What Lovers Do(12)

“Tele-dating?”

“Yes. We’re dating via phone.”

“We’re conversing, not dating.”

“No, Sophie. We were conversing. At least, that was the plan until you just had to know what I was wearing. You can’t uncross that line.”

“Uh … I can and I did.”

“Nope. I thought we’d discuss the weather, then move on to hobbies, favorite vacation spots, and maybe share our bucket lists. You’re the one who initiated phone sex right off the bat.”

I open my mouth then shut it. I do this several times without anything coming out. He remains silent.

“I’m wearing white fitted capris, a floral blouse, and no shoes. My toenails are painted hot pink. My hair is its usual stringy mess, even more so now because I’m on my bed and it’s been a long day.” I tug at my lower lip, waiting for him to make some well-calculated comment.

He says nothing.

I’m not sure we’re still connected.

“Shep?”

“I’m sorry about your friend’s brother. I’m sure he’d be proud of you for finishing what he never got the chance to do.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. “Now who’s keeping my terrible story alive?”

“How tall are you? I was trying to estimate it. Five-three? Not even? You’re very petite.”

“Five-four.”

“Just barely.”

I laugh. “Just barely still counts. How tall are you? You’re freakishly tall.”

“I’m not. Six-two. Six-three if I’m trying to show off.”

“Show off? Like a bird puffing out its chest and lifting his head?”

“Exactly.”

I’m not going to marry him or even go out on a date that’s beyond a phone call, but I can’t remember the last time a guy made me grin so much. Jimmy has sucked the life out of me so incrementally, I didn’t realize until this moment just how much I’ve missed this kind of conversing.

“I should go. Cersei needs her dinner, and so do I.”

“It’s been fun.”

I bite my thumbnail. There’s no way I’m agreeing no matter how much I’m thinking it.

“You have my number now.”

“I do,” I say as if it’s no big deal.

“Goodnight, Sophie.”

“Night, Shep.”





CHAPTER EIGHT





SHEP





“What? For the love of god, out with it.” I say to Howie, my best friend, as I tee off. “You’ve had a constipated expression on your face all morning. Who died? Did one of your testicles fall off in the middle of the night? Is Caroline cheating on you with her boss?” I return my driver to my bag.

“It is about Caroline, but … wait … why would you think she’s cheating on me with her boss?” He removes his ball cap and scratches his closely shaven head before repositioning it.

“I don’t think she is. I’m sure she’s not, but sometimes you have to do the math.” I release the brake on the golf cart and speed down the path.

“And what’s the math?”

“One: You’ve said your sex life is in a rut. Two: Millie said Caroline’s boss used to manage a fitness center, and she blew out a disturbingly deep sigh when she said it. Three: Millie and Caroline are in a book club that predominately reads romance novels. One plus two plus three equals six.”

“And what is six?” Howie asks.

“The answer. I’m just trying to be a little more original than two plus two equals four.”

“Shep, dude, good thing we’re friends, or I’d really be worried about your one plus two plus three state of mind. You need to get on a dat—”

“Don’t say it.” I skid to a stop and hop out, grabbing a five iron. “If you turn into Millie and start talking about dating apps, I will divorce you too, but it will be my idea not yours.”

“How else are you going to meet someone? Get laid? Get an occasional hand job … if you’re working at a pet store every day next to a woman in her fifties?”

“Maybe a customer comes in.” I line up my club and smack the ball. It’s a shit shot. Howie’s in my head. “Maybe she’s a single woman with olive skin, dark hair just below her chin, wispy bangs, and sexy glasses that instantly demand attention. And you know about her. A feeling because she gives you a look.”

“That’s uh … really specific, man. Does said woman exist?” Howie struts to his ball a good fifteen yards away from mine. After he drives it straight toward the hole because no one’s in his head, he makes his way back to the cart.

“Her name’s Sophie. She’s an optometrist. She has a poodle or maybe a doodle named Cersei Lannister. Granted, she’s single but unavailable. It’s a new status, I guess. Anyway, I’m looking into it.”

“Well, from the sounds of things, twelve plus forty plus seventeen equals sixty-nine. That’s your lucky number, Shep.”

I grin. “Shut the fuck up. What were you needing to tell me? Something about Caroline?”

“Oh, yeah, that. I already mentioned it. Slipped it right in there without you noticing. Sometimes I do that to Caroline too.”