The Lineup(80)

“Just so you know, if you did make a fool of yourself, I’d still like you. I’d still go back to your apartment with you, and I’d still mount you.”

That puts a full-on smile on his face. “I see what’s happening here.” He stops at a kiosk and gets a water for both of us. When he’s finished his he says, “The tough girl from the boardroom, the ruthless vixen who makes men in suits cry . . . what she’s really into are sensitive men, men who will pull out the emotions she usually has to hide when dealing in business. Am I right?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say that’s how I am always, but I think I found someone who matches me nicely, who makes me escape my head, and shows me the fun in life, the beauty in everyday things.”

I’ve only known Jason for a few weeks now, but even in those weeks, I’ve come to realize one thing: he does make me feel like a different person. He helps me see the positive, how to bottle it up and experience it. Not that I was a super negative person before he came around, but I’d forgotten it was okay to stop, take a breath, and intentionally live in the moment.

“That’s a big compliment. Thank you, Dottie.” He kisses the side of my head and chuckles.

“What?”

“That old lady back there. She read our shirts.”

“Let me guess, a gasp with a cane shake?”

“You could not be more right. I think she’ll be writing a handwritten letter to the park tonight before she hits the hay at five thirty. A perk of getting older, eating dinner at four, yelling at some children for being too rambunctious, and then flopping into bed before the nightly news.”

“Why do I see that as a future reality for you?”

“You can see me as an old man?” We walk through an arch, indicating a new land, the carnival games up ahead. “Am I hot, bald? Bet my nutsac is super wrinkly.”

“Isn’t it already wrinkly? Scrotums aren’t pretty.”

“I beg your pardon?” Jason brings his hand to his chest in total shock, the color in his face coming back as his quirky personality starts to awaken. “Scrotums were carved by God and placed on a man as his own personal Baby Bjorn. Day in and day out, men are carrying the future of the world’s children between their legs. It’s a struggle every day, keeping them safe, making sure we don’t zip them up after a pee, protecting their intelligence from incoming kicks and punches. Women bitch and complain about having to carry a baby for nine months in their belly. Try a lifetime of carrying a dangling sac between your legs with the fear of getting punctured every day by a pencil.”

I don’t . . .

I can’t . . .

Why?

Why do these thoughts cross his mind? And why does he voice them in such an oddly charming way that I’m laughing but also funnily appalled at the same time?

Instead of defending the obvious and getting into an absurd debate that will only result in him going on a playful tirade of nursing his unborn children, I give him a simple answer.

“The sacrifices men make. Unbelievable. You should have your dicks sucked every night for your heroism.”

“I could not agree more,” he says, chest puffed, as if he won.

“Then again, sticking your dick into a woman’s mouth is like shoving your children into the belly of the beast. Letting your unborn kin be swallowed whole while you welcome the all-consuming pleasure from it. Maybe you’re not as heroic as you think you are.”

There. Take that, Jason.

I smile coyly to myself.

“God created blow jobs for one reason: so men can dispense of the moronic sperm.”

Did not hear that coming . . .

“Okay, so if that’s your theory, how do you explain the people on this earth who stick their heads in microwaves and think it’s funny?”

“Easy. Their dads didn’t do a good enough job seeking out blow jobs. I’m not saying we’re all perfect, but I’m sure as hell saying I am. Which by the way”—he stops and lifts my chin but doesn’t kiss me—“thanks for swallowing my idiots yesterday. You did the world a service.”

I’m starting to think Jason’s dad didn’t get enough blow jobs in his younger years . . .





“You’re totally crushing on me, aren’t you?” Jason asks from the driver’s side of his car. After we played quite a few carnival games, where Jason showed off his talents and earned a giant, stuffed Tweety Bird, we found a grateful little girl to take it off our hands.

There are a few things I need to make known.

I’ve never seen anything sexier than when Jason flipped his baseball hat backward, cocked his arm back, and demolished every throwing game available. His arm rippled, his shirt clung to every muscle in his back, and he wore a smile the entire time, genuinely having a grand time. He helped me win a few games, but all in all, I stood there and watched in awe the pure strength power through his body as he tackled every carnival game.

I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as much as I have today. We didn’t talk about anything too serious, just had a good time bantering back and forth. Most of the time, it was him going off on some weird tangent I had a hard time following, but the passion in his completely ridiculous tangents had me buckling over and sprouting giggles everywhere we went.

And finally, I don’t think I’ve ever swooned as hard as I did when Jason found a little girl to give the giant Tweety Bird to. He carried it around under his arm, scanning the amusement park until he found a little girl with the cutest pigtails bouncing up and down out of pure joy that he was approaching with the stuffed animal. But that wasn’t all he looked for. She had Down syndrome, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget the smile on her face. The total and unfiltered delight. And her parents? They were so grateful, but when they realized who was giving their sweet daughter the stuffed toy, they freaked out. Jason took his time talking to the dad about the upcoming season. He signed a napkin, and then took a few pictures. My favorite was the one of him holding the girl in one arm and in the other was Tweety. Adorable. The parents already tagged him, and Jason—because he’s the greatest guy I know—is trending in Chicago from the kind gesture.