My eyes close, my lips part, and I’m ready.
And oh my GOD my cell phone is ringing? It actually thrums right between our two hips, like an angry little vibrator. Our eyes lock and I sigh. “My phone.”
“I just thought you were happy to kiss me.” He grins, and I stare at him blankly, not believing that my freaking phone is interrupting this divine moment. “You gonna get that thing?”
I nod, checking the incoming number. Now, I have to tell you, I am a big believer in signs and omens. Nobody has to convince me that God speaks to us in ways both subtle and obvious. The Big Guy loves a good symbol like any great writer, and I have always known that. But Jake calling me right now? Managing to interrupt my first kiss since he dumped me? That’s not a sign, that’s a billboard. That’s a flashing neon message that something’s wrong with my life.
“My ex.” I cough, still staring at the telecommunications weapon holstered at my side.
“Does he always call you at eleven-thirty at night?” Michael’s clearly feeling a little possessive and it shows.
“Considering I never gave him this number, the answer to that question would be no.”
The phone rings again, calling out between us into the dark, sweltering night. “What about at home?”
“Michael!”
Getting sheepish, he asks, “Okay, want me to answer it?” He’s sounding protective. A bit angry, too, as he waits for my answer.
“No, let’s ignore him.” Finally the ringing stops, but the moment is already shattered.
We both stare at the phone like it’s an alien entity, a virulent thing that burst into our pure connection.
“I still want to kiss you,” Michael says after a moment, “but I’m not going to do it now.”
“Why not?”
“Because when I do, it’s going to be sweet and perfect. Not second best.”
I laugh bitterly. “Yeah, well, don’t worry, I’ve already had second best.”
He leans close, brushing a long wild strand of hair back from my cheek with his fingertip. His skin against mine; I could so get used to that sensation.
“You deserve perfect,” he tells me, his fingers lingering against my cheek. Near the scars, but he doesn’t even seem to notice; his eyes are locked with mine. “Rebecca, you are perfect. And this is working.”
“This?” I rasp, burning beneath his touch, his intense gaze.
“We’re dating, Rebecca. That’s what this is. Right here, right now, I’m saying so. No more confusion about that, okay?”
I nod, and he adds, “’Cause I know it’s got to be confusing as hell to date someone… like me. So I want to be clear about what we’re doing, absolutely clear. This is dating.”
“This is dating,” I repeat dazedly and an absolutely adorable smile fills his face, his single dimple flashing from nowhere.
“Good! We’re on the same page now,” he says, still grinning at me. “So when you least expect it, expect that perfect kiss.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“How’s Saturday?” He opens my car door for me.
“For the kiss?”
“For our next date.”
“Uh, it’s my friend Cat’s birthday party,” I say. “You’re welcome to come. I mean, I’d like you to come, if you want to, but it’d be like a group thing with all my friends. And you might not want to actually do that, now that I think about it—”
“Rebecca?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d love to.”
Oh, my. This is dating. This is dating, and it is very, very cool.
Chapter Ten: Michael
I want to kick Casey’s ass in a serious way. The taillights on Rebecca’s car aren’t even fully vanished down the end of my palm-lined street, and I’ve already got him on speed dial, standing right there in the middle of my driveway. We need to have this talk now, and not where my daughter can overhear it.
I don’t even let him speak when he answers his cell phone. “You were a first-class prick tonight, Porter.”
“So?”
“What happened to ‘you need to get back out among the living, Mike’?” I shout, not caring whether my neighbors hear. “What happened to ‘you should start dating again’?” I feel hot anger burn my face, even as the next-door neighbor’s dog whelps like I just kicked him.
“A guy, you freak,” he counters bitterly. “I was talking about you dating a guy. Not some girl. Some scarred girl, by the way.”
“I should come beat your face in for that.”
“I’m serious, man,” he says. “What’s wrong with you? You are gay, Mike. Queer as hell.”
“No,” I answer with a forced patience that I definitely don’t feel. Voice lower, I add, “I’m bisexual.”
He groans into the receiver. “Huh—let’s page Alex on that one.”