Crazy Girl(14)

Threading his fingers together in front of him, one elbow resting on the bar, the other on the back of his chair, he smirked at me. How was he so relaxed?

“Did you know the Russians trained dolphins to find mines in the sea?”

I deflated, my shoulders dropping with his words. Was this really the story he was going with? He went on and five minutes later, I knew for certain, it was in fact the story he was going with. Wren explained in detail how the Navy had used dolphins and sea lions since the 1960s, but Soviet dolphins were trained to kill and were used to plant explosive devices on enemy ships.

When he was done, I sat there, staring at him, feeling numb. Maybe the whiskey aided in this feeling, but Wren was the main culprit. It was a creative story, I’d give him that, and as a writer, I could appreciate it, had he not avoided answering a real question with a real answer. That nagged me. Why was he avoiding answering?

“Sounds like an exciting job.”

“It is,” he agreed. Oh, boy… Slipping the scarf from his neck, he draped it over my head. I froze, unsure of what he was doing, again too curious to stop him. He wasn’t hurting me or assaulting me sexually so I let him continue. “Have you ever worn a hijab?”

I quirked my mouth, looking at him like he was nuts. I knew what a hijab was. A hijab is a veil traditionally worn by Muslim women in the presence of adult males outside of their immediate family, which usually covered the head and chest. I couldn’t say I was well versed on Muslim traditions, but I did know this. I knew, not because he had told me, but because I’d guessed from some of the photos on his profile, that he had spent time in the Middle East as a Marine. But what it had to do with me was beyond me. So while it was odd that he was wrapping me in a hijab in a small town bar on a Friday night, I also found it fascinating. I wanted to see where he was going with it. Maybe he wasn’t giving me answers to questions, but he was showing me something about himself unknowingly. “Uh, I can’t say that I have.”

Scooting toward me, he busied himself moving the fabric around my head and placing it so. When he was done, he leaned back.

“I can see the appeal in it.” He bobbed his head once or twice.

I didn’t respond. Was he saying he liked the idea that women had to hide their faces in public? If this was a woman’s choice, I supported that, but I loathed the idea that a man would just think a woman should do this.

Apparently, he saw the wild flicker of insult in my eyes and he held his hand up. “No. I don’t think women should have to wear one,” he clarified. “I just mean the surprise of it, what’s underneath, the way your eyes stand out right now. It’s…captivating.”

He was a skilled master in the ways of yo-yoing. Everything he said had me back and forth; his hand drifting, controlling me like a slender spool of string tied to his adept finger, pulling me in close then faraway again, up and down. One minute he’d say something that would have me ready to strangle him, letting me down, and the next…he’d get deep, raising my hope.

Holding his phone up, he said, “I need a picture of this.

He was an oddball. I laughed a little as he snapped the shot, thinking how ridiculous it was that he’d want a photo of me in a hijab. Of course, I was the one just sitting there wearing it after he’d dressed me in it like a doll.

As I pulled the scarf from my head, he gazed at his screen before turning it to me. It was a good picture; the scarf was a bright color that showcased my brown eyes well. Pointing at the screen, he indicated an area of skin showing on my chest.

“You see that little bit of skin right there?” he asked. The yo-yo swung up. His dark gaze moved back to mine, a sullen frown capturing his features. “That right there could get you maimed in some places over there. They cut off women’s hands and noses for that.” And the damn yo-yo dropped. Seriously…what the hell?

His mouth flattened as he placed his phone on the bar. Watching him for a moment, I tapped my finger against my glass, fighting myself. I loved dissecting people, and the more intrigued I was with them, the more intense I came off. It had taken me many years to learn to stop seeking and wait; listen. Most of the time if I was patient, I’d get the answers I sought. But it was hard. I was impatient. I was a sucker for complicated people, and I didn’t know much about Wren, but I could feel complicated rolling off him in waves. He was abrasive; he used sarcasm and humor to maneuver his way around a conversation with any topic that made him remotely uncomfortable; and he had an issue with committing, even to something as simple as what time we were meeting. He was the classic stay away from this guy man if I’d ever seen one. Yet there was a softness to him and a confidence I envied.

“So what is it you really do?” I pressed. I needed him to answer this, not because it mattered, really, but because I needed to know if he could. I’d had enough lies to last me a lifetime. I wanted honesty in the worst way. Was this date a joke to him? Would he not tell me anything simply because I asked?

He huffed, widening his eyes to add to the drama. “I told you, I’m a dolphin trainer.”

Shaking my head, I waved to get the bartender’s attention. When he acknowledged me, I announced loudly, “Check please.”

As I dug in my bag, Wren snorted. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I am.” My words were clipped and lacked the depth of my frustration, but I was attempting to get out of there without getting angry or making a scene. One lie turned into two, then three, and snowballed in size, and the next thing you knew it was a damn liar’s shit show. No, thanks. The part of me that still wanted to know him more was working my nerves. He intrigued me, which scared me. Being drawn to the complicated was expensive in many ways, and I wasn’t sure I had enough of anything to pay the price. The man couldn’t even answer a question. A normal What do you do for a living? question that anyone on a first date would ask was too difficult for this guy. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. He was a bit of a riddle, and though I was a sucker for unlocking mystery, I knew I needed to haul ass away from him. I was too…lost in my own life to let myself get caught up in his.