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?”

bit of a nightmare.

know, on your profile. Very few women describe themselves as

an eyebrow at him. “Is this where you tell me

a liar? A

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

“You’re

I offended

you to come out with some typical bit

chair,

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….

“You can ask.”

Debbie really your

a dating site like that, do you think I’m going to hand out my details to anyone before I’ve had a chance to

sensible. It’s quite dangerous doing what you’re doing, especially

the rules. No name.

hear it. Have you

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

looks intrigued. “Really?

on a date. He had a beautiful speaking voice, all honey and cream. Y’know, a Richard Burton, or Morgan Freeman, or Alan Rickman kind of voice. But when I met him,

his head. “Instantly?

he moved across, all but pinned me into my seat. He kept coming too close, invading my

“What did you do?”

it had been nice…. which it hadn’t… and we must do this again

he was really a screwball, or if

five minutes of me leaving. They were polite

“In what way, strange?”

revolting actually. I’m pretty broadminded, but I wasn’t interested in going the places his mind roamed.

at all. But after an experience like that,

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

your own judgement for this? How do you know that a man

do you know that the woman you meet in the theatre, or the

grins, nodding. “Point taken. I exercise my

“So….?”

a casual thing. You’re

want to be tied at the hip. I like a bit of fun a couple of times a week, and then my own

of

“White horses?”

come to carry you off

I laugh. “Not me.”

“And would this be,

to pass by every few weeks… and you