Page 17 of Body Checking
Me:You can show or not show me whatever you want. I’m here for it all. Show and tell or just talk. I just want to get to know you. All of you.
Maren:How about a little of both?
Me:Count me in.
I wait for her to make the next move and either ask a question or send a picture.
Maren:Two truths and a lie. You get rewarded when you guess the lie.
Me:I’m waiting…
Maren:I’m an only child. I once won a little Miss Houston pageant. I hate chocolate.
I think about it a bit, then guess.
Me:You’re not an only child.
Maren:Eeerrr. Wrong. I LOVE chocolate. Have you ever met anyone who doesn’t love chocolate?
Me:Yeah. Me.
Maren:What? Did you get dropped on your head when you were a baby? How can you not like chocolate?
Me:I just don’t. Just like, if you were to offer cake, I’d ask if you have pie because I don’t like cake.
Maren:OMG. I don’t know if this is going to work. I’m sorry. Bye.
Me:Haha. Very funny
But she doesn’t reply with a haha of her own. In fact, she doesn’t reply at all. And now I’m left sitting here wondering if it was the chocolate or the cake comment that sent her running.
Maren:Sorry. My friend called and she wouldn’t take none of your damn business as an answer as to why I couldn’t talk right now. Your turn. Two truths, one lie.
I breathe a sigh of relief and rest on the bed
Me:I grew up in Kentucky. I’m divorced. I didn’t start playing hockey until I was twelve.
Maren:Well since I know you were once married and hail fromthe small town of Bellevue, Kentucky, I’m going to say you did not start playing hockey when you were twelve.
Maren:And now my crazy stalker is showing. Feel free to erase my number and pretend you never met me.
Me:Hell no! Never. So you’re not scared off by my divorce?
Maren:No. It happens. I’m assuming it was a pretty low time in your life, but I’m sure it taught you a lot about what you want out of your next relationship and how to be the best version of yourself for it.
Me:How are you so wise at the young age of–I don’t even know how old you are Maren.
Maren:I’m twenty-six.
Goddamn! I’m thirteen years older than this girl. What the fuck is she doing talking to an old, washed up player when she can no doubt have any man she wants eating out of the palm of her hand.
Me:Fuck Maren! I’m divorced and old. Are you sure you want to be talking to me?
I figured she was young when I first saw her, but I was hoping she was at least thirty. It would make me feel less of a creep.
Maren:Does this look like I want to talk to someone else? >
I choke when I see the picture she sends. The robe she is wearing earlier hangs off of her shoulders and the camera catches her reflection. Her breasts are resting on her arm that cradles them, and her light brown nipples are erect.
