Page 72 of Shattered Lives

He raises his eyebrows. “Eminem inspires productivity?”

“Matching my rhythm to his cadence helps me get a lot done. That’s the same reason he’s on my running playlist.”

“I love playing music,” he says, his voice and eyes softening. “It transcends all barriers. People can come from completely different cultures, speak completely different languages, and be in completely different social circles, yet one exquisite piece of music can touch them all.”

His attitude is pure reverence. “You must play very well.”

He nods. “Piano and guitar. Drums as well, but piano and guitar are my favorites.”

“I can lose myself listening to piano music or an acoustic guitar for hours.”

He nods. “Lost in music is one of my favorite places to be.”

“I’d love to hear you play.”

He smiles slowly. “Anytime, Beautiful.”

There’s an emotional weight to his words that makes me uncomfortable, and I redirect the conversation. “What else do you like to do?”

“Work out. Box. Spend time in nature. Hang out with my sister and my nieces. Listen to motivational seminars. Listen to music.”

“Do you dance?”

His eyes twinkle with laughter. “Are you asking if I go clubbing? Not since my early twenties. A guy my age with a bunch of barely-legal girls grinding on him is creepy.”

I laugh. “Not clubbing. Just dancing in general. Lila insists there are only two kinds of men – men who dance, and men who are too chicken to.”

“I love slow dancing,” he murmurs, his gaze intensifying. “A dimly lit room, holding a woman close as her body moves against mine. Slow dancing is foreplay with clothes on.”

My smile fades. The seductive turn in conversation makes my heart accelerate, and not in a good way. I swallow hard as an invisible door slams shut.

His expression turns guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I shake my head and glance away. “I’m fine,” I say automatically, but the warm atmosphere between us has chilled noticeably.

I’m glad the waitress chooses that moment to bring our burgers, because discussion drops to a minimum as we eat and listen to the music. My tension gradually returns to a manageable level. When we resume talking, it’s merely surface level chit chat, nothing personal or provocative.

The obvious halt to any meaningful conversation is both a relief and a disappointment. I’d been having a good time until things turned suggestive. As soon as anything hinting of sexuality came up, everything soured, including my mood.

Maybe my sexual side isn’t merely dormant. Maybe it’s as scarred and ruined as the rest of me. I’m starting to think my gut feeling is right – that desire and arousal are no longer an option. The slightest sexual insinuation triggers my fear response. Deep gloom saturates my spirit.

The waitress clears away our plates and offers refills, but when I glance at my watch, it’s nearly midnight. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I should go.”

Blake stands and tosses a handful of bills onto the table. “Come on, Beautiful. I’ll walk you to your car.”

We walk side by side through the humid night until we reach the furniture store parking lot where I found a space. He waits as I unlock my door and toss my purse inside. I turn to him.

“Thank you for a nice evening.” I smile despite my discouragement.

His gaze holds mine. “I enjoyed getting to know you better.”

My smile fades as I study him, trying to gauge whether he’s going to try to kiss me.

I’m caught off guard by the octopus tentacles of anxiety clenching my heart, slamming it inside my chest. The sudden intensity startles me. Iron bands squeeze my chest like a massive python, and I’m left fighting to breathe.

Dammit! Not now!

I pant, gulping in air, but I can’t get enough. My entire body grows rigid. I clench my fists and widen my stance as though preparing to fight off attackers, but my vision goes dark. I’m fucking helpless, at the mercy of anyone who walks by, all because of my damn fears.

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