I smile. “I think that could be arranged, but we probably shouldn’t walk in holding hands. We don’t want to give people the wrong idea.”
“Oh, right.” He drops my hand with seeming reluctance. “Sorry. I didn’t realize we were keeping this a secret from your knitting friends, too.”
“It seems best to keep it a secret from everyone, don’t you think? I mean, if we were both normal people, it might not be a big deal, but you’re famous. People like to talk about your love life, and when people talk about your love life, Laura is one of the first people who gets the memo.”
He grunts. “True. She texted me about you today, by the way. Wanted me to call you and convince you to come to the game on Saturday. I didn’t realize you were on the fence about it.”
I stomp up the steps to the front porch with a little more force than necessary, wishing Laura had picked another time to get militant about herding me back into the dating pool. “I wouldn’t be on the fence if she would just let me come watch you guys play. She’s determined to put me in a room filled with single men on top of it. And you know her. I’m sure the plan goes deeper than simply putting me in close proximity to several eligible penises. She’s got something else up her sleeve—like setting me up on a blind date without my knowledge, the way she did last summer with the guy who delivers beer to the restaurant below her apartment—and I’d really rather skip the embarrassment and stress.”
“Then I’ll get you a ticket down near the ice.” As I ring the doorbell, he rests his hand at the small of my back before he seems to remember we’re on a no-touching basis for a few hours and pulls it away. “I want you to come. I mean, assuming you want to.”
“Of course I do.” I glance up at him, wondering at the odd note in his voice, but before I can ask if something’s bothering him, the door opens and Edna loudly announces—
“Well, now, look at this! Who is this tall drink of water, Elizabeth? And where have you been hiding him?”
“You must be Edna.” Justin leans down, moving into Edna’s open arms for a hug. “I’m Justin, Libby’s friend. She taught me how to crochet when I was in high school.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Edna pats him on the arm as he pulls away. “I don’t think I could handle another newbie, especially one with big clumsy hands. No offense.”
“None taken, and my hands aren’t clumsy, I promise. Are they Libby?”
Thoughts of all the inspired, deft, erotic things his hands did to me last night shimmy through my thoughts and my cheeks flush. “No, they aren’t. They’re quite clever hands.” Clever and kind and so skilled at making my body come to life that I’m starting to feel like a completely new person. A sexier, more self-assured person who managed to wave at Roger in the cafeteria today and wish him a happy Wednesday without any weirdness or self-conscious mumbling.
For more people, that would be a sad milestone, indeed, but in my world it’s definitely progress.
“Excellent.” Edna traps Justin’s palm between both of hers and nods seriously. “In that case, we might invite you back next time, assuming you’re house trained.”
Justin laughs and assures her that he is, and Edna leads us into her spacious, wood-paneled living room, where an odd but comfortable assortment of chairs are arranged in a big circle around the refreshment table. The Frank Sinatra Pandora channel is working its warm, croony magic in the background, and the air smells of wool, firewood crackling in the fireplace, and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.
It would be a purely welcoming scene if it weren’t for the blond girl near the piano who looks like she’s about to cry—a newbie, I can’t remember her name, but her stress levels make me look positively laid-back in comparison—Dana the drag queen scowling at Priscilla with murder in her dark brown eyes, and Priscilla wonking away with her giant pipes by the fire, taking up so much room that three of our older members are practically sitting on top of each other on a green loveseat, hemmed in against the far wall.
I have only a moment to observe the obvious distress of the assembly at large before the group notices Justin and fluttering, swooning, obnoxiously feminine sounds fill the air.
The next twenty minutes pass in a confused blur as practically everyone in the room offers to pull up a chair next to theirs for Justin—or sit on the floor by his feet in the case of Edna’s teenage granddaughter, Britta, who at sixteen is easily ten times more confident around hot as heck menfolk as I’ve been at any age. We finally get Jus situated in a recliner not far from Priscilla, but hopefully out of jabbing range, and I snag a seat on another love seat next to the newbie, patting her on the knee encouragingly as I settle in and praise the purple-turd-looking thing emerging from her needles, which I’m assuming is going to be a scarf someday.