Over Her Dead Body(23)

As I pulled up at the golf course (early, as usual), I was so fired up I almost called Ashley right then and there. I wondered if she was a morning person—aren’t all dog people morning people?—and what she might be up to today. Is she working? Playing tennis? Rollerblading on the beach? Now that I had spoken it out loud, I felt some urgency to actually be seeing someone. I didn’t want to be a prick and a liar.

Of course it occurred to me that she might already have a boyfriend. I was getting vibes that the shop was open, but as I knew all too well, those vibes can be misleading, even dangerous. Sexual chemistry is a mysterious beast, but I was pretty sure I knew the good kind from the bad. There’s the deep, dark, primal longing that rises up when a woman plies you with whiskey, then paints her lips with whipped cream and implores you to lick them clean. I’m not making excuses—what I did was wrong—just drawing a distinction. What happened between my lover and me was a blinding, visceral urge. What I felt around Ashley was more like curiosity—a nebulous attraction that intrigued and excited me. It was the difference between walking into a bakery and having your senses gently awakened by the sweet smell of something baking . . . versus having forkfuls of decadent chocolate cake fed to you by eager hands. Both are irresistible. One is a gentle tease that lifts your spirits like a cool breeze; the other is quickly devoured and leaves you feeling gross.

I forced myself to wait until after my game to make the call. I’d be more relaxed after spending the day with friends, and I didn’t want to seem overeager. “This is Nathan from last night,” I’d say. “I found myself thinking about you and was wondering if you might be interested in grabbing a drink sometime.” Simple and straightforward. How could she say no?

Bolstered by anticipation, I played well that day, which meant I was on the hook for the first round of drinks. It was still early—barely three o’clock—so the guys and I agreed to meet up after showers and fresh shirts for happy hour near the course. The two married men would bring their wives—eighteen holes plus drinks was a long day, and we singletons understood that we had to share. We were allowed to bring dates, too, and I suddenly got an impulse to invite Ashley. Yes, it was only two hours’ notice, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

I told myself I would play it by ear, feel out if she was busy before extending the invitation. She might not even answer. I hadn’t thought about what to do if she didn’t pick up. I never left messages anymore; if the person I was calling didn’t answer, I either sent a text or tried again later. I didn’t like the idea of asking a woman out over voice mail, but I decided it would be weirder to just hang up. If I got her voice mail, I would keep my message short and breezy and hope for the best.

I threw my clubs in the trunk, climbed into my car, closed the door, and dialed. She answered on the third ring.

“Hello?” Here we go.

“Ashley, this is Nathan, from last night?” I don’t know why I said it as a question—I knew full well who I was.

“Nathan, hi!”

“Hi.” Stay cool, Nathan, stay cool.

“I just got back from your aunt’s,” she said. And I wondered if I had misheard her.

“Oh?” I said dumbly.

“She’s trying to help me get a job,” she explained. “I probably won’t get it, but it’s nice of her to submit me.” No one had ever used the word “nice” in describing my aunt, but I kept that to myself.

“Oh! Well break a leg, I guess?” I think that’s what you’re supposed to say?

“I probably shouldn’t talk about it, it’s bad luck to talk about auditions. We actors are very superstitious.” She laughed and I found myself wanting to laugh, too. If I hadn’t been so nervous, I might have asked more about that audition. It was out of character for Louisa to want to help someone, and as far as I knew she hadn’t worked for years.

“Listen,” I said, “I don’t want to cut in on my aunt’s turf here, but I, um . . . well I really enjoyed meeting you and I was wondering if you might want to meet for a drink sometime, or even tonight?” I regretted the “even tonight” part as soon as I said it. It was aggressive and desperate and borderline disrespectful. But once again she surprised me.

“I’m free tonight.” She’s free tonight!

“I have to take some golf buddies to happy hour—”

“I’d love to meet your friends! I can be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Oh. Fantastic!”

And just like that I had a date.





CHAPTER 18




* * *



JORDAN


The sky was heavy with dusk, but I felt light as champagne as I drove home from the jeweler with my future in my pocket. There was a woman selling flowers on the off-ramp of our exit. The light was red, so I waved her over and bought a dozen roses. “I’m getting engaged today,” I told the flower lady as I handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “To the love of my life.”

She smiled and nodded as she took my money. I’m sure I sounded like a damn fool, but I didn’t care. I was ready to make this woman my wife, and I wasn’t afraid for the whole world to know it.

I was relieved to discover Ashley wasn’t home when I got there. I hadn’t showered after my morning workout and was smelling a bit ripe. Sunday was leg day, and I had worked up a pretty good sweat. I wanted to be fresh faced for the big ask, so first stop: shower.