Jennifer Lohmann - Her Rebound Guy

She looked at the bar for a moment, studying the bartender’s movements and the way the woman leaned into customers she liked and leaned away from the ones she didn’t. Once she felt less immersed in her own pain, she turned her attention back to Caleb. “It’s a little easier now than it was. I’m no longer angry at my ex, at the world and especially at the happy couples.”

She paused to take a sip of her cocktail. “Work is easier when I can celebrate with my customers, instead of pretending.”

“Newly divorced, then?” he asked.

“My divorce went through...” She paused, pleased the date didn’t pop into her head immediately. “A couple weeks ago.”

She pressed her lips together, but the words slipped out anyway. “You’re my first date since Neil left. God, which makes you my first date in over ten years.”

He sat up straight, which amused her. He had looked so good when he was relaxed and easy in his chair. Sitting up straight, shoulders back, chin lifted didn’t seem to fit his romantic, sensual lips. “Am I? Well, then, I shall be extra good tonight.”

“You would treat me differently because I haven’t had a date in forever?” For reasons she couldn’t put her finger on, she found that offensive.

“I remember what it was like to be divorced. I felt like I was hunting around for the real Caleb, who I was without my ex around. I didn’t know what I wanted or why. The first woman I went on a date with gave me time to figure myself out. And she was patient when I freaked a little. It’s a gift I would like to pass on to you.”

She still eyed him suspiciously. “Should I worry that you’re too perfect?”

“No pressure is the point. No one needs pressure, but you especially don’t need it now.”

“So, am I going to be disappointed by man number two that I date?”

He shrugged. “I can’t speak for man number two. I hope not. But I understand men can be shits. I’m probably a shit more than I realize. Or would admit to.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. He was open and disarming. It was almost an impossible combination to resist. She picked up the last olive and popped it in her mouth, and then took a sip of the last bit of her drink. “Let’s go,” she said, tightening her fingers so that she had a hold on his hand.

“Dinner?” he asked.

“I have food at my house.” She could make her own choices and she was choosing him. At least for tonight.

“Are you okay to drive?”

She turned her head and knew the answer immediately. “No.”

“Are you okay to invite me home?”

“Yes.” She bit her bottom lip, but in for a penny, in for a pound. “I think I made the decision to bring you home when you put your hand out. I didn’t need the second drink to loosen my inhibitions, but I did want to talk with you more.”

“Give me a chance to mess up,” he said, but he was smiling and there was no malice in his voice.

“I like to think I was giving you a chance to succeed beyond your wildest dreams.”

“Tell you what. I’ll go and close out our tabs. We can add your drinks to my bill. We’ll get a takeout pizza from the place down the street so you don’t have to make us dinner. Then we’ll head to your place.”

“Are you giving me a chance to change my mind?” For some reason, the idea that he might be doing that pissed her off. She appreciated the lack of pressure. She didn’t need to be treated like a child.

“Hell, no.” He caught her gaze and the air between them practically caught fire. “I’m hungry. I like pizza. And I plan on stripping your clothes off as soon as we step through your door.” He hadn’t needed to tell her his plans; she could read them in his slow, sensual smile. “That won’t leave you time to make us dinner.”

“Okay,” she said with a nod as she scooted out of the booth. She wanted this. She wanted him.

She waited by the door, watching while he paid for their food and drinks. His body was long and lean. He’d slouched and practically relaxed all through drinks, but he was also in control of each part from tip to toe. He lounged because he was completely comfortable in his body, not because he was lazy. He rolled with that confidence as he walked toward her. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she answered as she slipped through the open door.

Out on the street, she took the elbow he offered and sank against him for the walk to the pizza place. She hadn’t had so much to drink that she was unsteady on her feet, but she usually drank wine, not cocktails. And at home, not a bar. Plus, there had been all those months that she hadn’t kept wine at home, for fear that it would become too quick a companion to her sorrow.

The Aviations were going straight to her head. The knowledge that she was going to have sex was going...well, it was going straight to the rest of her body, making her weak in the knees. Coming on her own wasn’t the same as sharing the experience with someone. And Caleb was going to be a good person to share the experience with.

“Do you trust me to drive your car?” he asked, after they’d ordered their pizza and were back on the sidewalk, escaping the press of the crowded restaurant.

His question pulled her back, unhappily, to reality. She’d been happily imagining what his hand on her breast would be like and had to ask him to repeat himself.

“Do you trust me to drive your car?” When she looked up at him, the streetlight caught a twinkle in his eye that made her think he knew exactly what she had been thinking.

“Why?” She wasn’t sure of the answer. Trust seemed a tricky thing in a situation like this. She had trusted his emails enough to say yes to the date. In the bar she trusted him enough to slip her hand into his and let him lead her wherever he wanted her to go.

Which just proved Marsie right. When Beck had wondered if she should invite a man back over to her house after a first date or go to a hotel or something, Marsie’s advice had been to ask why she would be having sex with a man she didn’t trust enough to see where she lived.

Beck hadn’t had a good answer to that one.

She had read The Gift of Fear . She listened to her gut. And Caleb didn’t ring any alarm bells with her. But that was sex and walking through her front door. She didn’t know anything about his driving.

They were standing close to each other on the sidewalk. She felt his every movement and had to focus on what he was saying instead of letting her mind wander to how his body would feel, naked against hers.

“Well,” he explained, “you don’t feel comfortable driving. And driving won’t be a problem for me. I could drive you to your house in my car and, tomorrow morning, drive you to come get your car. Or, I could drive you in your car to your house and I’m the one who has to come get my car in the morning. Me driving your car seems both the more gentlemanly thing to do and the most practical. If we were going to my house, I’d say we should take my car.”

She looked up at him and bit her lip. What if he wouldn’t leave in the morning? She’d been living alone in her house for over a year and, to be honest, quite liked it. The toilet seat was never up.

“Or,” he said as he leaned against the building and she felt like she had space to breathe—to think, “we could take our pizza and eat it over on the tables at Five Points and we can go our separate ways for the night. And there are hotels. Nice ones. If you’re looking for a night, but not another date.”

He shrugged. “But I’d like to see you another time.”

The shrug was the clincher, full of interest but no pressure that she raise that toilet seat because he expected it. “Drive me home. We’ll have pizza and see where we go from there. That sounds good.”