Too Good to Be True(51)

Heterosexual. Praise be.

The bartender handed me my drink, and I passed him a twenty in a daze. “Keep the change,” I murmured.

“I got us a table,” Lester said. “Over there, in the back. Shall we?”

He led the way, which meant I got to look at his ass as we twisted our way through the crowd. Vowing to send Margaret some flowers, do her laundry and bake her brownies, I mentally thanked her for fixing me up with Lester the metalsmith, who was so much more than “attractive in his own way.”

“I was really psyched when Margaret called,” Lester said, sitting down. He already had a beer, and he took a sip from it now. “She’s so cool.”

“Oh,” I said, still in full idiot mode. “That’s…yes. She is. I love my sister.”

He grinned, and a little whimper came from the back of my throat.

“So you work at a school?” he said.

I gave myself a mental shake. “Yes, I do,” I answered. “I’m a history teacher at Manning Academy.”

I managed to complete several sentences on what I did and where, but I couldn’t relax. This man was just unbelievably good-looking. His hair was thick and kind of long, waving gracefully around his face. He had incredible hands, strong and dark with long fingers and a healing cut I yearned to kiss better.

“So, Lester, what kind of metalsmithing do you do?” I asked, swallowing.

“Well, actually, I brought you one of my pieces. A little gift to say thanks for meeting me.” He reached into a battered leather bag next to him and fumbled for something.

A gift. Oh! I melted like…well, like a hunk of molten metal, of course. He made me something.

Lester straightened up and put the object on the table.

It was beautiful. Made from iron, an abstract person rose up from the base, the metal twisting gracefully in a fluid arc, arms raised to heaven, iron hair flowing as if greeting a gust of wind on a summer day. “Oh, my gosh,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” he said. “That’s one of a series I’m doing now, and they’re selling really well. But yours is special, Grace.” He paused, looked at me with those dark, dark eyes. “I think you’re great, Grace. I’m hoping that we’ll Grace.” He paused, looked at me with those dark, dark eyes. “I think you’re great, Grace. I’m hoping that we’ll really connect. This is sort of a good faith gift.”

“Wow,” I said. “Yes.” As in Yes, I will marry you and bear us four healthy children.

He grinned again, and I fumbled for my drink and drained it.

“Excuse me one second,” Lester said. “I have to make one quick call, and I’ll be right back. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” I managed. I could use the time to get myself under control, since I was practically teetering on the brink of orgasm. Who could blame me? Mr. Beautiful Gypsy Man liked me. Wanted a relationship with me.

Could it really be this easy? Imagine bringing him home to meet the gang! Imagine having him as my date the next time Natalie and Andrew invited me over. Imagine Callahan O’ Shea seeing me with Beautiful Gypsy Man!

Wouldn’t that be the coolest! Good God!

I snatched my cell phone from my bag and punched in my home number.

“Margaret,” I muttered urgently when she picked up. “I love him! Thank you! He’s amazing! He’s not attractive in his own way! He’s unbelievably gorgeous!”

“I just turned on Gods and Generals,” Margaret said. “Do you really watch this crap?”

“He’s amazing, Margs!”

“Okay. Glad to be of service. He seemed pretty hot to meet you. Actually, he asked me out first, but I flashed the wedding ring. I regret that now,” she said, sounding mildly surprised.

“Oh, here he comes. Thanks again, Margs. Gotta go.” I pushed End and smiled as Lester returned and sat down.

My whole body pulsated with desire.

For the next half hour or so, we managed to talk. Actually, I was the one having a hard time of it and so tried instead to show that I was a good listener, despite the fact that I was barely paying attention, thanks to the lust that roiled inside me. Dimly, I heard Lester tell me about his family, how he became a metalsmith, where he showed in New York and San Francisco. He’d been in a long-term relationship (with a woman, which put any lingering fears to bed), but things hadn’t worked out. Now he was looking to settle down. He loved to cook and couldn’t wait to make me dinner. He wanted children. He was perfect.

Then his cell phone rang. “Oh, shoot, I’m sorry, Grace,” he said with an apologetic smile, glancing at the screen of the phone. “I’ve been waiting for this call.”

“No, no, go ahead,” I said, sipping my G&T. Do whatever you want, baby. I’m yours.

Lester flipped open his phone. “What do you want, bitch?” he demanded, his face contorting with fury.

I choked and sputtered, lurching up straight in my seat. Around us, patrons grew still. Lester ignored us all.

“Well, guess where I am?” he barked, turning slightly away from me. “I’m at a bar with a woman! So there, you disgusting whore! And I’m going to take her back to our house and I’m going to have sex with her!” His voice grew louder and louder, cracking with intensity. “That’s right! On the couch, in our bed, on the kitchen floor, on the goddamn kitchen table! How do you like that, you cheating, miserable skank?” Then he flipped his phone shut, looked at me and smiled. “So where were we?” he asked pleasantly.