Missed Connections (18 page)

Him: Are you mad?

No.
A little. Mostly I feel rejected.

Him: I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to share that with you as well. It’s just that all most people focus on when going out is sex, and they mistake a physical connection for something more. I want something deeper with you, Sarah, to truly know you on more than just a physical level. And I want you to know me.

That’s true enough. Jack and I had a very physical night again, but that’s all it was. I guess getting to know Blake before doing anything naughty is a good idea—and what I initially wanted. Jack must have passed me some of his libido through osmosis.

We’re going out?
I hadn’t thought of it like that.

I’m not seeing anyone else.
He doesn’t ask if I’m seeing anyone else, but for the first time, I wonder if I’m dating two men instead of sleeping with one and talking with another. It’s something I’ve never done before, and it makes me feel a little strange.

If I’m now dating Blake, what does this mean for Jack and me? Is there even a Jack and me? We had sex once. Well. Three times, but that’s hardly dating. It feels weird to be exclusive with someone I’ve only spoken to a few times online and met in person twice.

I send a
:)
instead of a real response. He smiles back.

For now, we’re happy.

And he’s right. It will be better if I get to know more about him. I type,
So you know all about me, but I know next to nothing about you.

Him: We talked for hours the other day.

Me: Not about you. You know what I mean.

Him: Ah. What did you want to know?

Where should I start? Is your name Blake?
Do you have a job?

Him: Yes.

Me: Well? What is it?

Him: If I tell you, you’ll know for sure who I am.

Me: OMG Is your first name Barack?!

Him: Oh no, you guessed!

I grin.
What DO you do?

Him: I’m…an entrepreneur of sorts. I work with my hands.

The massage therapists are independent contractors, so they are technically entrepreneurs. And Blake’s hands are frigging amazing.
You’re not a drug dealer, are you?
Of course he isn’t, but I don’t want to be ambushed by a secret coke habit.

Him: Definitely not. I’m not into that scene.

Me: Me neither. Any kids?

Him: Nope. Do you want kids? You know, someday?

Me: After today, it will take a few years to forget that all kids aren’t tiny terrors.

Him: That bad, huh?

Worse. And there were three of them.
I shudder.

Him: I wouldn’t want three. Maybe one, but I’d rather have two.

Me: Yeah, I’m an only child. I’d have loved to have a sibling. I’ll never be an auntie.

Him: Well, if your spouse has siblings, you’ll be an auntie-in-law.

I shrug.
Yes. Do you have any siblings?

Him: A brother.

Me: Are you guys close?

Him: Very.

That’s nice. I like to think if I had a brother or sister, we’d be close, but you see sibling rivalries and fighting all the time. They’re bound by blood but too different to be close. Or too similar.
A partner in crime would have been nice.

Him: It was.

Me: Were you the good kid or the bad one?

Him: I plead the fifth.

Ooh, Blake was a bad boy. Now he’s stable, which is even sexier.
:D

Him: Were you ever a bad girl?

I grin
.
Who says I’m still not?

Him: Touché. So what are you going to do about those hippies?

Me: I still don’t know.

Him: Either way, don’t let them get you down. I hate that they made you feel bad.

Maybe they did
, I write.
But you made me feel better. Thank you.

Him: Anytime. Have you eaten yet?

No. I wasn’t hungry when I got home.
But my stomach is rumbling now.

Him: Want to order something and watch a movie with me?

Me: But I thought… Oh, you mean online?

Him: Yes.

I like this idea. We don’t have to order from the same place, so I still get to decide what to eat, and since he won’t be here, I can eat like nobody’s watching. That is the real dream—not dancing like no one’s watching.
I like the sound of this. What are you going to eat?

Him: I think I’ll get Indian.

Mmm.
Ooh, that sounds good. I was going to get sushi delivered, but I like the sound of Indian.

Him: Since I’ve sort of chosen the cuisine, would you like to choose the movie?

Me: Sure! Do we want an old classic or something we’ve both never seen before?

Him: You decide.

Maybe I’ll go with something new. What if he hates one of my all-time favorites, and then every time I watch it, I’ll think of his disparaging comments about it? Then again, I’d rather watch something I’ve seen since I can’t give my full attention to a new movie if we’re chatting about it. I open Netflix in a new window.
I have a hankering for something…eighties.

Him: Perfect.

Me: Maybe not when you see what I choose.

Him: Oh?

Invisible test time. If he reacts poorly to this movie, that’s a major strike against him.
You’ve got Netflix?

Him: Of course. What am I streaming?

Me: Dirty Dancing.

Him: Okay.

I wait a minute, but he doesn’t say anything else. I bite my lip.
Thoughts?

Him: Actually, I like this movie.

Me: You do?

Him: Yes. The music is great, and I secretly wanted to be Johnny when I was younger. Took a bunch of dance classes on the sly to impress the ladies. Bro would have been merciless if he knew about it.

Blake can dance like Johnny Castle? He just gets better and better.
That’s sexy.

Him: Hey, I said I took them. Never said I was any good at it.

