Jennifer Lohmann - Her Rebound Guy

Beck nodded in sympathy. “I grew up in DC. I really should know and understand politics better than I do, but it always seemed too... opaque is the word I want, I think. And getting older hasn’t made it any easier to understand.” She hadn’t paid that much attention, either. Both because North Carolina politics were dead-of-night things and because politics, like her parents, had always seemed cold.

“Yeah. That’s how most people feel, I think. My dad is my audience, even though he thinks I’m as crooked as the people I report on.”

She winced at that admission.

“ I understood what the reporter was talking about. The local politics I was reporting on for the school paper are almost as far from national politics as a cat is from a dog, but they’re still pets and I understood pets. My dad didn’t and still doesn’t.”

“Reporting seems like a manly job. Smoke-filled backrooms. Secret committees.” She knew what it was to have parents who didn’t approve of your work. Her parents had been remote and never deigned to talk with her about their jobs, but they were still shocked when she didn’t follow in their footsteps.

Her parents thought she was a glorified waitress. They didn’t see how she made memories for people or why that might be a worthwhile job.

“Some of it is contamination by proximity.” This shrug was less effortless. “Politicians are all crooks and, since I count some politicians as my friends, then I must be a crook, too.”

“And are you? That seems like the sort of thing I should know, even if this is a first date.”

She meant it as a joke and he laughed, both of them pretending that what she’d said had actually been funny. For all the momentary glimpses she’d gotten of his soul, his surface might as well be a thick sheet of ice. Short of some thaw, she couldn’t see in.

And he can’t see out . Or in, either. There was a little boy in there still hurt by his father’s disapproval, and that little boy didn’t talk to the man sitting across the table from her.

“I don’t think my dad wants to know more about the rules that govern his life. If he knew, he might have to do something about the things that make him unhappy. And some of it is that he doesn’t like his son knowing more than he does. To him, I’m still telling stories and by stories, he means lies. Holidays at my house are a barrel of laughs.”

He snorted again, a wry noise offset by his embarrassed half smile. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this, especially after one drink on a first date. Normally, I just tell people that my sister and I played television news as kids, but I like writing more than I like television news, so here I am. That’s the sanitized version.”

It was her turn to shrug and she tried to make it the easy, careless movement he’d seemed to perfect. “I’m easy to talk to?”

“Yes, Ms. Dogfan, yes, you are. In fact, you are so easy to talk to that I’m going to get another drink. Want one?”

“Yes, please.” She liked being thought of as easy to talk to. Nothing he’d confessed had been scandalous, but she knew why it felt personal. And she didn’t think it was that she was easy to talk to so much as it was the dark bar, with soft music and bench seats that cocooned around them. A little bubble, where nothing they confessed to each other would escape.

Safe, she thought. He had felt safe talking with her, which she understood, since she felt safe sitting here with him, too. Which surprised her. Standing outside the bar, shifting back and forth on her feet, she’d felt like her nerves were radiating out through Durham’s small downtown, forcing walkers to push through it like it was a heavy wind.

Those nerves had stayed with her as she’d ordered her drink and as she’d silenced her phone. Then Caleb had sat down, asked about Seamus and poof—all those nerves were gone. If he asked, she might lay out all her secrets on the table for him to pick through.

Might. She was determined to be smart about this whole dating thing and laying her baggage on the table for Caleb to examine was not even in the same time zone as smart.

Though, she considered as she watched the way he laughed with the bartender and chatted up other people at the bar, smart didn’t seem like much fun when his lanky body was part of the equation. In the abstract, all the contradicting advice left her at sea in her own life, each life preserver she was being tossed leading her to an unknown shore.

She could land on Caleb. She’d probably be back adrift again, but kissing those shoulders might be worth it. And then she could say she tried. One less choice available to her.

She was still watching him as he returned with two drinks and a report of snacks. Carefree as he was—or as he was pretending to be, considering the story he’d told her about how he got into journalism—her staring didn’t seem to bother him. “It’s not dinner,” he said as he sat down and told her what he ordered. “But we could go get dinner, if you want.”

She cocked her head. “You just ordered us another drink.”

“Well, yes.” He looked amused and she wasn’t sure what he was smiling about until he said, “Am I just a two-drink dude, or might you want dinner even after that second drink?”

“Oh!” He’d told her that personal and revealing story, which was sweet, but that he liked her well enough to think even an hour into the future hadn’t occurred to her. She’d been thinking well over an hour into the future, but she’d been thinking about how good his black hair would look against her white sheets. Dinner hadn’t played a part in any of those thoughts.

“Let’s see how we feel after this second drink and round of snacks. Maybe we won’t need dinner,” she said.

For a moment, she thought she saw the hurt of rejection flitter over his face, but then he seemed to consider what else she might mean. He put his hand on the table, palm up. “No dinner, huh?”

Emboldened by the soft lighting and a little alcohol, Beck put her hand on top of his. “ Maybe no dinner. Depends on how hungry we are.”

He raised an eyebrow. They were holding hands, or not quite. When he curled his fingers, the tips brushed her palm and she could feel his touch in her toes. “Does it also depend on what we’re hungry for?”

“Yes.”

“Your lead, Beck.” Their hands were still touching, hers on top, both with the ability and acknowledgment that she could pull away at any moment. That he wanted her to be touching him, but wouldn’t argue if she felt otherwise. She relaxed her arm, letting her palm fall onto his and curled her fingers around the side of his hand.

His recognition that she could say no made her want to say yes. It made her want to scream “yes” as he was on top of her, maybe kissing her neck.

Sex with a near-deadly handsome near stranger was an option to her now. She could take this man home with her. She could go home with him. The realization made her feel almost two feet taller. And she certainly felt stronger. There had been moments during her separation when she had realized that she could make her own choices, but for the first time, she felt like she was in control.

The second feeling was different and it was heady.

She didn’t lift her hand when their snacks were brought over. He didn’t move his hand, either, and they both switched off drinking and eating with the other hand. She didn’t want to let him go.

Over their second round of drinks, he asked her about her job. Her second cocktail buzzed through her head. The room was dim. So, when he asked her what she liked about her job, she felt comfortable enough to confess the truth. “Honestly, it’s been hard. I’m not a wedding planner and people come to my restaurant for other types of celebrations, but mostly it’s weddings. I talk to a lot of excited brides who are certain that this is forever and, well, that’s hard right now.”