Page 32 of The Last Good Man

I don’t know what to say to him.

I want to be a good human, but even if I get a moment of real intimacy with him, he’ll resent me, particularly for that.

If not tonight or tomorrow morning, when he’ll have his coffee in the breakfast nook while scrolling mindlessly through the headlines on his phone, then next week when he’ll go to his office.

Or when he’ll set his eyes on someone else, trying to forget this moment of vulnerability.

So it wouldn’t do much for either of us.

“I believe you,” I say in an unwavering voice, although we both know he’s headed that way.

You can’t fight nature, which puts things in perspective for both of us.

For himasinmaybeplayingthe dating game forever is not what he thought it might be.

And for measinperhapsfinding something meaningful and real attached to these encounters is more important and urgent than ever.

“And it has nothing to do with you,” I say, which is true. “The evening was perfect,” Iadd, rising to my feet and shimmying my way into my dress before putting my shoes on. “If it wasn’t for that craziness outside, I’m sure we would’ve had a nice time,” I murmur, smiling while half-zipping my dress.

He’s still, lying in bed, drinking me in.

If nothing else, the man is infatuated with me.

I get that a lot lately, although thatpretty muchsums up my encounters with them.

“Do you mind?” I ask, sweeping all my hair over one shoulder.

My words jolt him out of his reverie.

“No. Not at all,”hesays, smiling, moving past the mountain of embarrassment that shook throughhiscore moments ago and back to being a gentleman.

He pulls his boxers up, erases the distance between us, and tenderly zips up my dress before sliding my hair back and kissing the top of my head.

For a second there, we have a wonderful moment, and he is more than a man who––rightfully so––couldn’t produce an erection while I get a glimpse of what I’m actually missing in my life.

And it’s more than an erection.

It’s that rare, beautiful connection.

7

MELODY

“I’ll call you on Monday?” Thomas says, resting his hand on my shoulder.

A smile tugs at his lips.

“Yes. Monday. Sure… We can do that,” I say, realizing he’s cleared his weekendofme.

No problem.

I’ll have more time for myself…to reflect.

Going to Connecticut might be a go as well.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call a cab for you?”

“Positively sure.”

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