Choosing Her Lover

Seated at the bar, he is watching the door as I walk in. He stands as he sees me, smiling. “Debbie?”

“Ryan?”

He looks good enough to eat. Beckoning me to the barstool by him, “What can I get you?”

“Red wine, please. Did I keep you waiting long?”

“Not at all, I just arrived a couple of minutes ago.”

As he waves over the barman, I study him. Ryan understated himself in his profile; tall, with strapping shoulders and a lean fit build. Dark, slightly wavy hair and a light tan set off his white smile and dark eyes.

He is disconcertingly attractive. There’s usually a reason that someone who looks this good is on the dating circuit, even when it’s only for sex dating.

Fourth finger, left hand…. No, nothing there….

Nice hands though…. long fingers….

Holding two glasses of wine, Ryan eye-points me across the room. “I hope I’m not out of order here, but I booked us a table. Even if we can’t stand the sight of each other after a couple of hours, at least we’ll have a good meal inside us.”

He sees me looking askance at the table. Holding both hands up, almost warding me away, “Hey, it doesn’t mean I’m making any assumptions other than it’s the end of the working day, and I’m guessing that you’re hungry. I certainly am.”

Feeling foolish. “Yes, sorry. My suspicious nature….”

He looks at me oddly.

Weighing me up?

I think so, yes.

“Shall we sit?”

He seats himself opposite me, ignoring his wine, gazing at me. Chin propped on a fist, he is, very obviously, looking me up and down.

“So, what’s the deal?” he asks. “Women who look like you don’t tend to appear on dating sites like that one. There’s generally some guy in the background beating the jungle drums.” He glances down at my left hand. “And if you ever wore a wedding ring, there’s no sign of it now. Have you ever been married? For that matter, are you married now? Is this supposed to be some kind of ‘on the side’, ‘playing away from home’ kind of thing?”

He's wary of me….

“Is this ‘Twenty Questions’? Yes, I’ve been married. But no, not now. Been there, done that….”

He laughs. “…. Seen the movie, read the book, got the tee-shirt, eh? That bad, was it?”

“Oh, yes, that bad. But I’ve got control of my own life now, and I’ll not be letting it slip out of my fingers again.”

He sniffs, reflectively I think. Not critically. “That’s why you’re doing this? You don’t want entanglements?”

“That’s right. What about you?”

a nightmare.

do yourself justice you know, on your profile. Very few

this where you tell me you think

a

pretty. Your features are quite strong, and your nose is a bit big for a

out laughing. “You’re a silver-tongued

I offended

out with some typical bit of patronising,

in his chair, holding my eyes, rubbing his

because I don’t think you’re pretty, doesn’t mean I don’t find you attractive. Quite the contrary. You’re just…. unusual, in more ways than one I think…. Can I

“You can ask.”

Debbie really

dating site like that, do you think I’m going to hand out my

quite dangerous doing what you’re doing, especially for

the rules. No name. No address. Meet in

to hear it. Have

the e-mail and messaging stage. Only one got past my first defences so

intrigued.

honey and cream. Y’know, a Richard Burton, or Morgan Freeman, or Alan Rickman kind of voice. But when I

his head. “Instantly?

moved across, all but pinned me into my seat. He kept coming too close, invading my space…. And there was something about the way he looked at me.

“What did you do?”

had a polite couple of non-alcoholic drinks, said graciously that it had been nice…. which it hadn’t… and we must do this again sometime…. which

out if he was really a screwball, or if

He was completely unzipped. Although he didn’t have my real name or where I lived, he did have my mobile number. The messages started coming in within five minutes of me leaving. They were polite enough at first, but when I said that it didn’t feel right

“In what way, strange?”

mind roamed. I don’t know if he imagined it was some

at all. But after an experience like that, you still

“Not everyone’s like him. And I’m not afraid of men in

this? How do you know that a man you meet like this isn’t a psycho in

the woman you meet in the theatre, or the library didn’t just walk out of ‘Play Misty for Me’

“Point taken. I exercise

“So….?”

a casual thing.

tied at the hip. I like a

no dreams of white

“White horses?”

carry you

I laugh. “Not me.”

would this be, um…. exclusive?” he

just want to pass by every few weeks… and you want