Page 5 of Take Two

He doesn’t offer any more arguments. He walks with me through the busy street as if this is our norm, and we’re not two strangers who would rather take a chance on each other than spend another night alone.

Chapter 3

Violet

He’s quiet as we take the elevator to the top floor of my apartment building. It’s a small one compared to most in the neighborhood. The bottom floor is commercial space, which is where my gym islocated.

“Welcome,” I say once I manage to unlock the front door. I reluctantly had to let him go so I could find my keys. My two-bed, two-bath apartment is big for Manhattan standards.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I say. He takes off his blazer, and I take it from him to hang it in my coat closet. He follows me into my kitchen, and I’ve never been so happy that I keep a clean house. My kitchen is spotless. That’s one of the things I learned from my mother. “Here are all my takeout menus. If you want something other than pizza, that’s fine with me. I hope you don’t mind if I take a quick shower while you look through those menus.”

His dark eyes roam over my body, but then he clears his throat and looks away. “Take your time,” he says.

Without another word, I walk down the hall. For some reason, I can feel eyes on me with each step I take. I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, he’s watching me. When I turn and lock eyes with him, his cheeks pinken and he looks away. He has the same embarrassed look on his face as when I first spotted him on the street.

Once I know I’m out of his line of vision, I sprint to my room and go into my bathroom. After the fastest shower in history, I return to my room and debate on how to dress. In the end, I decide on a simple blue sundress that’s both conservative and sexy. I take my hair out of the French braids and run my fingers through it. It’s naturally curly, so I don’t have to do much with it, especially since I washed it this morning. I don’t usually wear makeup in my line of work, but I put on light foundation and lip gloss. I add some mascara, and when I’m satisfied with how I look, I leave my bedroom.

His back is to me. I don’t think he hears the sounds of my feet against the hardwood floor. He’s so tall that I can’t tell what he’s looking at, but I’m positive it’s one ofthe menus.

I walk around him and open the fridge. “How do you feel about honeydew melon?” I ask.

“It’s fine with me,” he says. “I’m pretty easy.” His accent has gotten stronger since I ran into him. I wonder if that’s because he’s nervous.

“Great. I’m going to make us a delicious summertime mocktail with honeydew, lime, mint, and sparkling water.”

“Oh, Jesus,” he says. It sounds like he said Jaysus, and I find that endearing. “You said you wanted a drink. You should have one. I’m gonna go and not bother you anymore than I already have.” He puts the menu down and looks around. “I don’t want to keep you from anythang,” he says.

“You’re not. Well, you are.” He blanches at my words. “You’re keeping me from eating alone in front of the TV like a loser.”

His shoulders sag in relief and he sits down at the kitchen counter. “Well, we’re a match made in loser heaven then,” he says, finally grinning. I almost fall over when I see he has two dimples when he smiles. His brother only has one. “I’d like to stay,” he says as if I haven’t already invited him here. “I could use some impartial company.”

“Great. Now, what kind of pizza do you like? I’ll order it, and then I’ll make our drinks.”

“I’m easy. Pepperoni is fine with me. That’s what I always make for Evan and Johnny.” If I had a man this fine cooking in this apartment, I’d lock him in here and never let him out. “And if you want a drink, it’s fine. It doesn’t bother me when other people drink."

I’ve never been around anyone in recovery, and I don’t know the risks of drinking around an alcoholic. For tonight, I won’t have any. I’m not a big drinker, and it’s not a big sacrifice forme to go without. If I was here alone, I’d only be drinking water anyway.

“Pepperoni it is,” I say, not responding to him about the drink. I take out my phone and place an order from a local restaurant. After doing that, I make our drinks. I typically add two shots of vodka to this whenever I make it for my dad or friends, but that’s not an option tonight. After filling two tall glasses with ice, I pour and hand him his. I hold mine up and he clinks as I take a seat next to him at the island. “So, what could have possibly gone wrong on your date?”

The woman must clearly be blind. The man is handsome, sexy as sin, and clearly a gentleman. He has this shyness about him, and I can’t figure out why a man who looks like this is alone on a Friday night. I guess it’s good for me, so I won’t question it too much.

“Judgement-free zone,” I tell him when I see him debating whether or not he should talk.

“She wanted to get a drink before dinner at a bar. I told her I’m an alcoholic and that I don’t go to bars. She said that wouldn’t work for her because she likes to drink, and she wasn’t going to give that up. She said I should have told her I was a drunk before she wasted her time. Then she said good night and walked away.”

“Ouch,” I say. “Rude.”

“Now, I’m second guessin’ myself. Should I have told her? I have no freakin’ idea. Despite being thirty-four years old, I have no clue how to date because I spent the last thirteen years in a dang bottle. This is yet another thang I allowed alcohol to take from me. First, it was my basketball scholarship, and with it, my hopes of ever playing professional basketball. Then it was a relationship with my only sibling. Any form of normalcy went out the window. A woman? Not one who wasn’t a drunk too.You know what it gave me though? Stress. Shame. Self-loathin’. Unimaginable jealousy of my baby brother because I thought he got the life that should have been mine. Let’s not forget the looks of disappointment and hurt only your mama can give you. Oh, and it gets you abandoned on a Friday night even though you didn’t want to go on the dang date to begin with.” After all of that, he puts the glass to his mouth and takes two big sips.

“Okay,” I begin, while I try to ingest what he just told me. “I’m assuming you didn’t tell her before because it never came up. As soon as it did, you told her. And good riddance. She sounds like a jerk. You don’t need that. You have to put your sobriety first.” I put my hand on his wrist and give it a squeeze. He gives me a sad smile. “Forget her,” I tell him as I reluctantly move my hand.

“I know,” he says. “It’s just that datin’ back home is impossible. It’s a small town, and the only thing anyone ever wants to talk about with me is my brother. I thought it would be different here. It might be different, but it ain’t better.”

“How many dates have you been on here?” I ask.

“Only that one,” he admits.

“Baptism by fire,” I tell him. “It can’t get any worse, right?” I hit his shoulder with mine to cheer him up. “My sister is three years older than I am. She’s an actual rocket scientist at Bell Labs. She’s freakin’ brilliant, and then there’s Violet, the college dropout. My mom was so disappointed and made my life so miserable that I went to visit my dad for three months. He was living in London at the time,” I add. Mom was playing hardball to get me to go back to school. She said I could not move back in, but my dad wasn’t having that, and let me live in his apartment when I came back. “She refused to let me move back into the house with her.”