Authors: Meredith Schorr
Standing up, he said, “Awesome. Let's go for it.”
After I traded in my dirty glass for a new one, Jim and I joined the small group surrounding table A. I half listened to the curly haired woman discuss the floral flavors of the New Zealand Pinot Grigio while secretly hoping Jim would ask for my number.
After we'd tried all six of the wines on the list, Jim asked, “Which was your favorite?”
“I think the Chilean Sauvignon Blanc. I liked that grapefruit aftertaste. Which did you like the best?”
“To be honest, I'd prefer a Guinness over a glass of wine anytime.”
Smiling, I said, “A beer guy, huh? I never acquired much of a taste for beer, except maybe Hoegaarden. I like the lemon flavor.”
“I'm not much into fruity beers.”
I thought about Randall's fruity wine and decided that Jim's preference for beer was a good sign. Poking him playfully in the arm, I said, “Not manly enough for you, huh?”
Shrugging he said, “Is that bad?”
“Not at all. I kind of like my men ‘manly.’”
“Not into metrosexuals?”
Noticing his Detroit Lions jersey, I said “Not at all. I like guys who enjoy sports and beer. They can leave the shopping to me.”
“My kind of girl, Jane. Into football?”
“Admittedly, I just don't get it.” Lying, I said, “But I've always wanted to learn.”
“Really? Well, I'd be willing to teach you, if you want. I'm a diehard Lions fan – never miss a game. If you watch one with me, I'd be happy to give you a play-by-play lesson.”
“That would be awesome.” I'd gladly suffer through a football lesson for those dimples.
“How about Sunday? There's a game at four against the Titans. Wanna watch the game with me somewhere?”
“Would love to!” I said.
Giving me a toothy smile, Jim removed his phone from his pocket and said, “What's your number?”
I gave Jim my number and tried to contain my excitement. If things had worked out with Randall, I'd never have met Jim who I
could tell already was a much better match. A fellow football fan! My dad would totally approve. Although, being a Giants fan, he might question Jim's allegiance.
I practically skipped to the subway station and was barely shaken when the E train didn't stop at 53
rd
and I had to take a cab to get back to the east side. I'd put in a lot of overtime that month and had certainly earned the right to splurge on a single taxi ride. Besides, my mom didn't like me to take the subway after 10:00 anyway. She said she didn't like the “element.” She and my dad had lived in Manhattan well before Rudy Giuliani had cleaned it up.
Lainie was sprawled across the couch watching
The Real Housewives of Atlanta
but she muted it when I walked into the apartment. “How was the wine event?”
I threw my bag on the coffee table and plopped myself on the couch next to her. “It was great!”
Lainie sat and up, looked at me questionably and said, “Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously! I met the greatest guy.”
“You said that about Randall if I recall.”
“That was different. Randall was Mr. Smooth. I should have spotted him a mile away. Nothing like Jim.”
“Jim, huh? What's he like?”
“He's a chemist. Works for Becton Dickenson and was just transferred from their Detroit office.”
Patting me on the shoulder patronizingly, Lainie said, “Sounds like a nerd, Jane.”
“Not at all. He's dorky-cute,” I said.
“Did he take your number?”
“Yep. He already asked me to watch football with him on Sunday.”
Lainie started laughing. “Football? You? You don't even know who won the Super Bowl last year.”
“The Giants!” Thankfully, Jim had mentioned it in conversation.
Lainie smiled. “I had no idea you were such a football fan.”
Smirking, I walked into my bedroom, said, “There are a lot of things you don't know about me,” and shut the door.
A few minutes later, I was sitting in front of my computer reading about the history of the Detroit Lions on the NFL website
when Lainie tapped on my door. I turned around and said, “What's up?”
Uninvited, Lainie sat on my bed and said, “Nothing really. Just wanted to say that I'm glad you met another guy tonight and that I hope he's more worthy than Randall.”
The unexpected kind words left me momentarily speechless, but I recovered and said, “Thanks, Lainie!” Feeling guilty over my earlier cockiness, I pointed to my computer screen and said, “To be honest, I really don't know anything about football. But I'm studying up now anyway.”
Lainie gave me a soft smile and stood up. “You're sweet, Jane. You deserve a good guy.”
I felt the sincerity of her words and felt a lump in my throat. “You do too, Lainie!”