Me: I don’t believe that for a second. I bet you can move those hips like nobody’s business.

Him: Fine, you’re right. I was being modest.

Me: Knew it! So, will you take me dancing sometime?

Him: I promise.

We order food and chat until it arrives. Mine comes only five minutes before his, but he insists I start without him. I totally already had, but it was nice that he was considerate of my comfort. The next two hours are spent eating and laughing and talking, hanging with Baby and Johnny at Kellerman’s.

It’s the perfect end to a crappy day.

Chapter 19

I glare at the watercooler, hating the stupid stones inside that make up the filter. It’s another hippie thing, some weird water system that has three different kinds of rocks or something. I don’t understand how rocks can filter water. Ziggy said something about the attunement of the water on a cellular level, and I kind of glazed over. The water tastes okay, but the system looks like fish should be swimming inside, and I have to pour water in to top it up every day.

My stomach’s a huge ball of resentment because I’m alone at work. I’d much rather have had the day off, like I thought I’d get, but on Friday evening, Fern told me that Phyllis might have a client on Sunday, so I had to come in at nine.

Phyllis screwed up Saturday for me too, opening her schedule, then acting incompetent so Ziggy and Fern volunteered me to come in to support her emotionally. Saturday’s appointments never showed up—and I suspect they never existed, because Phyllis was the one who added them to the schedule—and she never made it to the office either. By the time I got home, it was two thirty, and I was tired and cranky and just crashed on the couch.

Phyllis is doing this on purpose, but I don’t know why. She shouldn’t feel threatened by me. We don’t work the same job, so there’s no way I could be viewed as a replacement.

Today is Monday and I’m alone at the office because Fern and Ziggy decided everyone needed a day off to “ground and center their energies outside the office.” Really, I suspect it’s because there were only three clients booked in the schedule and they wanted another day off. Everyone but me got one, since they wanted someone here to answer the phones again. They acted like they were doing me a favor when they said I could leave early—at three.

The Internet is down in the building as well, so I can’t talk to Blake online, and he wasn’t in on Saturday when I came. I wonder where he is. What does he do on his days off?

My battery is nearly dead, but at least my phone has Internet. I don’t care that it’s too soon. I want to see him.
Want to meet up? I’m at work but leaving early.

Ten minutes later he replies.
I don’t know. I wanted you to know me better first.

Me: Please? You make me feel better.

Him: I can’t say no to you. Where and when?

I name a coffee shop a few blocks from my apartment. Home turf, an hour and a half from now.

Him: I’ll be there. But…

Me: What?

Him: Keep an open mind, okay?

Me: If it makes you feel any better, I already know who this is.

Him: You do?

Yes. I knew right away.
I’m so sleuthy.

Him: That’s both a relief and terrifying.

See you in an hour.
Oh, Blake. What are you so worried about?

* * *

I show up a few minutes early and grab something decaffeinated. I’m already vibrating out of my skin. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Blake and I have talked for hours and hours, but this still feels like meeting a stranger for the first time. Now that the disguises are gone, will he like me? Everything’s different in person. What if he doesn’t like me, if he only likes the idea of me?

And what if I don’t like him in person when it’s more than casual flirting at work? What if, in retrospect, I invented more chemistry than there really was? Then again, if the way he worked the knots out of my neck is any indication of what his hands can do, I think we might be okay. He’ll come in, and we’ll chat and…what, jump into a relationship? What if he’s a bad kisser? What if he had an ulterior motive for wanting me to get to know him online before in person? Does he have a criminal record? Is he into kinky shit?

What if Blake isn’t what he claims to be?

And worst of all, what if we don’t get along and I lose the amazing relationship we’ve been cultivating online? Who would I have to talk about the hippies with? To tell about my day? Who would talk with me about my stupid nightmares and share his with me? Losing that would be devastating.

I can’t do this. My gaze flies from man to man as they approach the café, ratcheting up my nerves with every footstep until it’s finally too much, and I bolt.

It’s better this way. We need more time to get to know each other. He was right and I was wrong—and why is this so scary? By the time I get back to my apartment building, the reality of the situation sets in.

I’ve stood him up.

I’m an awful person, and he’s never going to forgive me. I’m the one who pushed a meeting, while he wanted to wait, but here I am, strolling off my elevator, sweating and shaking, and bumping into… “Jack?”

“Hey.” Just that one word reminds me of the last time we were together. My thighs tingle.

“What are you doing here?” I step past him and unlock the door, motioning him inside.

“You’ve sort of been avoiding my calls since we…”

“Ah. I haven’t been avoiding you, Jack.” I close the door and kick off my sandals.

“Then why haven’t you picked up?”

“I’ve been busy dealing with crazy hippies. They had me go into work today, even though they gave everyone the day off. And I had to go in on Saturday.”

“Oh.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I thought maybe you had second thoughts about us.”

Us? I set my keys on the counter. “Jack, there is no ‘us.’”

He moves closer and traces my cheek with his thumb. The look in his eyes breaks my heart. I like Jack, but I can’t risk this. “I know you’re scared, Sarah. But you feel the connection between us. I know you do.”