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But she never did. I checked my phone every thirty seconds and Mom even commented on how I was distracted. I decided not to say anything to her because she’s always getting her hopes up that I’ll find someone.
I decided to swing byDirty Hoes Plants & Décorin the morning the next day. I know Cali Marcus from high school.
Maybe she’ll give me Delia’s number.
Yeah, right, an employer giving a customer an employee’s number. That sounds like a quick trip to a law office. And I’m not one to beg.
At least not too hard.
I pull into a front parking place. For a Saturday they’re not very busy. Grammy loved her plant and volunteered me to come to her house to plant it, of course. That’s okay, she said she’d make me my favorite meal of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Nothing is better on a cool autumn evening than that meal.
I watch through the window like a dumbass creeper for just a minute. If I see her, I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s like being faced with the ultimate choice—go in and get totally shot down or don’t go in and just imagine that she’ll text me with hers eventually.
I sit in my truck for minutes.
There is a third choice.
I go in, I ask her to dinner a second time, and she agrees. Then I get her number and we make plans. Sounds like the choice I want.
The woman has taken up space in my head all night. And during my shower this morning I had to rock my socks off to just get my cock to give me a minute of rest. All the blood had been his and it’s not easy to sleep on your stomach with a hard-on. And I don’t sleep on my back…football injuries took their toll, torn ligaments, and bruised spine over and over, make for bad bed partners.
Yet I would have played again and again.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
I jump at the sound.
“You’re creeping out Mari and Cali!” Delia says with tip of her head, hands firmly planted on her hips, wide and full as they are.
I roll down the window. “Hey…”
Smooth.
“Do you need another rose plant?”
“Maybe.”
“Probably not. Why are you here?”
“Why didn’t you text me?”
She grabs the window’s edge like she’s trying to keep me inside. “Joel, I was a little messed up last night. I’d just gotten the final divorce papers and I wasn’t thinking.”
I push on the door, but she keeps it closed. “What is there to think about? I want to take you to dinner, not to Bermuda, Delia.”
“Why? Why do you want to take me to dinner?”
I still. This woman is questioning her value to have as a simple dinner date? What happened to her? I don’t remember her being this way. I remember her telling me what to do and what not to do when we worked that project together in high school. She was confident. She was…different. Can’t say I like her this way, but if it’s what I’m facing, I’ll take it and I’ll help her to get past it.
“Because I want to get to know you. Because I think you’re interesting. Because I think maybe we could hit it off and have a nice night.”
“Sex. That’s what you’re looking for?” She backs away. “Nope. I’m not having sex with you.”
Two little old ladies slide to a stop and stare at us and then look to the sign and chuckle to themselves.
“Good day ladies,” I offer, sticking my head out the window.
They continue on their way but continually look back.