“Thanks, Jane. Unfortunately, I always find the bad ones so much more attractive! Well, goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Lainie.”
After she closed the door, I continued reading about the Lions. I gave up after five minutes and prayed the game itself would be more interesting.
Tingling in anticipation of seeing Jim again, I turned off my computer and crawled into bed hoping Sunday would come fast.
C
HAPTER
11
“So they have ten chances to go four downs?”
Laughing, Jim said, “Close. They have four downs to go ten yards.”
We were watching the game at East End Tavern, not far from my apartment. “What are downs again?”
“You're adorable. You know that?”
Blushing, due more to being giddy from the compliment than embarrassed over my ignorance, I responded, “Thanks” and took a sip of my apple martini. Didn't exactly go with the football theme, but there was a 5 dollar special, so I wasn't the only girl not drinking beer.
“This place is great. Love how each booth has its own television screen so you can control what game you watch,” Jim said.
“I know! I saw that online and thought it was cool. Figured you'd like it.”
“Never been here before?”
“Nope.”
“And you did research?”
I said, “Yep” and took a sip of my drink before turning toward the television monitor where a bunch of players in dark blue jerseys had just jumped on top of one guy in a lighter blue jersey. When I looked back at Jim, he was staring at me.
“What?” I glanced down and hoped I hadn't dribbled my martini onto my white long sleeved T-shirt. I wore it with dark blue jeans to go with the colors of the Lions.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are staring at me? Do I have wings in my teeth?” I knew I should have stuck with chicken fingers.
Jim chuckled. “No, nothing nearly as dire as that. It was just very sweet of you to put so much thought into where we watched the game.”
Blushing again, I said, “It was nothing. I like researching places before I go to them.”
“It was still nice. You did good.”
“Glad you're happy!”
Jim said, “I'm very happy” and stood up. I thought he was going to tell me he was going to the bathroom and would be right back, but instead he walked to my side of the table, sat down, and surprised me with a soft kiss on the lips.
Grabbing my hand, he said, “I'm having a great time, Jane.”
Startled, but in a good way, I said, “Me too” before Jim reached over and kissed me again. Since I wasn't caught off guard like the last time, I kissed him back.
After that, there was no point faking any interest in football so I just gazed longingly at Jim while he stared intently at the television and kissed me during time outs. We held hands except when Jim clapped excitedly or slammed his palm against the table in frustration.
After the game, Jim walked me home and we sat on my front steps. “I'm very happy the Lions won for more reasons than one,” he said.
I squeezed his hand and said, “I'm happy the Lions won too. Happy for you, that is. I won't pretend to suddenly be a football fanatic.”
“Well, besides the obvious reason that I always prefer when my team wins, I can be quite a sore loser and I'd hate to make a bad impression on our first date.”
Giggling, I said, “Since you only kissed me when the Lions did something good and sulked whenever the Titans scored, I
kind of figured you might be a sore loser. That's OK. It's cute. My ex-boyfriend was a sore loser too.”
Releasing my hand, Jim asked, “How ‘ex’ is the ex-boyfriend?”
Crap! I wasn't supposed to mention “the ex.” I chewed on my lip. “Very ‘ex.’ We broke up over a year ago.” I hoped I sounded casual and completely available for a new relationship.
Jim took my hand back and kissed it. “Good. So, do I get a second date? I promise it will be more upscale than a sports bar!”
Happy that he didn't ask for more details about Bob, I said, “I look forward to it.”
“Great.” Jim stood up and extended his hand to help me up with him. “I'd better run. Gotta catch the bus to Hoboken. But I'll call you to set up date number two. I promise you'll have my undivided attention.”
“I can't wait. Thanks, Jim. I had so much fun.”
Jim hugged me and said, “Me too.”
I walked in the apartment, shut the door behind me and, through the peep hole, watched Jim walk back down the stairs.
* * *
I couldn't believe my luck meeting Jim right after the Randall disaster. I thanked God I hadn't slept with Randall. If he couldn't wait for the third date, that was his problem, which is what I told Claire at the Tasti D-Lite on First and 73rd, right between my apartment and hers on 62nd and Second. She asked why I was so excited about some guy named Jim and didn't I mean Randall?
