Conflicting Hearts (3 page)

“I thought we’d have a drink down the street at a small
Italian restaurant that I like. They have a cozy bar where we can talk, if
you’re sure you don’t want anything to eat.”

“I’m sure,” I say, feeling my stomach growling. I can’t eat
next to this man, or I’ll be running to the ladies’ room every five minutes.
Nervous heebie-jeebies and humiliation come in all forms when dealing with my
anxieties. It’s not worth the risk.

He walks alongside of me and makes no attempt to touch, for
which I’m thankful. I try and give him the benefit of the doubt, that this is a
friendly birthday drink and nothing more.
I can do this¸
I tell myself,
as he holds the door open for me to enter. A hostess quickly greets us.

“Table for two?” she asks, grabbing the menus and standing
at attention.

“No, just drinks,” he replies. He sounds disappointed.

He nods toward the bar entrance and leads me into the dark
lounge. Immediately, I see the romantic surroundings. The easy-listening music
is playing low, small candles illuminate the center of the tables, and a dark
mahogany bar with an ornate mirror and liquor takes up a long wall.

Ian, whose name I’ve been trying to get used to, chooses a
table off in the corner and pulls out a chair for me. All this polite masculine
treatment feels bizarre. I obediently slip myself onto the seat and try to act
natural. My hands are sweating, and my heart is in my throat.

He sits down across from me, and a waitress quickly
approaches to take our orders.

“What can I get you?” The server asks me first.

“Uh, Coke,” I respond, looking up at her hovering over us.

“No wine or maybe a mixed drink?” His eyes are wide with
surprise.

Alcohol will make me turn red as a beet. I’m already
self-conscious as it is, and I don’t need to make myself any hotter. Especially
around him, as I melt into his mesmerizing gaze.

“No, Coke, is fine.”

“Okay,” he says, turning his head toward the waitress. “Coke
for the lady, and a Bud for me.”

He’s a beer drinker? I thought for sure that he’d be
drinking some expensive wine that has a name I can’t pronounce. The waitress
puts two white napkins on the table, and scurries off to get our orders.

“Don’t you drink alcohol?”

“Um, sometimes.”
Not when I’m on anti- depressants
, I
think to myself, but I’m not going to tell him that.

“Interesting,” he replies.

Instantly, I think he’s disappointed that he can’t get me
drunk, so he can get in my pants.

“I’ve never been much of a drinker. I don’t like beer or the
taste of hard alcohol. A Merlot once in a while is okay, but I buy the cheap
brands. You know, the $3.99 bottle specials at the grocery store.” He laughs,
and I wonder what’s so funny—the fact that I don’t drink or my $3.99 cheapo
comment.

The waitress returns with his beer and my pop. As soon as he
takes the glass in his hand, Ian lifts it toward me. His dark and expressive
eyes flash me a sincere look that just about melts the ice in my glass.

“Happy thirtieth birthday, Rachel Ann Hayward. May you have
many more.”

My mouth falls open. I’m flabbergasted. His glass is
extended toward me, and he wants me to clink it in return. Nobody has
ever
toasted me on my birthday, and I’m red-faced over his kind gesture.

Regardless, I raise my glass in my shaky hand and quickly
give it that one-time clink and take a sip through the straw. It tastes
fantastic. The cold liquid slips down my throat helping to move the lump that’s
been there for the last fifteen minutes.

The usual speechless mode takes over as I look into his blue
eyes. Suddenly, I’m thinking thoughts I shouldn’t be—like what he looks like
without that suit. The dark atmosphere and the romantic background music play
havoc upon my female psyche. He watches me intently in return, while he takes
another sip of his frothy beer.

“Thank you for the toast. That was nice,” I blurt out.

“Hey, you’re thirty. Great time to be alive. I think the
thirties are the best years.”

“Why?”

He lowers his head and looks inside of his beer glass as if
he’s looking for the answer, then shrugs his shoulders.

“Oh, I don’t know about you, but I feel like I understand my
life, where I’ve been, where I’m going, and what I want.”

His eyes darken into a sexy stare, and I’m dumbfounded that
I’m picking up vibes from the guy that I rear-ended this morning. Is he my
birthday present from heaven or something? I smile at the thought and then slap
my foolish, wandering mind back in place.

“I’m not quite sure that I feel like you do.”

“How do you feel about being thirty?” He leans forward.

Lonely, pathetic, loser, doomed to die an old maid.

 
“Oh, I don’t know. Unsettled, I guess is the
only word I can think of at the moment.” I take a long sip through my straw and
soak up the sugar in the glass.

“How so?”

“You mean unsettled?”

“Yeah. Sounds like you haven’t found what you’re looking for
in life.”

Well, that’s obvious. Look at the lack of a ring on my
left hand,
I think to myself
.

I suddenly wonder why he’s not married. Of course, I’m assuming
he’s not married, because I don’t see a ring, but that doesn’t necessary mean a
hill of beans these days. After all, he’s  thirty-two years old, smoking
hot, and probably has plenty of money. If he’s unattached, maybe he has a
girlfriend or maybe he’s gay.
God, I hope I got that wrong
, I silently
muse for my sake.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Whoa! I flinch, wondering if he’s reading my musings over
him. “Nope,” I say, curling my lips in a circle and smacking them together.

