Page 20 of Pretending I'm Yours

She had to learn all her love lessons the hard way.

The thought makes me pause on the wide, paved path leading toward the employee entrance to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

I’m sure there are lessons I’ll have to learn the hard way, too, but in order to do that, I have to stay alive long enough to learn them.

Is this really safe?

Meeting a man I barely know down a dark path beside the closed garden on a night when there’s no one around to hear me scream?

“He’s been thoroughly vetted,” I whisper, curling my fingers into fists inside my mittens. It’s a relatively warm winter evening, but I’m glad I brought my wool mittens and matching scarf. Wandering around a garden is bound to get chilly after a while. “Background check and routine physical and…everything else.”

Everything else, including an STD test Twyla emailed me this morning along with the other paperwork and my receipt for payment…

It was six months old, but the results were all negative and Twyla assured me that Anthony had taken some time off and hasn’t had a “client” since last summer.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been with a woman since then, during his “off the clock” time.

Or a man…

Maybe it’s the rural Maine girl in me, but it’s hard to imagine a man like Anthony being completely straight. He’s too polished, too fit and toned and perfectly pulled together. His suit was clearly a bespoke, custom fit creation and his shoes probably cost more than every item in my wardrobe, a fact I’m aware of only because my friend, Elaina, has a thing for clothes. Without her, I would be too backwoods to recognize Italian leather or the fact that normal suits don’t hug a set of broad shoulders like that.

The only men who dress like Anthony back home are Ken, the hairdresser my cousins trust with their highlights, who has a boyfriend in Portland, and Larry and Fritz, two insanely hot lobstermen who have been denying their love while drunkenly making out behind the pub every other Friday night for years. But the rest of the dock workers turn a blind eye to it, as long asLarry and Fritz are back to pretending to be “just good friends” come Monday morning.

Even in this modern age, being gay or bisexual isn’t something the people of my hometown are comfortable with. They aren’t actively judgmental, but it’s obvious most prefer a “don’t ask, don’t tell, and please don’t be too gay in public, okey dokey?” policy in Sea Breeze

It’s just another reason that I’m starting to feel like I belong somewhere else. I hate that my two gay friends from high school didn’t feel safe or welcome in our town. And I hate that so many people, especially in the older generation, see change as something to be fought, tooth and nail.

As far as I can tell, change is the only thing you can count on in the world. Change is inevitable. You can either accept that, and lean into the excitement of transformation, or resist it and be dragged, kicking and screaming, into whatever the future holds.

“No kicking and screaming,” I say, starting back down the dimly lit path, mentally adding,unless Anthony actually is a serial killer, and then I’ll kick and scream like a champ.

But he’s not a serial killer.

And he’s even more gorgeous than I remember…

As soon as I turn the corner to see my drop-dead sexy date standing in the warm glow of a gas lantern by the slightly ajar back gate, wearing a tailored gray wool coat and red scarf the same deep crimson as my own, my fears melt away in a rush of warmth and excitement.

It’s the way he smiles that does it—like he’s thrilled, and a little bit relieved, to see me. He seems every bit as excited about our date as I am.

Besides, there’s a folded blanket and a picnic basket sitting by his feet, and I’m pretty sure serial killers don’t feed you dinner first.

“You should have told me we were doing a picnic,” I say, my face heating as he rests a hand lightly at the small of my back and leans in to kiss my cheek. My eyes slide closed, my heart beating faster as his spicy smell floods through my head, and my nerve endings sizzle to life the way they did last night in our private room. “I could have brought wine or fancy Italian soda or s-something,” I stammer as he pulls back, gazing down at me with an intensity that makes me feel beautiful and desired and…nervous.

Very nervous.

Tonight, I’m finally going to learn what it’s like to be naked with a man. Heck, with another person, period. I wasn’t an athlete like my friend, Sully, and I’m not comfortable prancing around the beach in tiny bikinis like Elaina. I’ve never changed in a locker room, and all my swimsuits are one-pieces.

If Anthony gets me out of my fleece-lined jeans and white cashmere sweater, I will be the most naked I’ve ever been with anyone besides myself.

And Pudge, but he doesn’t count. Cats are notoriously unfazed by nudity and Pudge is unfazed by just about everything except the weird sound that was coming from the hotel’s ancient radiator this morning.

But that’s the reason I’m here, after all, and so far, Anthony doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that I’m probably twenty pounds over my fighting weight and can’t remember the last time I hit the gym. I’ve been too busy working to make time for more than a long walk after work, but the way his fingers curl lightly into my hip through my coat, lingering for a long beat before he steps back, makes me feel like I might have a sex vibe, after all.

At least with him.

“I’ve got it all covered,” he says, reaching for the basket and blanket. “Both alcoholic and non-alcoholic options, and a fewthings in case you’re a vegetarian. I was already at the store by the time I realized I forgot to ask.”

“No, I’m not a vegetarian,” I say, following him toward the cracked gate. “That’s not allowed in my part of Maine. Meat eating is expected, and seafood is on the table just about every night. My uncle and half my cousins work on fishing boats, so…”

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