Yeah, I’ve officially lost my mind and am now weaving dreams of happily ever after in my soupy skull.
“Chris—”
“I’m calling in my favor, Hannah. Remember? I gave you the dress, you promised me an IOU? This is me calling it. Go get your ass dressed.”
Shit.
As I bolt into the room and frantically throw my sweaty, bleach-scented clothes off, I freeze in my tracks, dumbfounded. That bitch has laid out my dress, the special one I’d worn on my first date with Greg…
Not wanting anything we shared involved in tonight, I walk over to my closet and groan when I open the door. Empty but for a lacy thong and a pair of heels.
Fifteen minutes later I’m dressed, made up, and have my hair in a messy bun that makes me look sex tousled and more sexy than I’d intended, but with my hair a little less than perfectly clean I don’t have another choice.
Taylor Barret is a very nice-looking man in his early thirties with chocolate brown hair just a shade darker than mine and eyes the color of sapphires. He’s easy on the eyes and polite, and despite the nervous dread coursing through me, I like him on sight.
“Well, hey there, beautiful,” he says, taking my hand to lay a quick peck on the back.
When his lips touch me I feel my skin shrink back, and it’s all I can do not to shudder and bolt back to the bedroom. This, this obsession, this ache that I’ve been holding inside for a month, is not healthy, and I make up my mind to put my all into this date, if only to push myself that extra step further away from the hopeless longing I’m nursing.
Greg is gone, out of my life by my own choice, and sitting at home moping or crying myself to sleep every night isn’t going to change that. God, I can’t even masturbate without crying, which makes me weirder than ever because I end up sobbing, unfulfilled, and disgusted. With myself.
“Hi, you must be Taylor,” I say brightly, forcing my lips to curve. “So what have you got planned?” I ask as I grab my clutch and a light wrap, following him out the door.
Chris slaps my ass on the way out and wiggles her brows, giving me the green light to do more if the urge strikes. As if.
“I thought we could go to this Greek place for dinner. The octopus is amazing, and then I got tickets to the theater. The Man Jackal got great reviews.”
I listen to him drone on and on about some play I’ve never heard of and nod and hmm my way through, wondering why going on a date, with a normal guy, doing normal things that don’t include sex or anything leading to sex, is so hard for me.
Taylor is great and good-looking, and I know that if I gave him half a chance he’d be great relationship material. Much better than the pseudo-relationship I’d had with a taken man.
When we get to a little restaurant that is lit up brighter than a stadium and sit down to order, I feel slightly steadier, and I give myself over, determined to enjoy this night for the easy company and zero expectation that it is.
Taylor orders his hallowed octopus, laughing at my scrunched nose when he urges me to do the same. I choose fish instead and smile at his hangdog look.
See, easy, I tell myself, sipping gingerly at my gin and tonic.
“So, Hannah Newman, tell me about yourself. Every sordid detail,” he says mischievously, leaning his elbows on the table and giving me his undivided attention.
I giggle and lean back, tapping my chin, considering as I get into the spirit. This is simple and relaxed and free of the tension and angst I’m used to. I like it.
“Hmm, let’s see. When I was three I pulled off a two-man heist with my dog Rufus. We went in guns blazing and cleaned the place out.”
He gasps and folds a hand over his heart.
“All that gold and you’re not living in Manhattan?”
“Gold?” I snort, chuckling at his expression. “We raided the cookie jar and were caught with the crumbs on our chins to prove it. I got five to life for that stunt and spent five minutes in time out while Rufus licked his balls.”
It’s the ice breaker we need, and by the time our meals arrive we’re chatting like best friends.
“So, Chris says you just came out of a bad relationship. I’m damned sorry to hear that, Hannah. You’re a treasure, and I just can’t see why any guy would let you go so easily.”
I snort at that, doing my level best not to think of Greg — too much — and nod slightly.
“Yup. It was brief, and…we just didn’t have the same goals,” I aver, not wanting to give too much away.
That would really make him like me. Oh, yeah, I was with this guy, but he’s engaged and I decided to cut my losses before he went through with the wedding. No one likes a mistress, and I like Taylor enough not to want him to not like me. Does that make any sense?