We stood in the parking lot with another car’s lights shining on our legs. The restaurant lights cast a shadow on his face, but I still saw his smile. I closed the distance and stood on my toes to touch my lips to his.
Instantly I knew our kisses matched. A nibble here, a nip there, a chuckle. I felt his smile against mine.
He made a pleased sound. “Mm, I think we’re going to have some fun.” I giggled and kissed him again, let my hands roam up his broad back and to his neck. He smelled good, too, this big, brawny man.
I flashed back to the night I kissed Bones for the first time and that pleasant surprise at being kissed expertly. It’s so rare, that perfect kissing match.
I don’t put too much stock in it beyond the pleasure of the moment, but a good kiss is something special. It feels like catching a glimpse of the first firefly light or seeing a shooting star streak across a dark night sky. It feels lucky.
The date had been pleasant, but the kiss instilled a sliver of hope I hadn’t felt as we talked over dinner. He was outgoing, bold, sexy, confident, very successful, a father, and filled with stories to share. I shared my own stories, but not because he asked. He never asked.
He texted later to say that he’d checked both chemistry and communication off his list. I have only checked chemistry; date #2 will help decide the communication box.
Earlier in the day my mother asked me if I was going on a date for my dinner plans. “Yes,” I said obliquely.
“Ooh! Who is it?” She tried to sound casually interested, but didn’t even come close.
“He’s just a dude, mom.”
“Oh, ok.” She sounded hurt, but there’s no other way of describing him. He is just a dude I met — on a sex site — and I knew very little about him beyond one pleasant late night phone conversation.
My sister called minutes later and also inquired about my evening plans. “I’ve got a date.”
“Stay home and talk to me,” she said.
“No, I made a commitment!” I laughed.
“You’re such a Golden Retriever, Hy. You say yes to everyone.”
I didn’t like that she said that and don’t think it’s true. “No, maybe he will be someone worth knowing,” I said, “and I won’t know unless I go out with him.” I hung up and drove to the restaurant thinking about what she said.
I’m the first to admit that I might give a man more chances than he deserves, but can you blame me? What if someone is spectacular on the 3rd date? The 5th? I suppose if there’s nothing by #5 it’s a pretty done deal and even sometimes I know by #1.
It’s the repetitive nature of the whole ordeal that gets tiresome. The date, the kiss, the processing. Wash, rinse, repeat. It’s like a tedious chore on the one hand and a meditative practice on the other. After all, everyone loves to slip into a nicely made bed.