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?”

nightmare. Just now, I prefer to

know, on your

where you tell me you

Are you a liar? A

Your features

out laughing. “You’re

“Have I offended you? I

expecting you to come out with some typical

in his chair,

I don’t think you’re pretty, doesn’t mean I don’t find you attractive. Quite the contrary. You’re just….

“You can ask.”

Debbie really your

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

dangerous doing what you’re doing,

name. No

hear it. Have you encountered any…?”

I manage to weed out at the e-mail and messaging stage. Only one got past my first defences

intrigued. “Really?

Y’know, a Richard Burton, or

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

“What did you do?”

of non-alcoholic drinks, said graciously that it had been nice…. which it hadn’t… and

if he was really a screwball, or if

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 and I didn’t want to see him again, they got first nasty,

“In what way, strange?”

what he wanted to do with me. And some of them were…. odd; revolting actually. I’m pretty broadminded, but I wasn’t interested in going the places his mind roamed. I don’t know if he imagined it was some kind of seduction technique, but it felt like stalking… I changed my phone number in the end.… Um, do

But after an

not afraid of men in general. I just exercise

that a man you meet like this isn’t a

How do you know that the woman you meet in the theatre, or the library didn’t just

grins, nodding. “Point taken. I

“So….?”

this would be strictly a casual thing.

Not me. I don’t want to be tied at the hip. I like a bit of fun a couple of

of

“White horses?”

armour, come to carry you off for happily-ever-afters in

I laugh. “Not me.”

“And would this be, um…. exclusive?”

to pass by every few weeks… and