Page 12 of Romancing the Rude Guy

This was a mistake.

If I can’t see past the wheelchair, we don’t have a hope of making any sort of relationship work between us. I’ve gotten so upset when people, okay, mostly men, look at my physical appearance and only go from that and here I’m doing it to Marcus.

My stomach gives a loud gurgle. Another look at my phone shows it’s fifteen minutes past our agreed upon meet-up time.

All this worry and anticipation and now he doesn’t even show up or give me the courtesy of a text! How hard is it to send a text?!

Rolling my tight shoulders, I grab at my lunch bag and pull out my meal. At least it’s a beautiful day to eat outdoors, I think sourly, tearing off a big bite of my PB&J.

CHAPTER SIX

MARCUS

Despite another dreadful parking situation, a lightness fills me that I can’t recall experiencing before. I even found myself singing along to the radio on my way over. My mood is so good that when a few children point and stare at me, it rolls right off my back.

Plus, they’re kids. It’s natural for them to be curious. I would rather their parents simply explain about my wheelchair and why I might need it, then hiss at the children not to stare or slap at their hands. Nothing is going to change if they aren’t allowed to ask questions. It’s long been argued whether compassion and empathy are learned or innate.

Not having children myself, my experiences are mostly limited to my time with my nephew. He was so young when I had my accident, but he remembers I wasn’t always confined to a wheelchair. Dan’s a great kid, never shy with questions or offering to help me out. A lot of adults could learn from him.

That goes for me as well.

After our date, a myriad of emotions and questions plagued me. Even when Alice messaged me about lunch, I was torn. Delight and wariness warred within me. I was already quite invested in seeing where things could go with Alice. I wasn’t dreaming of white picket fences and happily ever afters. That’s not my nature.

But I was mulling over the opportunity to have a relationship with her. To learn more about her and how wonderful it would be to spend time with her.

Insecurities went hand in hand with those positive thoughts. The fear of rejection was a harsh reality for me and one I could be facing again. Was I prepared to get attached or possibly fall in love knowing that my heart could be utterly destroyed? I hadn’t had a true long-term relationship since that fateful night six years ago. Could I really go there again? Did I have it in me to be the man a woman like Alice deserved?

It took the sight of Dan’s gift still sitting on a chair in my office to make me realize that yes; I was ready. I was tired of being excluded or sitting on the sidelines while life went by. My nephew was turning ten, and I was rapidly approaching forty. Having a family of my own wasn’t completely out of my reach.

But only if I made the effort.

Things might not work out with Alice. And I would definitely be disappointed by that. I also couldn’t pin all my hopes and expectations on her, though. That wasn’t fair and was asking a lot.

Having a relationship with a person that was physically disabled wasn’t an easy thing. Even couples that were together before a life-altering event struggled with their new normal. Divorce rates shot up when one partner suddenly faced an epic health crisis.

And here I was asking a woman to take on me, problems and all.

What would she really be getting out of being saddled with my grumpy ass? I had to sell myself and put my best foot forward, so to speak.

A quick glance at my watch shows I’m running far behind schedule. Not a great way to impress her. Hopefully, the gift I brought will help smooth over any hurt feelings.

My arm muscles burn as I propel myself over the bumpy pavement of the walking trail. Thankfully, I spy Alice’s bright blonde hair up ahead and the sight of her waiting spurs me to go faster, my hands going through the now-familiar motions of the long smooth strokes along my handrims that get my chair flying.

I didn’t wear them on our date, but today I’m wearing my black leather wheelchair gloves. I really don’t feel like getting my hands dirty since we’re out in nature and eating lunch together.

Plus, I’m always worried about the strain on my hands, and these relieve that. If anything were to happen to my hands, I honestly don’t know what I would do. It’s one of those fears that sneaks up on me at odd times and I have to work hard to shove them to the back of my head, so they don’t leave me in a cold, anxious sweat.

Slowing to a stop next to her, she looks up and continues munching on an apple. My mouth goes dry watching her white teeth sink into the firm red apple. I watch a bit of clear juice drip down her plump lower lip and lick mine in response.

“Rude not to wait for me,” I say, pushing down on my brake levers and locking my wheels in place.

“Rude to be so late,” she snips back, taking another big bite of her apple and crunching it loudly.

I grin and reach over, smoothly transferring myself from my chair onto the bench beside her. Her eyes widen at my movement. I wanted to be closer to her without my wheelchair. Just something that makes me feel more like a regular guy out on a lunch date.

Reaching into the blue backpack strapped to the back of my chair, I pull out my lunch and peel off my gloves, placing them in the backpack. “Couldn’t find a parking spot,” I say, taking out my sandwich. “It’s the bane of my existence.”

She stops eating, her blue eyes fixed on me, and I smile and wink. “People ask me what’s the worst part of being disabled is and I tell them it’s the parking.”

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