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Sucking in a deep breath, I palm the cell phone and swipe my finger across the screen to unlock it. Sure enough, there’s his text.
Hey, it’s LatinLover80, he introduces himself, so I know who he is, and then he asks me who I am. Not my username on the website, but my real name.
“Here we go,” I mutter to myself as I type out a reply.
3
When can I see you?
I’ve been texting back and forth with LatinLover80, whose real name is Alejandro, for the last six and a half hours. Today. Yesterday was more like eight. And the day before that the same. Seriously! What was supposed to be a brief chat session three days ago has turned into an all-day, every day thing. I’ve never talked to anyone this long in my life. It’s crazy. It’s awesome.
I’ve spent days and nights doing chores, cooking, and wrangling the kids in between reading and sending texts to Alejandro. And I’ve done it all with a stupid grin on my face too. I’m seriously sleep deprived, and I can’t remember the last time I ate a real meal, but I don’t even care. I’m so damn happy, it’s downright insane.
Even the kids have noticed—how could they not?—and want to know what I’m so happy about. I just keep telling them that Jean and I are having a bit of fun. They don’t question it. They know Jean. We’ve been friends for most of our lives, and we talk nearly every day. But even we don’t talk as much or as long as Alejandro and I have been this week.
I wouldn’t be surprised if we’ve broken a record for how many texts exchanged in so many hours.
So far I know he’s single—obvi—and that he has one kid, a little boy, who lives with his mother. He loves his job and travels a lot, which means that he doesn’t actually reside here in my state, and if we hit it off, which I think we have, then I won’t have to worry about him trying to move in and upend my life. That’s important to me. The kids and I have just begun to settle into our new routine. This way, I can have my life with my kids and my life with him and keep them fairly separate if I want to. It might be the perfect arrangement. Commitment without commitment.
This is looking better and better by the minute.
Maybe Jean was right. Maybe this was exactly what I needed. Who would have thought it’d be the first time out of the gate, though? I mean, I believe in destiny, but still. For it to work this fast? I’m almost waiting for thegotchamoment. Like, something has to be wrong. Too good to be true, you know?
But I’m going to roll with it. See where the wind takes me. Because sometimes in life, you just have to close your eyes and jump.
I stare at Alejandro’s text for longer than I should. I need to respond, but the voice in my head is jumping back and forth, undecided. I want to meet him, but I don’t. I want to see him, see what he’s all about, in person. Taste those plump, juicy lips from the many pictures we’ve exchanged—the first man I’ve kissed aside from my husband in over seventeen years. But I don’t. All of my insecurities are still yapping in my ear, and I can’t help worrying that I’ll be a disappointment to him. The clichéd older woman, and I come with baggage. It’s not the right way to start any relationship, and yet he doesn’t seem to care. When I told him I was separated, not divorced, his words were, “Glad to hear it,” as if it were a total nonissue.
So why should I worry about something that doesn’t bother him?
Still, I resist.
IDK, I’m so busy this week, I tell him.
I am. It’s not a lie. Between shuffling the kids back and forth to school and preparing for family functions that are coming up, my son starting driving classes, work, and the general day-to-day, I feel overwhelmed as it is. Adding dating to the mix feels like the straw that could break the camel’s back. I wonder if maybe I’m not ready for dating after all. I love the excitement it offers me, that fuzzy, euphoric feeling of exploring uncharted territory, but it also feels like it may take what little energy I have left.
Can I spare it?
The question is one I know I won’t have an answer to unless I go out and do it.
Come on, Mami. Don’t play. I want to see you.
That’s the other thing. He calls meMami. The first time he used that term of endearment, I nearly swooned on the spot. It’s as if all my childhood prayers are being answered.
Just one drink.
He’s pushy too. In the last several hours of talking to him, I’ve learned that Alejandro is a man who knows what he wants. He’s not shy about asking for it either. He’s borderline demanding, and I’m waffling between the stubborn side of me who pushes back when pushed, and the side that likes the control he’s trying to wield over me. I’ve always been the type that needs the extra push, and he is. Hard.
What if you’re a serial killer?I ask him.
Do a background check. I got nothing to hide.
Damn, that’s a good answer. But exactly what a serial killer would say if they were trying to throw their victim off the scent. Paranoid much, Julie? This is exactly why I need to get out more.
You’re safe with me.
I don’t respond right away because I need more time to think.
I need to taste those lips Mami. I want to bite them.
