"Please don't stop," I pleaded.
He ran his eyes over my face and touched my hair. "No, I think that's good for one night."
"But … please? I'm sorry I got sarcastic. You can call me pretty if you want to. You can call me anything as long as you kiss me again. I'll do anything," I pleaded. I could hardly keep my eyes open. I still held him around the waist because I feared slipping to the ground if I let go. He made my head spin.
Tristan's eye twitched again. "Grant, I don't think that's a good idea. You were angry before. Don't tell me you're so easy one kiss can get me into your pants. I thought you were better than that." He stepped back, pulling out of my embrace.
I reached for him. "Tristan, wait. I'm sorry. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to act." I slid my hands up his chest, and he took hold of them and squeezed. He sighed and wet his lips. I continued, "You're the first guy who's stuck around long enough to kiss me. You're right, I hate being called pretty, but that's because there was a guy who called me pretty as a joke. It hurt being toyed with, so when you said it I guess I was shocked you of all people would toy with me. I didn't understand you liked me, and I'm sorry I assumed you were straight, but I don't want you to walk away without giving me a chance."
"Will you tell me one thing?"
I nodded. "Anything."
"Do you even like me? Or are you throwing yourself at me because I kissed you?"
"I like you. I swear I do. I've been dreaming about you for weeks and struggling to think about you purely as a friend, because I get hard every time you're around. I think you're the hottest guy I've ever seen, and I can't believe you'd look at me twice."
"Grant, that can't be true. You're adorable, and yes, pretty even. You've got a hotness all your own going on, and I can't believe you're shocked I'd think so. I also can't believe I'm the first guy to kiss you." His eye wasn't twitching, but he was definitely confused.
I was on the verge of tears again, but I hoped I wouldn't cry. "It's true. I've been on twelve first dates, and not one guy's walked me to the door and kissed me. A few even left in the middle of the date. I repulse people that much." I dropped my head. I couldn't admit how pathetic I was and look him in the eyes at the same time.
Tristan let go of my left hand and pulled my chin up. "Let me clarify a few things. I like you, a lot. You don't need to doubt that. I do intend to give you a chance, and I will kiss you again." I gasped and hedged forward, but he stopped me with a finger to my lips. "Not tonight." He smiled softly. "I don't know how you managed to make it twenty-five years-"
"Twenty-six," I corrected.
"Twenty-six years without a real boyfriend, but it does explain a lot about you. I'm going to take you out again next Friday-"
"But I work Friday until eight. And then I have to count out my drawer, and-"
"Stop interrupting." He shook his head. "You're certainly argumentative, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry."
"Grant, you're not the only one that's new at this. I haven't dated anyone in fifteen years. I'm willing to take a chance on you because your compulsive need to flip those pens made my heart yearn for the first time in my life."
"The pens?"
"Yes. I've never taken the time to see people before, really see them. My life has been consumed with work and my daughter. No guy has ever snagged my attention so strongly that I was willing to alter my nondating, workaholic lifestyle for a chance at something good. This isn't a one-night stand deal for me. I want to plan a future with someone special. You got my attention, Grant, and despite your belligerence and your eccentricities, I can't walk away without trying."
I'd never heard anything so beautiful before. I mattered to him-me! This seriously sexy man felt that I was worth not only his time, but worth altering his lifestyle. My internal clock took notice of the phrase "plan a future," and I couldn't breathe.
As my emotions surged again, I lunged into his arms. When he put his arms around me and squeezed me tight, I pressed my face into his neck and whispered, "Thank you."
"I want us to start over, okay?" he whispered back.
"Okay."
"I'm not coming in to the bank this week."
I pulled back so I could look him in the eyes. "But … ?" I thought he'd said he'd give me another chance. "Why?" My pathetic whiney voice came out. If he really liked me like he said he did, maybe he'd overlook it.
He explained, "To give you some space. Think about whether or not you really want to date me with intent."
"I do want to date you!"
"Grant, calm down. I don't believe you're thinking clearly. In the morning, when the alcohol is out of your system and you can process everything I said, then text me. We can talk during the week, but I think you need to consider what you want in our potential relationship. We'll talk about it on Friday."
All I could do was nod. I felt awful, but hopeful at the same time. He could have easily driven away without explaining himself, or without kissing me. Tristan kissed me. I could have sighed, cried, and died.
"Good night, Grant." He kissed my forehead and got back in his truck.
AS SOON as he drove away, I dashed inside and called Mel.
"How'd that beer go? What kind did you order?" he asked.
"He's gay!" I blurted. I plopped on the couch and kicked off my shoes.
"Who's gay?"
"Tristan!"
"No way."
"Yes, way. Totally gay. And get this, he told me he's been flirting with me all week. I don't know how I missed it!" I unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it out of my jeans.
Mel mumbled, "Because you never admit when guys come on to you."
"What?" I sat up straight.
"Nothing."
"No, I heard what you said, and it isn't true."
"Yes, it is, Grant. I've watched you."
"When?"
"All the time. You're oblivious to any kind of flirtation or advance if the guy's hot. But suddenly it's like your extrasensory perception is turned on high when the losers bat their eyes."
"I've never done that," I protested.
"Yes, you have. It's because you have an unrealistic self-image."
"My self-image is perfectly reasonable. It's yours that needs help!" Mel had no idea what he was talking about.
He ignored my comment and kept at me. "On a scale of one to ten, where one is Mr. Bean and ten is Charlie Hunnam or Darren Criss-depending on your taste-where would you place you?"
Easy. "Four."
Mel laughed so hard it hurt my ears. "Match point and proven."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"You proved my point. You think you're a four? Grant, you're at least an eight when pitted against Darren Criss. He's got the talent and the voice, but you're just as good-looking."
It was my turn to laugh-at his absurdity. "Right! I'm hanging up now." I pressed End and tossed my phone on the couch cushion as I headed into the bedroom. I removed my shirt and placed it into the hamper. I had laid my wallet on the dresser and folded my jeans by the time Mel called back. I answered the phone in my boxers and undershirt.
"Took you long enough."
"Another call came through before I could dial you back. Grant, you can hang up on me every time if you want, but the fact still remains that you don't think you're good enough to catch the hot ones. Stop thinking like that and believe me when I say you are."
I held the phone to my ear a few more seconds but couldn't think of a response. Could Mel be right? I heaved a sigh and said, "I'll talk to you later."
Mel was used to my abrupt good-byes. Sometimes I marveled over how easily he forgave me for being rude. I glanced at the picture of the two of us on my end table. Mel was such a great friend. I put the phone in its cradle and turned off the lights.
As I lay there staring at the ceiling, I thought about calling my mom. Should I? I was confused over Mel's comments. Did I really need my mother adding more drama to my situation? I didn't know what to do. Maybe I did need to think about everything Tristan had suggested. I had wanted a relationship for many years-a committed, long-term relationship. Should I jump in with both feet? It was all so sudden.
I needed sleep.
DURING THE week, I contemplated my situation. Mel had called me out on my self-doubt, and if I was honest he'd been right. During a slow moment at work, I flipped through the pictures of all the guys I'd ever dated. I had fourteen hundred pictures on my phone. I never deleted anything.