Page 81 of Love Resurrected
“I can’t,” I say.
“You can and you will. It’s what Kat wanted. You know that. You can’t spend the rest of your life with a ghost, man.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Yeah. I do. Is that what it will take to make you enjoy yourself and keep an open mind tonight?”
“Maybe.” He can’t be serious about making a bet, it would be stupid. Only because I’m being stupid. Shit. “No. I’ll go. I’m going.”
“And you’ll keep an open mind?”
“Yes.” I sigh.
“And have a good time?”
“But of course, Dad. Anything else?”
“That’s my boy.” He claps me on the back between my shoulder blades, as though delivering an accolade, only harder.
I’m serious when I tell him I’ll try, but I’m not expecting good results from it. Kat is—was—the love of my life. There is no coming back from that. I have no problem being alone, no problem being celibate, no problem never being involved with someone again.
I’m self-aware enough to know it’s backwards thinking on my part. Because if she was my one great love, and she’s gone, then no one else will ever have the power to hurt me like this again. But on the flip side, I’ll never have that same joy again. So, why bother? I already know how good it can be, why settle for less? Isn’t that just setting both myself and the other person up for disappointment?
Then I remember what the grief counselor said about the different kinds of love, and how a new love can be just as potent without diminishing what you had before.
Fuck me.
I watch Tenley finish up her phone call and tuck her phone into her pocket. She’s wearing some kind of loose top and shorts with a wide, tight waistband separating them. The shirt appears to be cut in a V all the way to the waistband, but it doesn’t look like she’s about to pop out of it. I’m surprised to realize I’m a little disappointed by that. Her legs are bare, and she’s wearing heels that are sexy as hell.
She looks good.
I move forward to push the door open for her just before the reaches it.
“Oh!” She startles. “Thank you.” She steps in the station and looks around at the empty room. “So,” she starts, and claps her hands together once. I’m relieved to see that she’s obviously as uncomfortable as I am.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“After you.” I open the door again and follow her out. “This will be good, right? It’s like dinner and a show.”
“Definitely,” she says. “That way when we tire of talking to one another, we’ll have something else to keep us entertained.”
We both laugh at that, but I’m not sure if she’s being serious or not.
* * *
The ride to the restaurant is quiet, with each of us alone in our thoughts. I keep accidentally looking at her legs while I’m driving, remembering back to happy hour and the bathroom, and how those legs felt wrapped around me.
It was good.
I need a subject change in my brain, so I turn up the radio and sing along to the song playing: “Blue on Black” by Kenny Wayne Shepherd. It’d be a good song to fuck to. God, the male mind is so fucked up. My dick is more than ready for more Tenley, and a part of my brain goes right along with it. But then there’s that other part that sides with my heart, that says we aren’t ready for that again. We may never be ready again. But thinking of not being ready for sex is still thinking about sex, which means all systems are a go to my dick. Who is now uncomfortably hard in my jeans.
Fuck my life.
We pull into the parking lot as the song ends.
“You have a nice singing voice,” Tenley says, surprising me.
