Austentatious

Practice for tonight. Possibly.

With his breathing distinctly hitched, Sean casually suggested a rematch. I suspected his motives were ulterior. I politely declined and we climbed back onto the bike. As we glided down the winding, bumpy roads back into the city, it was clear—at least to me—that things between us had shifted. Into considerably more dangerous territory.

We made a quick stop at the drugstore to load up on sunscreen, despite my suspicions that I was at greater risk alone with Sean than at the mercy of the afternoon sun, and I took advantage of the moments alone to check my messages. I ignored the voice mails—it was likely they were work-related—and focused on the single text:

Mssg from Beck: Strip Truth or Dare?

Well, someone had a one-track mind. Although, in her defense, it wasn’t a horrible idea. Knowing Sean, he’d take the dares and get bored quickly. I’d take truth and he’d know way more than he cared to in under thirty minutes. Tucking my phone away, I just happened to look up and notice Sean snapping a photo of me astride his dark, glossy bike. I couldn’t even imagine my expression: Had I been picturing him naked or bored?

Now that I’d somewhat overcome my fears (I was not so much a limp pudding skin as a living, breathing pudding skin), I was urgently conscious of the fact that I was draped over a very sexy, very ripped man with an accent. It was a tingling ride south on Mopac, over the river and along the shaded, serpentine curves of Barton Springs Road, and it was over before I wanted it to end—shocker, I know. With both of us still playing strong, silent types, we pushed our rented canoe away from the creek bank and paddled out onto Lady Bird Lake.

I’d vetoed the proposed chilly dip into Barton Springs Pool, so with a couple of hours to kill before sunset, Sean insisted that I dump my oar in the belly of the canoe, sit facing him, and soak up the chivalry. It was all I could do not to stare at the man, captaining a canoe in a kilt, his skirts draped suggestively. Thank God for dark sunglasses and a little privacy for roving eyes.

When we’d slid out of the shade and into the full-on, glittering impact of the lake, I pulled out the sunblock, smearing it liberally on the pair of us. And then we just floated, beside a city at work. On a Wednesday.

Shading my eyes against the glare, I peeked at Sean, who seemed perfectly content to paddle us up and down the river with a single oar. “It’s so peaceful. Even crossing over the bridge every day, I forget how nice it is to come down here and just laze about. It’s been years since I’ve been in a canoe.”

Sean smiled and asked, “Was your boss very upset that you dodged out?”

“Hard to say. I left a voice mail, and I haven’t checked my messages.” Except for Beck’s.

“Do you imagine he’ll be upset?” The question was fuzzy and faraway sounding. The rhythmic lap of the oar on the lake was lulling me into a pleasure-filled haze.

“Maybe not today ... but soon enough.” I almost had the urge to giggle.

The rhythm slowed. “You’ve lost me,” Sean said.

Closing my eyes, I tipped my head back and let the sunbeams dance over my face, let my thoughts play with possibilities. Dragonflies buzzed into the silence, and eventually I came back to myself. “I’m considering switching jobs. Maybe.”

“Why is that?”

“I’d thought to stick it out, hold out for management.” I was skimming the tips of my fingers through the water. “But I’m not so gung-ho anymore.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily peg you as management material.”

My eyes flashed open and my spine immediately abandoned its comfortable slump for a defensive, ramrod posture. The canoe rocked with the sudden movement.

“Before you settle into your grudge, you might hear me out.”

I was a fair person. He had a right to have his say before I tore into him.

“You’re relatively shy and rather intimidatingly competent with, I imagine, a desire to get your hands dirty. I suspect a management position would smother your sparkle with office politics and general tedium.” His eyebrow winged up, as if to say, “Fair enough?”

The fledgling grudge, hanging in the air between us, ready to do its worst, dissipated into nothingness. And I found myself with nothing left to say. I was used to people trashing The Plan; I was not used to people couching their objections in candid compliments.

“What’s the other job?” Good to know he wasn’t a gloater.

“It’s in failure analysis. Basically I’d be deprocessing the micro-controllers that fail in customer applications, then pinpointing where a failure occurred and how we can screen for it in production. Solid engineering work rather than the babysitting I’ve been doing. I’d have a new boss, a clean slate. And I’d get trained on all these cool machines ...” Out here, floating on the murky water with my cell phone switched off and responsibility far away, it was all starting to sound very nice indeed.

“So what’s the vote—pro versus con?” Sean asked. I flipped my sunglasses up to squint at him in disbelief. What a seriously mind-boggling turn of events. I rallied.

“I haven’t formally tallied things up, but there’s at least one con—a biggie. The whole point of getting my MBA was to get into management. And if I switch jobs now, it’ll be a considerable setback for my career. Not to mention The Plan,” I mumbled.

“What plan is that?”

I looked up at him, calmly rowing, passing the oar from one hand to the other, patently curious. Tipping my head down to stare at the puddle of lake water in the belly of the canoe, I told him.

“I’ve had my life pretty well mapped out since I was around thirteen years old. There’ve been a few changes here and there, but generally speaking, I’m on track.”

“I’d wager I was a surprise,” he interrupted, dimpling.

“You definitely were,” I admitted, nodding, feeling a bit bobble-headed, even without the helmet.

“Well, if something as stunningly perfect as this can just happen, then why bother with a plan that’ll just slow you up and limit your view?”

“Is this stunningly perfect?”

“It’s bloody damn close!” There was an edge of exasperation in his voice, and his perfect, lulling rhythm turned jerky. “You’re fighting it, but I intend to be merciless in my pursuit. I’ve discovered I have something of a thing for geeky girls—one in particular. And this is fate.”

Or possibly magic ...

Long moments passed, and neither of us broke the silence. The sun shifted, the light softened, and the sky switched from crisp spring blue to pale lavender. We drifted, watching the cars on the First Street Bridge speed over the lake and the city begin to switch on, incandescent and neon. We scrounged for chitchat, balking at discussing Us any further, at pushing too far.

Eventually crowds began to gather along the grassy banks of the downtown hotels, and chattering tourists mingled with Austin locals to wait: the city’s own bat signal.

Sean rowed us cautiously under the Congress Avenue Bridge, and the two of us stared silently up into the dark crevices that housed the city’s bat population. Despite the lively voices carrying over the water, this little stretch of lake seemed shrouded in creepiness. And as I glanced over at the small flotilla of boats passing under the bridge with us, I could tell I wasn’t alone in my impression.

“I’ve never actually been out on the lake to watch the bats come out,” I confided in a whisper, rubbing at the goose bumps that had sprouted on my upper arms.

“Makes two of us.” Sean’s answer was clipped—he was either still ticked at me or else he was distracted with trying to keep the canoe turned so that we both had an easy view of the bridge.

“It would be easier if we were both facing the same direction, wouldn’t it?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“It would, yeah.” Skepticism was clear on his face.

Damn. I really didn’t want to be shifting around in a canoe out in the middle of a lake, particularly with an audience, but I would. I didn’t know if this was my olive branch or what, but it felt like it was my turn to make an overture. It was my move.

So I made it. I started to anyway. Halfway there, karma decided to make its appearance in the form of five hundred thousand hungry bats.