“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he’s like a nervous girl on her first date.” She grinned, clearly delighted at seeing Bo suffer a little insecurity. He did throw off the aura of a guy supremely comfortable in his skin—kind of like I was before my dad died. I hadn’t ever suffered a whiff of anything unfortunate in my life. Placid and drama free.
Then it all blew up. My mom slept with Dad’s brother. Dad found out and had a heart attack. Now he was dead, and she couldn’t get out of bed.
It had made me rethink everything, including relationships. I was nearing my quarter century mark, and while I’d had plenty of girlfriends, Ivy and Winter were absolutely right. I hadn’t loved any of them. I hadn’t cared when the relationships were over, and I was often glad to see the back of the girl when she walked out on me.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t capable of something serious. Right?
"Did I ever tell you I've never asked a girl out?" I informed AnnMarie.
“How is that even possible?”
I laughed a little self-consciously. "When I was in eighth grade, Shannon Blake came up to me after first period on the first day of second semester and said I was going out with her."
"And that was it?"
I shrugged sheepishly. "She was pretty cute. Why fight it?"
"How long did you date her?"
"Off and on for a couple of years."
"Wow, a long time. What happened next?"
"During the second week of tenth grade, I met Julie. She had a yen for pale skin and asked me if I glittered in the sunlight. I don't, as you know, but she kept lifting my shirt for a peek, and eventually she just took it off and kept it. We drifted apart. I think she was disappointed at my lack of sparkle. In my junior year, Ivy Donovan came up to my locker and said that since I was single it was time to date her. And I did, for over four years. After her was my chem lab partner Bethenney—three e's, two n's. She and I ended up playing on the same coed intramural flag football team. She made a pass, I caught it—literally. Then we went out until I graduated from State and moved back home."
"You've had all these girlfriends? And you didn't want to marry or anything?" She sounded bewildered. It never occurred to me it was unusual in any way.
"It was high school and then college." I raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't there to get my MRS degree."
"Still," she replied faintly.
Irritated, I tried to joke my way out. "It's my superpower." I winked. "Yours is taming wild men. Mine is never having to ask a girl out. They've always asked me."
She picked up her coffee and leaned back in her chair, eyeing me speculatively. “But now you've found a girl you like, and you don't know how to ask her out.”
I spread my hands out in front of me. "Yes, my perceptive dear, what should a man do if his superpower abandons him?"
She smiled over the rim of her mug. "Tell me about her."
"She's easy to talk to and has a big heart. Very loyal. She's an artist and does commission work for an ink shop downtown."
"I like her already. She sounds neat."
"Yes, well, you can't ask her out. She's mine. You'll have to find your own hot tattoo artist girlfriend."
She stuck her tongue out. "She's not yours if you can't get her to go out on a date with you."
"Touché. Why don’t you come out with me and play wingwoman?”
“I would do that. When and where?”
A gruff voice called from the entry. “What does being your wingwoman entail?” Bo shuffled in, bleary-eyed and grumpy. “Because I outta get a say in how dates with my girlfriend go down.”
I kicked out a chair for him, and he collapsed in it. With one big hand, he corralled AnnMarie’s plate and polished off her leftover eggs and toast, and then he pulled the cup from her hands and drained it.
She rolled her eyes. “I think being on a date with Finn would reduce his ability to charm another woman. What does the wingwoman position entail in your eyes?”
“She vouches for a guy,” Bo said and got up to fill a plate and the empty mug. “Her mere presence validates the guy she’s with as decent. Doesn’t matter how much pussy that asshole has slayed, if he’s standing next to a girl and that girl isn’t afraid or disgusted by him, he’s golden.”
“Gross, Bo.” Annmarie,” AnnMarie frowned, “and language, please.”
“Sorry,” he said around a mouthful of eggs. “I’m a work in progress.”
“I might have put it a different way,” I interjected. “But Bo’s right. Plus there’s the added bonus of people wanting what other people have. In any event, hanging out with a girl who is not your friend with benefits gives you instant credibility.”