Page 8 of Romancing the Rude Guy

Things got serious fast. I find myself leaning forward, drawn in by the intensity in his gaze.

Our food arrives, breaking the spell between us, and I shuffle back in my seat. Confusion fills me. This entire time, I’ve been caught up in our conversation and somehow forgot about the fact that he’s in a wheelchair.

That’s not something you can just forget about though. Is it?

I concentrate on my food and risk a quick peek up at Marcus to find his eyes on me.

“You never answered my question.”

“What question?” I ask, stalling for time.

“Are you hopeful about this date? About us?”

My laughter sounds forced even to my own ears. “I don’t even know you, Marcus.”

“Nor I you. Isn’t that the whole idea behind a date? To learn more about the other person?”

Before I can form a response, he continues. “Like I stated, this is the first time my grandmother has set me up on a date.” His lips quirk up, drawing my attention once more to his full lips. I can’t help wondering what they would feel like pressed against mine.

“I wasn’t fully interested in going on this date.”

His words are like a bucket of ice water dumped over me and all thoughts about his lips and tasting them disappear.

“But I’m very glad I came. Because Alice, I find myself very interested in getting to know you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MARCUS

I’m not normally so open with people. Especially not someone I just met. There’s something about Alice and the way she looks at me that makes the walls I’ve built around myself feel way too confining instead of comforting.

It’s crazy, but I want to let her in. No need to storm the castle, I’ll lower the drawbridge and put up the banners.

When I arrived at the restaurant, my mood was pessimistic at best. It nosedived even further when I entered and saw the way the tables were crammed into the large space, with no easy way for me to navigate safely between them.

Even worse, my date was already here, and our table was at the rear of the restaurant. I calmly requested a table in the front of the dining area and was told they couldn’t accommodate that.

After six years of being in a wheelchair, I’m very familiar with the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA),and they were in clear violation of that in terms of accessibility. After the hostess denied my request for a second time, I had to start throwing the words fines and discrimination around. Funny how quickly the second chair was removed from a front table for me while the hostess went to inform my date of the change.

I was still pretty heated up when the hostess reappeared, but everything in me stilled when I gazed at the woman following close behind her with a slightly puzzled smile upon her face.

I went on this date with little expectations. Grandma Deborah knew the women I used to date, having spent holidays with a few of my, at the time, serious girlfriends. She even tried to teach Gloria, my girlfriend at the time of the accident, how to make apple butter.

Still, I was not expecting this vision of utter perfection. Especially not a woman this beautiful to have agreed to be set up with a guy like me. Many women hear the words disabled, wheelchair, and paraplegia and run in the opposite direction.

I don’t blame them.

Before, I never would have entertained the thought of dating anyone in a wheelchair. Even after I became disabled, I didn’t give it a lot of thought until my brother brought it up three years after the accident.

We were at my house, watching a football game, and having a few beers. Or rather, he was having a few. I’d limited myself to a single beer and even that was an indulgence. Alcohol tended to go right through me, and I didn’t feel like racing to the bathroom sporadically during the game when only the ensuite bathroom was set up for me, not the other two bathrooms. Not to mention with the meds I was on at the time, it was advised that I not drink.

I had opened up to my brother a bit about my concerns about dating since I finally felt ready to put myself out there again.

“You should try one of those dating sites,” he said before taking a long pull of his beer. “They have them for everyone. They must have them for people like you.”

“People like me?” I repeated, feeling my spirits plummet.

“Yeah, other wheelchair people. Or I guess, maybe limb difference?” Chase smirked. “You’re fine with a one-armed chick, right?” He winked. “Only need one hand to get the job done. Am I right?”

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