Page 34 of Lessons in Love
Hands are up in surrender as he backs away. “Oh, man, sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s new.” I look back at her. “And going well.”
He slaps a twenty down on the bar. “This should cover my drinks. Good luck to the both of you.”
Virginia is laughing. “Thanks.” When she turns back to me, she says, “Do I detect a hint of jealousy in your actions? Or just helping a girl out?”
“Maybe both. Definitely both.”
Resting her elbows on the bar, she leans closer, and says, “I feel the same about you. That’s how I know it’s time to go. I know you don’t want that line crossed and it’s too easy for me to fall for your cute?—”
“Ass?”
“I was going to say charms, but ass works too. When’s our third lesson?”
“Saturday night?”
“Yes, it will almost be like having a date.”
Yeah . . . almost. I sigh. “Your place or mine?”
She swings her coat around her and slips her arms inside. When she reaches for the zipper, Chopin’s “Funeral March” begins playing as sadness consumes me watching the girls disappear. They were definitely a highlight of my night. “How about mine? If you’re free all night we can have dinner out and then go back to mine for the lesson?”
“Sounds good. I’ll text you with details.”
Happiness covers her face. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“So am I.” I walk around to walk her out.
“I need to pay out.”
“When you’re here, I buy.”
She nudges me in the side. “You know the way to a woman’s heart.”
Suddenly feeling like I don’t know women at all, I just nod while looking down at my feet. “Yeah, I’m the expert.” Except when it comes to her. We head for the door and I throw my arm out for a cab. She has her hands in her pockets. When a cab pulls to the curb, I signal one minute. Turning to Virginia, I lift her hood up, protecting her from the cold. The tip of her nose is already pink, so I kiss it. Any excuse really. “Be safe and text me when you get home. Okay?”
She nods. “I will.” Moving closer, she lifts up and kisses my cheek. “Thank you for earlier.”
“My pleasure.” Literally.
“Have a good week.”
“You too.”
She dashes to the taxi and gets in the back. I do the universal sign for roll down the window to the driver like they actually hand crank down these days. I hand him plenty of money to cover her fare and his tip. “Take care of her and drive safely.” Looking back at her, I feel sadness for a different reason other than her boobs being hidden from view, but I don’t dare admit it. Instead, I cover, something I’ve gotten too good at doing lately. “When you’re not around me, wear a bra. It draws unsavory attention from men when you don’t.”
She starts laughing. I know she sees right through me though she’s nice enough to play along. “Okay, Hardy. Good night.”
“Good night.” I back away and watch the cab leave. This is becoming a habit I don’t like. Her leaving.
Insta-love, whatever that is. It’s a bunch of phooey is what it is. Watching her cab drive away, I think next time I’ll ask her to stay.
***
By Thursday, I miss Virginia. We exchanged a few casual texts over the last few days—hi, hope your day is going well, sweet dreams, and that kind of thing. But then one night she sends my favorite: Thinking about you. Along with the text, she sends a photo of herself in a bubble bath. I can’t see her face as the camera is facing the other direction. Look, I’m not saying she sent it to get a rise out of me, but I rise to the occasion no problem and jack off twice to that photo in two days.
I’m not embarrassed to admit that I did the deed with her photo next to me. I’m embarrassed that I did the deed with only her knee poking through the bubbles. That’s it. One bare, wet, lustful, tempting and teasing kneecap. Damn that’s a sexy photo. There might be something to this insta-love theory. Though I’m leaning more toward a chemical imbalance. Holding the bottle of pills up from five feet or so away, I ask the guy behind the register, “What do these do?”
