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I could tell her. A lot of women think firefighters are hot. But something stops me. Tonight, I don’t want to be regular me. I want to be this Leo, the one who flirts on his phone. The one who isn’t always waiting for the next thing he’s responsible for to need him, to drop everything and attend to it.
Leo: What do you want me to be?
Dixie: Hmm...anything I want?
Leo: Anything.
Dixie: Well, right now, I’m fantasizing that you’re a mechanic because my car is toast thanks to Tim.
Damn. She’s cute.
Leo: So you’re still fantasizing about me then. That’s a good sign.
Leo: What are you doing right now? Besides texting me?
Dixie: Trying to figure out how to find that asshole who hit my car and gave me a fake #.
Dixie: You?
Leo: I’m in a bar. Supposed to be playing darts, but I forfeited my game.
Dixie: So you could text me?
Leo: So I could text you.
Dixie: I feel special.
[smiley]
“Seven Nation Army” comes on the radio, and I’m feeling like I’m twenty-three again myself.
Leo: Are you alone?
Leo: Sorry. That sounded like a creepy line from the serial killer in a movie.
Leo: You’re probably going to block my number now.
There’s a pause, and I tell Nash behind the bar that I don’t want another beer and clear my tab with him. I’m walking out the door when my phone vibrates.
Dixie: I’m alone.
I pause. Hell.
Leo: I’ve never spent this much time with a wrong number before.
Dixie: What would be different if we met at the bar?
Leo: Well, I’d know for sure what you were wearing.
Dixie: Ha-ha
My house is only a couple blocks away. So I keep walking while I text and hope I don’t have any embarrassing autocorrects or physical accidents while walking and looking at my phone.
Leo: My moves work better in person.
Dixie: You have moves?
Leo: I do.
