Page 33 of The One I Need
She playfully slaps me on the arm as I laugh at my horrible joke.
“I’m sorry. Go on.”
“What I was going to say…when we went back to your room, what transpired that night was not what I was expecting. At all.”
I hurry and take a few steps so I’m now in front of her, walking backward. “Not expecting in a good way? Or a this-is-a-pity-date-because-of-how-bad-it-was way?”
This makes her smile. “Surprising in a very,verygood way.”
I’m so glad I moved in front of her, because now I can see the slight blush hitting her cheeks as she remembers back to that night.
“Well, I’m glad, then, that I could surprise you.”
She stops walking, which I do as well. “Mission accomplished.”
I’ve never had a poker face. So the fact I’m not jumping around, doing a happy dance, and immediately activating the group text is a big deal.
It’s also taking every muscle in my body to not reach out and touch her. Nothing big. Just holding her hand. Or slipping my arms around her waist. Anything. But I know she was insistent this wasn’t a date, so I’m respecting her wishes. She was also very clear that this wasn’t going to lead to anything romantic. Therefore I know it would be in my best interest to keep this as platonic as possible. Which is so unlike me—my love language is physical touch. And acts of service. And gift giving. And of course I can’t leave out words of affirmation. Yes, I know that is four out of five, but I have a lot of love to give.
“So back to the start of the conversation,” I say, needing to get back on track so I don’t keep thinking about how soft her skin looks. “Are you saying that you can’t figure me out because one second I was a sad single at a wedding, then turned into a sex god—I know you didn’t use those words but I’m assuming that’s what you meant—and now you find out that I teach children for a living. Am I right?”
She nods. “Something like that.”
I have a feeling there’s a little more on her mind. “And?”
“And what?”
“And you weren’t done with whatever you wanted to say.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because,” I say, taking a step closer to her. We’re now almost touching, and while I know exactly what I’m doing, this isnota good decision on the part of me who is trying to keep this night casual. “I can tell that there’s something else on your mind. And I never want you to hold back.”
This earns me a smile. “Okay. What I was going to also say is that yes, all of the parts of you seem random and no way can they be connected. But the more I get to know you, the more I’m realizing they actually fit perfectly together.”
We share a smile as we turn around and start walking back toward downtown. I put my hands in my pockets, because otherwise I’m going to touch her. The small of her back isright there.
How am I not supposed to fall in love with this woman? She’s beautiful. Funny. Seemingly gets me. And to top it off, she laughs at my stupid jokes. I really wish I would have told the guys about her, because I need all of them right now to tell me not to ask her to marry me.
Again.
But I don’t. I take a few deep breaths, count to ten, and think about football stats and blue cheese dressing while continuing to walk with her. I keep my hands in my pockets for safety measures. Because I know me, and I know at some point I’ll reach for her hand. And I’m not about to ruin this night because my hand doesn’t know when to be cool.
“So have you always wanted to be a teacher?” she asks.
“Only thing I ever wanted to be,” I say. “My mom was a teacher at Rolling Hills, as well. She taught older grades, but I remember sitting in her room and being in awe of how she connected with every student that came into her classroom. There were kids she didn’t even have in class that came to her for advice. I remember the outpouring of love she got when she announced her retirement. That’s why I work with young kids and older kids. The younger ones astound me with how their minds work. Knowing I get to have a part in helping them learn about the world, and themselves…there’s just nothing else like it. And with coaching football, I can teach those kids life lessons and how to be good teammates and, in turn, good people. Because there are a lot of assholes in the world, and if I can do my part to make sure the future isn’t filled with them, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
Izzy doesn’t say anything for a second, which of course causes my mind to mentally beat myself up about talking too much. I have a habit of doing that. Or so I’ve been told by a few ex-girlfriends.
I’m so in my head about oversharing that it nearly makes me jump when I feel Izzy’s fingers on my arm. I look down to see her wrapping her arms around my arm, her head tilting in toward me, as we continue our walk.
“You really are something, aren’t you?”
I can’t hold back my smile. Or keep my hands in my pockets as I bring her in closer.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome.”