“Randall was a slug. Just like Lainie said. He just wanted to get laid. He did me a favor by not calling again.”
Claire took a spoonful of her toasted almond fudge ice cream, if you could even call it ice cream. It tasted more like flavored air. “You're certainly taking this well for someone who was so into Randall just a week ago,” she said, raising her eyebrow.
Shrugging, I said, “I've been out of the game awhile…”
Before I could finish, Claire interrupted. “Yeah, you were never in the game!”
“Whatever! Anyway, I fell for Randall's fake charm but I'm not going to beat myself up over it. It's done. And now I have Jim who's so much better anyway.”
C
HAPTER
12
On our second date, after Jim paid the bill for the slice of seven layer cake we had shared at the cafe across the street from the movie theater, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. And I wracked my brain for a way to subtly let him know I was game for third date sex without coming out and saying it. I wasn't ready to bring him home that night but I needed to send the message that I was almost ready to progress to the next level.
Returning from the bathroom, Jim sat down and said, “I still can't believe you liked the movie. What exactly did you like about it?”
“Do I think it was Oscar worthy? No. But I don't get why you hated it so much.”
“So, you just think it was Golden Globe worthy but not Oscar, huh?”
When he teased me, Jim got slight laugh lines on the corners of his eyes, making his otherwise flawless skin less pristine, but I liked it. I reached across the table, locked his fingers with mine and said, “I had fun watching the movie with you and totally forgive you for making fun of my taste in theater.”
Jim let out a snort. “Theater? What we just experienced doesn't qualify as ‘film’ or even ‘cinema.’ Certainly not theater. It was a movie. Plain and simple.” Smiling, he said, “But I'd watch it again with you and only you.”
Holding my breath, I asked, “Does that mean you want to see me again?”
Squeezing my hand, he said, “The sooner the better.”
“Awesome. How about I cook for you?”
“Do you cook?”
“Actually I do! My skills are not limited to spaghetti either!”
The laugh lines appearing again, Jim teased, “Oh, you cook penne too? And rigatoni?”
“Just for that, there will be no pasta on the menu at all. How do you feel about rack of lamb?”
“Sounds awesome. I'll bring the wine. And dessert. Unless you're a pastry chef as well.”
Locking eyes with Jim, I said, “I had my own ideas for dessert. But you're welcome to bring some too.”
* * *
I paid Lainie fifty dollars to occupy herself elsewhere so Jim and I could have the apartment to ourselves. I probably didn't need to compensate her considering how many times our roles had been reversed, but I wanted to give her an added incentive to stay away. The lamb was browning in the skillet and after Jim arrived, I'd add the potatoes and shallots. We'd have salad and melon, Jamón and mini mozzarella skewers to start. And I made Nutella mousse for dessert. Although I hoped we'd eat it in bed later.
I had on a black lace thong and matching bra under my belted midnight blue sweater dress, textured tights and high suede black boots and hoped the wine would sooth my apprehension over being naked with someone for the first time in over a year. I also hoped it would alter Jim's perception such that he would think I was a size 2 instead of a size 10 and on skinny days, a size 8.
As I drizzled the homemade dressing over the salad, the buzzer sounded Jim's arrival.
Dashing to the phone, I picked it up and said, “Hello?”
“It's Jim. Hope I'm not too early!”
“You're right on time. Come on up. I'm on the third floor.”
Figuring it would take Jim about thirty seconds to make his way up two flights of stairs, I took one last glance in my bedroom to make sure I hadn't left any embarrassing items lying on the floor or on my bed. All clear, I made my way to the front door just as Jim rang the bell.
I opened the door to find him standing in front of me in blue jeans and a red sweater and holding a bouquet of mixed flowers in a variety of colors. Leaning down to kiss me, he said, “These are for you.”
After I kissed him back, I said, “Thank you so much! They're beautiful!”
“Just like the girl I bought them for.”
I relocated Jim to the living room while I sliced the rack into chops and added the roasted potatoes and tomatoes to the platter. I had Jim uncork the bottle of Merlot he had brought with him to let it breathe, but while setting the table, I drank a glass, or maybe it was two, of a half-opened bottle of white Lainie had left in the refrigerator. The first course ready, I lit two candles, dimmed the lights, took one more sip of wine and called Jim back to the kitchen table to eat.