dance hall portion of the VFW to anyone who wants to attend. It’s a free class and I provide the supplies, but I love helping people tap into their artistic abilities.
For tonight’s outing, I had no intention of going with Coen, but he texted me a few hours ago, wanting to know if he could come over tonight. I mean, it was a given I’d say yes, just like I have every other night. The man’s ability to make me commune with the heavens isn’t something I’m going to pass up, especially since we’re on borrowed time.
His text delivered delicious chills.I’ve been wondering how many times I can make you come in one night. Let’s find out. Be there at seven and I’ll bring a pizza?
I stared at it forever. I’ve never had a man talk like that to me, and it makes me sad that my sex life was so lacking.
I’ll absolutely miss him when this is over.
I texted back my regrets.Sorry. I’m going to the county fair tonight.
I left it at that. I didn’t want to invite him, because I didn’t want to get rejected. The times we’ve hung out together outside of the bedroom have been awesome. During the hours we spent setting up my mom’s sculptures, I mostly kept up running chatter about benign topics. Coen was engaging and at times funny. I didn’t see the asshole I know he can be.
It made me wonder if he could be more, but deep down, I’m afraid he can’t. I’ll never forget his decree that he’s not a nice man, and I’m always waiting for that guy to reappear.
I keep telling myself it’s absolutely best we keep this casual, fun, and low-key. I don’t need more.
Which made me a bit of a liar when my heart zinged with happiness when he replied with:Mind if I tag along? I’m a sucker for funnel cake, and I’ll buy you one, too.
A guy after my own heart.
Still, I played it cool.Of course I don’t mind. Want to meet there?
His reply made my pulse hum.I’ll pick you up at seven.
Not wanting to read anything into it, because I know my romantic heart will if I’m not careful, I set a boundary.Just honk when you pull up.
The message was clear. Don’t come to the door to get me. This isn’t a date. Just two people—friends—sharing a ride to the fair.
He responded with athumbs-up, and now, here he is.
