Page 23 of The Last Good Man

He's forty-four years old and has never been married. Is he a high-value man? Of course he is. Any dating coach worth their salt would say something doesn’t sound right if he’s still a bachelor.

He tilts his gaze to his drink, smiling at a memory, and I relish that moment because it makes him look imperfect and, therefore, more human.

“I’ve gotten close to a couple of women. Both times, I was in different stages of my life. Later, I learned my needs had changed as I’d gotten older.”

His statement piques my interest.

So, where do I fit in his story?

He’s suddenly looking at someone like me because…?

“In what way have your needs changed?” I ask, and his eyes meet mine.

I don’t think I’ll like the answer.

Why me?

Because I’m younger? More ambitious? Look like a trophy wife?

Or is he more patient? More lenient? And professionally speaking, he knows more than me?

“The first woman happened when I was very young.”

“As in?”

“I was in my late twenties, and she wasvery attractive.”

Ouch.

“Not that you aren’t,” he rushes to add.

Double ouch.

“It wasn’t about that,” he says, realizing he needs to stop digging the holedeeper. “Shewasn’t serious about anything.”

I’m flattered, but I wonder if that’sactuallya good thing for me. Maybe my needs have changed too.

It’s not as if I don’t want someone serious about life, but I alsowantpassion.

And passion is hard to find these days.

“So that didn’t work out. And then, the next time I met a woman I wanted to settle down with, I was so eager to do it that it became a turnoff for her… And you?” he says, moving his focus back to me.

“Uh…”

I wish I had an answer like his.

“I didn’t think about it? And then, um…” I stop and crack a smile. “What makes you think I’m looking to settle down?” I ask, still grinning while buying some time.

“You asked me why I wasn’t married, so I figured it was important for you too.”

Oh.

This conversation is so different than the foreplay I envisioned.

“You know what? Let’s not talk about it.” I say, setting my glass down and hoping tomove backto a different topic. “I’d like more wine,” I add.

“Sure,” he says, pouring me another glass. “At least finish your thought,” he murmurs. “You said you didn’t think about it.”

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