Absolutely Unforgivable(2)

“Pop the hood and let’s have a look,” he said as he tapped his hand on the front of my car.

Seriously? He’s good looking and he knows about cars too? Now I was impressed. I fiddled around until I found the right button. He looked under my hood for just a second, and as I was getting out, he walked over to his own and pulled out his jumper cables. I leaned over the hood and watched him closely as he attached them to my car, then his own, and before long my car was ready to go.

He disconnected the cables, and I stood back as he closed the hood of my car and then his own. “I’ll tell you a little secret, if you leave your lights on it tends to wear the battery down,” he said with a playful grin on his face.

I looked down at my headlights that were beaming brightly and suddenly I felt a wave of embarrassment come over me. He wiped the dirt he had gotten on his jeans and then stuck his hand out to mine to shake it. “I’m Jeromy Fagen.”

I felt my hands begin to tremble as I tried to answer him. When I finally managed to speak my words stumbled over one another. “I’m Stacy, Stacy Keller. I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new to the area?” I don’t know why I felt so intimidated by this guy. I guess it was because he looked so divine.

“Yes, I am, actually. I’m originally from Texas.”

“What in the world brings you to Tulsa of all places?”

He told me as he was putting the jumper cables in the back seat of his car and slamming the door shut, “I’m here for work. I’m in the oil industry. We have some property in the area we are looking into.”

Figures. It seems that most people that come here are either looking into the University of Tulsa, or somehow related to the oil and gas industry.

He walked up and stood next to me, leaning against the side of my car. “And how about you?”

“Tulsa girl, born and raised,” I said with a sheepish grin on my face.

“Well then, maybe you can show me around sometime,” he said as he handed me his card with his cell number and email address on it.

I hesitated before taking the card. I didn’t want to appear rude; after all, he did just help me jump start my car. But I knew even if I did put it in my purse just to be polite, I would never call him. Even if I was the kind of girl who called guys, which I most definitely was not, I wasn’t the kind of girl who was stupid enough to call him. I had seen the girls swooning over him tonight. I’m just not into that kind of guy. I want someone who only has eyes for me. I want someone who makes me feel special. I don’t want to feel like I have to get in line and take a number.

As I politely tucked his business card into my purse, I thanked him for his chivalry and let him know it was late and I had to be up early tomorrow for an English Lit test that I wasn’t looking forward too.

When I got home I did my best to fall asleep, but it wasn’t easy. I couldn’t get Jeromy out of my mind. Just as I started to fade into a deep slumber something struck me. Work required the female staff all wear low cut shirts and as a result, when most men spoke to me to give me their order, they did so while staring at my chest. I didn’t really mind all that much, and if it meant bigger tips, all the better.

But Jeromy didn’t do that. When he had ordered his drinks, he spoke to my face and not my breasts. I don’t know why I didn't notice earlier. I guess I was so used to every man doing it, I just didn’t give it much thought any more.

◊

About a week later Jeromy made his way back to the bar. Just as before all the girls stared as he walked in and sat down in front of me. “You didn’t call me,” he said with an almost sad look on his adorable sexy face.

I looked up at him to say I was sorry but was taken aback by the stare that had such depth you could be consumed by his eyes alone. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I meant to, I really did, I just got so busy with work and school, time escaped me.”

I immediately felt bad for blatantly lying to him like that, but there really was no point in me calling him. Jeromy just isn’t my type. I don’t think I could date a man who was so damn good looking. He can’t even walk into a room without all the heads turning his way. I don’t like being the center of attention. That would drive me crazy.

Just then a drunken college girl came up to him and asked if she could buy him a drink. She was a tiny little thing, who barely weighed a hundred pounds, and had overly large breasts that were falling out of her tight red dress which didn’t leave much to the imagination. Luckily I didn’t need to worry if he’d seen through my lie about meaning to call him because he was distracted with other things at that moment.