Page 17 of The Games We Play

A total turn off for me.

I have yet to answer any questions about me, because, well,he hasn’t asked any. And he can’t stop talking about himself. He’s talked about his job as a general contractor, his love for stand-up comedy, and disc golf. So not only do we lack chemistry, but we lack anything in common.

I continue to smile and nod as I try to give him my undivided attention while I appraise him, studying his dark features. His thick jawline and high cheekbones pair well with his dark brown eyes and slightly curly, shaggy hair.

He’s handsome, but all I can envision is him with a bandana and he’d look like Rambo. I smile at the memory of my own personal Rambo, and yet hate how much the memories of our moments feel as happy as they do painful.

I peer over the shoulder of wanna be Rambo, and flinch as I seehimagain—his eyes meet mine and I feel his presence all the way to my bones. A shiver runs through me as I blink hard. I position myself in front of my date to avoid staring at a stranger that Ithinkis him again.

My date is still talking about disc golf…I’m still unsure how there is so much to say on the topic, but I distract myself by tilting my head to peek over his shoulder again.

The table is empty.

Of course, it’s empty, because I’m going crazy.

But, he felt so real that time.So real.

“Would you excuse me for a minute, Jeremy?” I interrupt my date’s topic of lighter versus heavier frisbees, and the importance of their use in game play.

Standing, my chair scoots back and I place my napkin on the table, then head straight to the women’s bathroom.

Fortunately, it’s empty and I’m able to give myself a moment to splash some cold water on my face.

I’ve never been one to wear much makeup. In fact, I never do when I teach, but on nights like this, I do wear a little foundation and mascara. I avoid splashing any over my eyes so I don’t end up looking like a raccoon for the rest of the night.

God, I’m really losing it. Seeing him tonight,feelinghim like I just did…thathas never happened before.

Puffing my cheeks and blowing out some excess air, I realize now, I really do need to go back to Afterburn and ask for him. I need to confront that part of my past.

Patting my face dry, I toss the damp paper towel in the garbage and open the door to exit. I jump back with a gasp as I’m hit with a wall of flesh. My eyes trail up his torso, to his chest, and over the snug, charcoal colored shirt he is wearing under his sports jacket.

His jawline is smooth and tight, and then my eyes meet his. The ones I thought I knew so well, once timid and amiable, now look more experienced and confident. I always felt like Seamus was wise beyond his years. He was more mature than all the other guys his age, chivalrous and attentive, even back then.

As my eyes bounce between his, it’s the same old soul butdifferent.

My brows furrow as I realize…he's actually here.

The anxiety I was feeling earlier at the thought of him morphs into something else…frustration. The mix of his presence and my imagination has my mood changing in a kaleidoscope of emotions.

“What are you doing here? Are you following me?”

“We need to talk.” The deep bass of his voice vibrates through me.

So not only did he have to grow up into some god-like structure, but he also sounds like Zeus on steroids.

“I’m a little busy right now.” I cross my arms over my chest and his eyes flicker, oh so quickly, to my cleavage that’s now pushed up from my forearm shelf.

“Lose the date.” His deep voice isn’t angry, it’s factual. Like he already knows I’m going to listen. “He’s going to bore us both to death.”

My eyes widen as my eyebrows hit my forehead, and my shocked face is an understatement.

The audacity he has.

And how the hell does he know how boring he is? He’s not wrong, but still.

After all these years, here I am seeing ghosts of him, wondering if I’ve lost my mind, and now he’s appearing out of nowhere, coming at me like a bullet train with no brakes.

“Mimi.” He cocks his head at me like, he can’t believe I’m not obeying his stupid, bossy order.

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