Page 58 of The Woman in 3B
“That sounds like the exact speech I give to women who get too clingy,” I deadpanned.
“I don’t think you’re clingy!” she insisted. “I just want to be realistic about expectations.”
“I wasn’t asking for a ring, Anissa,” I said, shaking my head. “But I have fun when I’m around you. And I hope you have fun, too.”
She dropped her head in an uncharacteristic show of bashfulness. Her long hair fell in front of her eyes. “I have fun with you.”
“Good,” I smiled. Her affirmation bolstered my confidence. “Now that we’ve established that we’re both a lot of fun, I have a serious question for you.”
She looked up at me, her hair falling back into place.
I took a breath. “Do you like baseball?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I was trying not to overthink my outfit. We were going to a baseball game, not a fancy restaurant. We would be sitting in the sun all game, and not in the air conditioned comfort of a darkened movie theater. I’d chosen high-waisted skinny jeans instead of shorts so the backs of my thighs wouldn’t stick to the narrow, plastic seats. I only had one shirt with the team’s logo on it, so that had made that decision for me. I’d gotten the shirt as a free giveaway the last time I’d been to Comerica Park. Free ballpark shirts were typically extra large, so I’d rolled up the sleeves and had cinched the extra torso material into a knot that showed off a sliver of my pale midsection. I’d left my hair down, flat-ironed to submission. A well-loved and well-worn Tiger’s baseball cap would keep my hair in place and the sun off my face.
I frowned at my full-length reflection. This was as good as it was going to get.
My body was filled with a different kind of trepidation when I parked my car in front of Anissa’s home. Dearborn was positioned halfway between Romulus, where I lived, and downtown Detroit, so I’d offered to pick her up and drive us to the ballpark. The first time I’d dropped by her house I’d been walking in blind with no real expectations. But now, weeks later, we were at a completely different place. For one, we’d had sex. And sex tended to complicate everything.
I still couldn’t understand why she’d chosen me. I wasn’t anything special—nothing to write home about. It made me worry that maybe I was convenient. She’d admitted to not having time to date and being bad at relationships, and I’d practically fallen into her bed, complete with gift wrapping. I’d been the only one around in Philadelphia when she’d propositioned me, and I’d shown up on her Dearborn doorstep not much later. I worried that once the convenience of our situation ran its course, so would her interest in me.
I was only halfway up her walkway when her front door opened. I immediately second-guessed my extra-large, free t-shirt when she stepped into the sun, looking perfect. She wore a fitted Detroit Tigers home jersey, the material blindingly white as if she’d never even thought about spilling mustard down the front. The jersey was unbuttoned just enough to show off her chiseled collarbone. A tiny gold cross on a thin chain rested near the hollow of her throat. Her makeup was light, and her hair curved around her face and shoulders in generous curls. Skinny jeans and white Keds with no socks finished off the outfit.
A femme-presenting woman wearing sports team gear made me clench all over. My body didn’t stop seizing when she skipped down her walkway and greeted me with a kiss.
The kiss was brief—little more than a quick peck—but it was welcomed.
She pulled back and smiled, showing off her deep dimples. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” I returned.
She tugged at the front brim of my hat, pulling it lower on my forehead. “This is cute.”
I tugged my hat back into place. “You are,” I juvenilely retorted.
I wasn’t expecting the second kiss. Her hands fell to my hips and her lips softened against mine. I made a surprised noise into her pliable mouth when her hands traveled to my backside and squeezed. The kiss made me think about the two game tickets in my car’s center cup holders. We technically wouldn’t be missing out if we never made it to the game. The tickets had been free—a company perk. My airline had season tickets to Detroit’s major sports teams, and we could put in requests to get free tickets every once in a while. I wondered how much convincing it would take for her to turn around and go back into the house and upstairs to her bedroom.
When she deepened the kiss, her tongue probing my mouth, my thoughts took a left turn. I thought about how out in the open we were, practically making out in her front yard, the full sun shining down on us like a spotlight. The side yards were small in her subdivision and the houses were close together. Her neighbors would only have to look out a window to see us. I wondered how close her family lived; she had said they lived in her neighborhood. She was Out to her family, but were they supportive? How did she identify? She’d had sex with women before, that much was obvious, but did she actually date them? What had been her longest relationship? And why had it ended?
“I’m glad we’re doing this.”
My brain had started to spiral out with so many questions that I hadn’t realized she’d ended the kiss.
I licked my lips, tasting her minty toothpaste on them. “Me too,” I agreed.
We started to walk down the sidewalk to where my car was parked. Anissa seemed to bounce on the balls of her feet, light and carefree, while my stomach continued to churn with unsettled nerves. I became suspicious when she started to lag behind, just a few steps. Maybe she’d forgotten something back in the house.
I looked back to her. “What is it?”
Her head tilted to one side. “Your ass looks particularly delicious in those jeans,” she remarked.
The open compliment made me strangely uneasy, but I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because I had no idea where we stood. Was she ogling me as a friend-with-benefits or was this an actual date? Was she going to situation-ship me like everyone else?
My nerves still hadn’t settled between the drive from Anissa’s house to the downtown stadium. I felt only mildly better after she let me buy her a hot dog and a beer from the concession stand.
We balanced overpriced draft beers and steamed hot dogs wrapped in wax paper as we climbed up the stadium steps. My company’s seats were actually really nice. We were in the lower bowl, along the third base line, and on an aisle so beer runs and bathroom breaks wouldn’t disturb the entire row.
