Page 9 of The Widower's Girlfriend
I feel that flutter of his eyelid all the way to the tips of my toes, setting me on fire again.
The doors finally shut and the elevator climbs, the jerk in motion pulling me out of his spell. I’m confused, wondering who the heck this man is, really. The one whose eyes softened as he talked about his late wife, or the one who took a selfie with strangers without a second thought.
One thing I do know: he intrigues me and I’m attracted to him. Plain and simple.
Neither making me happy.
Flashing my key card, I get the door to my hotel room open, stepping inside to a cold room, smelling like an ash tray. Okay, maybe more like a cross between an ash tray and a fish market. A stench that lingers in the nasal passages and permeates clothes.
Just my luck.
I flop down on my bed and stare at the beige ceiling wondering why I’m here. And why am I more nervous about running into Walker again than I am having to go to battle with my friends? I indulge in a ten-minute pity party, spending nine of those minutes going over every word of my conversation with Walker, rather than girding my loins and preparing for my girlfriends to whack me over the head with my single status, how I held them up, and why my purse is from Target and not a designer label.
When I’m more depressed than I can stand, I force myself up, deciding to hang up my clothes and get moving rather than lie here and hate my life. When everything is put away, my phone dings, signally an incoming text.
Diana: Dinner at 7 p.m. at Simon’s. Hydrate now!
Oh great. Dinner at a top-rated restaurant won’t be cheap. Reminding myself it will be one of the last, since this is the last trip I’ll be going on, I pull out a little black dress and eye it on the hanger.
It’s cut modestly in the front, but dips quite low in the back. Plus, the skirt flairs and flutters when I walk, which I find highlights my long legs. It’s tasteful (-ish), it’s feminine, and I’ve never had an opportunity to wear it. But when you find the perfect LBD for a great price, you buy it. It’s Rule #7 in the women’s handbook you’re given at birth.
What the handbook doesn’t tell you is what to do with handsome men who perplex you and make you feel conflicting things. Which is why I sit in the hotel room chair and spin maniacally, staring out the window to the city streets below. The dizziness is welcome, if only a respite from the confusion that grips my gut.
Text? Or don’t text?
My phone lights up when I place my thumb on the wheel, coming to life and taunting me with how easy it would be to text Walker. Then I hear that fake laugh he gave the bellhop and I chicken out, letting the screen go dark. This goes on for several rounds before I get another text from Diana.
Diana: Guess what?? Justine just showed us the bridesmaids’ dresses! You’re gonna love yours...it’s the prettiest shade of pumpkin you’ve ever seen! Perfect for a fall wedding.
The idea of Justine picking a dress I actually like is preposterous, on par with the chances of them stopping their bashing of my no-husband status. I’m envisioning walking down the aisle in an actual pumpkin costume, which I’d bet next month’s salary isn’t far from the truth.
It’s with thoughts of being the squash-dressed loser at Justine’s wedding running through my head that I pick up my phone and find Walker’s number.
Before rational thought can re-engage in my brain, I thumb out a message.
Me: Dinner with the girls at 7 p.m. at Simon’s. Wanna join me?
I wait a few seconds, but don’t see a returning bubble. My foot starts tapping and my palms get sweaty. My phone dings, and I almost drop it, bobbling it clumsily.
Walker: I’ll meet you there at 7. ; )
I laugh out loud, more from a need to release this crazed energy than from anything funny. Walker doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to use a winky face, but then again, do I really know him at all?
Biting my lip, I savor the feeling when I formulate what to text back to Diana. It shouldn’t give me such a gloating feeling, but there you have it. I’m shallow, I admit. I only wish I could see her face when she reads my text.
Me: Can’t wait to see it! PS - Add an extra seat at dinner for my boyfriend.
Bubbles instantly appear after I hit send.
Diana: WHAT?
Diana: Tell me EVERYTHING
Diana: Spill it, woman!
Diana: Hello??
Diana: Oh, that’s just cold. You’re going to make me wait, aren’t you?
