Page 40 of For the Win
“Not just about him, no, but he was a big catalyst.” He was also the moment I realized that, at some point, I’d given up on really making things better. If I hadn’t, I would have reported him.
“All I’m saying is you’ve kept yourself so busy for so long, that you haven’t taken a moment to look around to see if what you want in your life is different from what it was ten or fifteen years ago. Maybe subconsciously you knew that, so you took a break from being Super-Educator. Now you’re with the one man you couldn’t get out of your head. The man you yearned for like a sad horny puppy because he was completely out of reach. Only he’s right in front of you. I think you should give it a chance and see what happens.”
She really did know me too well. “He might not be interested.”
“You’re too pretty for your own good and too smart for anyone else’s. I’m willing to bet anything that he’s interested. Trust me and trust yourself. We got ourselves out of some shitty situations and banded together to make something better out of our lives. We survived, but life is about more than survival. It’s about growing and thriving. About being happy. You deserve to be happy.”
A half hour after we say our goodbyes and hang up, I’m shoving myself into Michael’s extra pair of too-large boots and wrapping a scarf around my face because he hasn’t come back in yet and I’m sick of being alone with my thoughts.
“You deserve to be happy.”
The morning after is turning into the afternoon after, and I can’t even start thinking about maybe possibly putting myself out there if he’s planning to avoid me until the snow melts.
“Wish me luck, girls,” I say to the dogs before bracing myself and heading out into the snow again.
As I shove my hands into my pockets and follow the trail Michael made through the thigh-high snow, it occurs to me that I’ve missed the Valentine’s Day madness that always descends on my school during the month of February. Paper hearts and candied hearts and broken hearts—requiring heart-to-hearts from yours truly—after some mean girl or oblivious boy scoffs at true love. It’s a time of sugar highs and emotional lows, and I’m oddly okay that I’m missing it this year.
I was never big on the holiday, for obvious reasons. My Valentine’s Day is in September on Val’s birthday, and my favorite thing about it is how embarrassed he gets when we call it that. Anyway, there are better things than bad poetry and boxes of chocolate for my students to focus on in February, imho. Like the alliance with France, which we signed in 1778 so we could come together, win independence and stick it to England. That’s the kind of commitment I can get behind.
Have I mentioned I’ve never been tempted to actually date someone before? I didn’t go steady in middle school, I always went to high school dances with a pack of friends, and in college I avoided all two-person study groups that could be misinterpreted as a date. Unless it was with a guy who obviously didn’t want to open his textbook or stick around for cuddling after.
Now instead of being grateful he isn’t in my space and asking for more than I’m willing to give, I’m voluntarily heading toward a red barn that could contain either an untold number of eldritch horrors or a solitary man hiding out from his one-night stand.
I’m pursuing him, while he’s probably out there hoping that the breakfast he left has cushioned his rejection.
It was a damn good breakfast. I’ll give him that. And I can understand not wanting a confrontation you have no legitimate way to escape without hurting someone’s feelings.
I’ve been guilty of what I call the Hover of Shame before. It’s like the Walk of Shame, only there is no actual place to walk—because you’re waiting a stupidly long time for your ride—so you have to linger in a bathroom or on a balcony for hours until the body in the bed either heads back to the party you both attended or passes out.
The Hover usually only happens when you have regrets but no obvious escape route. The sex wasn’t that good, or it was horrible, but his friends are in the living room. You flirted hard with one guy, but you went upstairs with someone else and you’d like to leave before things get awkward.
Or Mother Nature decided to trap you with a man you wanted to hook up with once, but it still hasn’t stopped snowing the next day so you’re stuck with him. For example.
I freeze indecisively outside of the barn door.
I can do this. And I need to do this. If he’s regretting my continued presence or my potential expectations, I’ll handle it. I’ll tell him what I told Bex. I don’t do dating or relationships. It’s not my thing.
He’ll be relieved. We’ll laugh about it. And then we can go back inside and play Scrabble and hopefully get another orgasm in before some plow guy comes to free us from the one-night stand that won’t end.
With anyone else, I wouldn’t be lying. But with Michael? Yeah, pretty sure the only person I’m fooling is myself. But he never needs to know that.
When I see him, he’s digging through his rental car and swearing at himself. This time in English. “Where the hell is it?”
“Anything I can help you with?”
He hits his head on the interior roof before finding me with his gaze. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”
“Looking for the guy who went out for wood and never came back.” I give him a quirky grin, inwardly cheering when his expression warms. He doesn’t look unhappy to see me. “It’s still snowing, and I was worried I might have to rescueyouthis time.”
He runs a hand through his short hair, wincing at the tender spot he just gave himself. “I thought I’d give you a little breathing room to have breakfast and talk to your friends. When I finished chopping firewood, I decided to come in here. I can’t find the DVDs.”
“What DVDs?”
“The show you like.” He makes a face. “The weather channel says this won’t let up until tonight, and I worried it might upset you to be stuck here for that long. I thought if I could find them, you could show me your favorite episodes, and I could teach you a few words in Turkish.”
Is this guy even for real? He wasn’t lingering outside because he was regretting last night. He was worryingI’dwake up regretting it and trying to find a way to make me more comfortable. Giving me time to vent to my friends. Shivering in this barn while he tried to find a show I’d randomly mentioned once. Or twice. What is he even doing with a copy?
Did I just have a revelation? Is the dragon a not-so-secret cinnamon roll, with his tiny dogs, his fancy cookies and his kindness? Have I temporarily shacked up with a closet romantic?
