“What are you, my matchmaker? I don’t know. Probably. I have a feeling Jet will be monopolizing my best friend’s time, so I guess I’d better find someone to keep me company.”
“Maybe we can go on a double date,” I suggest flippantly.
As expected, she vetoes that. “It’s one thing to hang out with Jet when we’re on the road for work, but I don’t want to socialize with him once we get back to town. He already knows way too much about me.”
“Such as?”
“He could probably order for me at a restaurant.”
I laugh. “You’re almost as aloof as I am.”
“Oh, I’ve told him he has a challenge ahead of him with you, and not to expect any help from me. No offense.”
“I don’t see how he could take offense to that,” I say drily. “But thanks for busting me out. I’ve been doing a good job of getting him to think he’s making progress, and now you come in and with one statement let him know I’m only making all the right noises.”
“He wants you to make all the right noises,” she mutters. “Why would you want to lead him on? I don’t understand you sometimes. Oh, shit. Here he comes again. I hope he doesn’t sit next to me on the plane. Gotta go.”
“Bye. Try to be nice.”
“Take your own advice. He’s not used to man-eaters like you.”
After I hang up, I stare at my bedroom ceiling for a while, chewing my lips. Man-eater, my ass. To hear her tell it, I make a hobby out of using men for my pleasure, then kicking them to the curb. That’s certainly not true. I rarely date at all, and not once since I chucked Jamie almost a year ago.
I haven’t been ready.
It’s not that I’m still hung up on him, but I’m definitely hung up on some of the things he said to me when I broke up with him. Before he stormed away from me at the park, where I gave him the bad news, he told me I was “emotionally stunted,” and that I’d probably never be ready to “take things to the next level.”
I hate that phrase. What does that mean? We were already sexually intimate. What other level is there? Rings on our fingers and a lifetime of boredom and resentment? Kids, pets, and a mortgage with both of our names on it? No thanks. Then it wouldn’t have been fun anymore. It would have been work.
Why is everyone so determined to make more work for themselves? And why do I attract men who want all the things I don’t? Where are all the commitment-averse guys that other—some would say “normal”—women complain about? I’d take one in a heartbeat.
But that doesn’t mean I’m heartless or that I’ll never want to settle down. I’m simply not in a hurry to do so. I haven’t found someone who seems worth the trouble. Until now.
Maybe.
Who knows?
It seems ridiculous to contemplate something long-term with Jet Knox. We’ve been on one date. We’ve never kissed. Not even a friendly peck “hello” or “goodbye” on the cheek. Other than that, we’ve talked on the phone a few times and have traded texts. Hardly hearing wedding bells.
But yeah, I’m a real man-eater.
Sometimes Rae’s flair for the dramatic grates on my nerves.
“Tom McGown’s not my boyfriend!” I proclaim, panicked, after sitting straight up in bed, where I fell asleep, fully clothed, on top of the covers. The lights blaze. My phone says it’s a few minutes past three a.m. But something other than the strange dream about the former college football phenom (random!) startled me awake. What was it? A sound? A tapping?
There it is again!
Definitely tapping. More like knocking. Then the doorbell rings.
“Really?” I grouse, rubbing my face.
I live in a nice neighborhood, on a quiet cul-de-sac, but I still don’t make it a habit to answer the door in the middle of the night. I’m so tired that I’m tempted to skip seeing who it is. They can call me or stop by tomorrow at a decent time.
But what if it’s a cop, checking up on me after getting a call from a neighbor about someone snooping around? Or a firefighter, telling me the unit next door is on fire, and I need to evacuate? Or a neighbor, needing help with an emergency? Civic duty demands I at least look through the peephole to see who’s there.
Growling, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and heave myself down the hall toward the front door. The knocking intensifies.
“Coming!” I bellow, glad the other half of the duplex is currently vacant. The person on my front stoop needs to cool it.
When I look through the peephole and see who it is, I almost turn around and go back to bed without another word. But I’m awake now, and I’ll lie in bed feeling guilty—and other things—if I send him away.
The locks click under my fingers, and I swing the door open.
Jet’s serious face relaxes into a disarming grin. “Maura! Oh, did I wake you up?”
“It’s three in the morning. Yes.”
“Your lights were on, so I thought you were awake,” he says. “Or I never would have bothered you.”
He keeps edging closer to me, so I step aside to let him in. “Did you just get back to town?” I ask as he crosses the threshold and looks around. I close the door and automatically redo the locks before realizing it looks like I’m locking him in and inviting him for a lengthy visit. Oh, well. He’ll find out soon enough that’s not the case.
“Yeah. I haven’t been home yet.”
“You should have gone home,” I say bluntly, then backtrack when I see the hurt in his eyes. “I mean, you didn’t have to come see me right away.”
“I wanted to,” he says, as if I’m the one looking for reassurance. “I’ve wanted to see you since the day after our first date. Now that
