Page 6 of For the Record

Reaching my hand out, I grabbed my phone and used the black glass as a mirror. Sure enough, blue lips stared right back at me. Which was even more funny, causing me to lean my head back and laugh.

Putting a little too much trust in my barstool, I threw my whole body into the laugh, back arching with my head toss, leading me to almost falling onto the floor. For a split second, the front legs of my stool lifted off the ground an inch, and I saw my life flash before my eyes.

I let myself envision it for a brief moment: Me humbly falling without ruining a centimeter of my makeup. Someone shouting to call nine-one-one. Brawny here would stand and rip open his flannel to show a firefighter shirt beneath it.“I’ll take care of her,” he’d boast with certainty in his gravelly tone. His jaw would clench. My chest would heave, whatever that meant, and he would wrap his arms around me. Then he’d leave his black and red flannel with me for warmth, despite the hot summer night. Strong, tattooed muscles would lift me off the floor, and in a vivacious turn, he would rush me out of the door and into his—

My fantasy was cut short because my stool did not fall back any farther. It was caught by my newest friend. His hand pressed firmly into the back of the chair, catching me before my humble, graceful fall. Two of his fingers rested above the chair, on the exposed skin of my upper back.

“Be more careful,” he grunted.

My lids dropped halfway, and a slow pull of a smile reached my lips. I pointed a finger at him, my freshly painted nail almost caressing his not-flannel. “You are a protector,” I proudly diagnosed.

A sarcastic snort left him, like a dragon puffing out steam. “Habit,” he grumbled.

I let out a tsk and shook my head, but then the room spun, so I stopped and recalibrated my focus on the scar above his brow. “No, you can be one of a few things. A protector, a provider, a nurturer or a…what’s the last one? Calculator?”

“That doesn’t sound right.” He raised the brow under my stare.

“Either way.” My hand waved between us. “You’re a protector. I’m a nurturer. We would make great babies.”

With my blond hair and long eyelashes and his handsome, strong features, I was willing to bet we would raise an army of perfectly beautiful babies.

Brawny choked, coughing and beating at his chest. Maybe babies weren’t first-date talk. Not that this was a date.

I reached a hand out to his broad back, giving rough jabs with my palm like I’d learned in the CPR class I’d taken in high school. The memories of late-night The Office binges hit me, and I began beating his back to the tune of “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees. A classic. I certainly would need to pull out the vinyl soon. Hit number 189 on Rolling Stone’s greatest hits of all time. Part of me got a little caught up in the beat, not realizing the guy was no longer choking.

He glared over at me with a confused frown and cleared his throat, straightening his back under my touch. Glad I could help. I guess all those late nights laughing at Kevin Malone came in handy.

“I wasn’t choking. You caught me off guard.” He corrected my self-fulfillment, sending a sad little womp-womp to my chest.

“Sorry.” For the baby mention. Not the CPR thing. That felt worth it. “Didn’t think I’d scare you that easily.”

His shoulders did a small rise and fall, as if that humored him. It was like watching a puppy use head tilts to show his emotions. I was slowly figuring this guy out.

“I don’t scare easily,” he proudly proclaimed with another sip of whiskey.

An idea, not necessarily a good or bad one, popped into my head at that, and a proud smirk smeared across my face. I licked my lips and leaned into him, staring directly into his forest green eyes.

“Prove it,” I whispered just loud enough for him to hear over the music around us.

Not tearing from my view, his eyes bored into mine. He leaned forward until our lips were mere inches apart. My chest heaved under his stare. I dropped my gaze to his mouth and back, shocked to see a confident sneer from him.

He growled a low mutter, something about I shouldn’t, before his full lips pressed against mine and one hand went to my hair.

Currently playing: Break My Stride by Matthew Wilder

***

She wouldn’t stop laughing.

It had been all of five minutes since I broke the news about the diamond on her finger, and all she had done was laugh.

I usually liked her uncontrollable giggles. It brought a tiny bit of sunshine into my mostly quiet days. It was always nice to hear, like wind chimes in the spring air or the sound of a puppy eating. Cute. I wasn’t exactly a comedian, but knowing I somehow always managed to make her chuckle was something I proudly clung to.

But this laugh didn’t feel like sunshine, or rainbows, or everything good in life. It felt like a homing beacon of death.

Every minute or so, she would settle down, her shoulders slumping and chest heaving as she let out a comical sigh. But then her attention would go back to the rings on our fingers, and she would burst into fits of giggles again.

“Rachel.” I gritted my teeth.

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