He reaches over and grabs my left hand and thumbs my ring
finger. “Nothing there, so I’m guessing you’re not married either.”

“Nope.” I take a sip of Coke and look at him. I’m sure he
figured that out this morning. My tongue is twisted and tied at the end, and
I’m back to a one-word conversation.

“You?” I gulp.

“Nope,” he answers, smacking his lips, too, sporting a grin.

We both laugh, and then I realize he’s still holding my
hand. Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable. Very gently, I pull it away and grab my
Coke glass to cool off. I’m scared.

“You sure you don’t want dinner?”

He looks over his shoulder into the inviting restaurant. The
aroma of food is tempting. My stomach growls, and I’m afraid he’s heard it. I
cough to cover up the sound.

“Uh, no, that’s okay. No food.” My mouth is drooling, but I
know it will be a disaster if I agree to dine with him.

Ian takes a sip of beer and glances around the bar. He
suddenly seems awkward and ill at ease, and I wonder why. Perhaps he thinks my
spurning his dinner invitation means that I’m not interested in him. The way I
feel now, I certainly don’t want to leave that message, especially if he’s
interested in me. Then again, maybe he’s figuring out he’s not that into me. I
wish I’d stop trying to analyze everything. It’s exhausting.

“So, tell me about your job.” I grin with a bit of
enthusiasm to see if I can bring him back. “Do you like what you do?”

He returns his gaze and parts his mouth with a small smile.
Once again, he looks into his magic glass of beer for the words. I’m surprised
that I’m sensing a bit of shyness, and it makes me feel more relaxed.

“Yes, I like it. Hate the time I have to put in, but that’s
law firms.”

“Do you keep long hours?” I try and sound interested.

“Yeah, sometimes fifty to sixty a week, maybe more on
important deals.”

“Gosh, when do you have time to unwind and have a life?”

“Well, I don’t have much of one right now, but I don’t have
anything else to occupy my time.”

“Yeah, me either,” I admit.

“One of these days, I’d like to change jobs and work as an
in-house counsel at a large corporation. Usually, those types of positions are
a little easier on the hours.”

“Oh, are you looking?”

“Not seriously.”

He takes a sip of beer and keeps looking directly into my
eyes. I wonder what’s going on underneath that thick head of hair that I’d love
to run my fingers through. For some reason, I think he’s reading my thoughts
again, when a suggestive smile curls his lips. No, he’s thinking about sex, I
quickly conclude.
Men,
I inwardly grumble. Every twenty seconds, or is
it every twenty minutes, they’re thinking about screwing someone?

Of course, I should talk. It’s on my mind constantly. There
are times I think I’m a nymphomaniac, but since I haven’t had a good lay in
over five years that probably doesn’t qualify, or maybe it does. My thoughts
are running amuck, and I’d wish he’d say something.

“So, what do you do for fun?” He breaks the awkward silence.

“Uh, fun? What do you mean fun?” I sound like I don’t know
the meaning of the word, and I don’t.
Think of something
, I urge my
blank mind.

“You know, hobbies. How do you spend your time on weekends?
Things like that.”

“Oh, catch up with life. Go grocery shopping, to the bank,
get an oil change. I take care of the things I don’t have time to do during
working hours.”

He shakes his head and sports a half-frown. “No, I mean
fun
and relaxation, Rachel.”

Boy, this guy is persistent, but I like the way my name
sounds when he says it. I think for a moment and then answer.

“There are things I’d like to do, but I don’t because I’m
alone. You know, take a hike down the Columbia Gorge, go camping at the beach,
and travel overseas.” I drop my gaze into my dwindling Coke glass, searching
for the next words. I’m as guilty as him now.

“I’m careful, though, about doing things by myself as a
single woman, like hiking. It can be dangerous.” I’m feeling like a rascal, so
I look him straight in the eye. “You never know when you’ll run into a serial
killer in the Pacific Northwest.”

He lowers his head and snorts a laugh. Then Ian’s eyes turn
dark, and he gives me a startling gaze that scares the crap out of me. His
mouth opens, and a sexy drawl leaves his lips, which sends shivers up my spine.

“That’s probably wise, Miss Hayward, because you
never
know.”

His hand reaches across the table. He swallows mine in his
broad palm. It’s warm—very warm. Hot, in fact, like my body from his touch. I
feel my neck burst out in red blotches, and my cheeks flush.

“Sounds as if you need a strong male to protect you and take
you hiking. Mind if I apply for the job?”

“Huh?” I blubber, with my eyes bulging out of my head. Is he
asking me out? “Uh, I don’t know what to…what to say,” I stammer.

“Well, what are you doing this Saturday? How about I pick
you up, and we take a hike.”

I giggle. “Take a hike. That sounds funny.” Now I am acting
like a total nervous ditz. “Let me think about it.” My eyes are pleading for
him to back off. “It’s only Monday, and you never know what the week will
bring.”

“Okay, I’ll let you think about it. If you say no, I reserve
the right to ask again.”

“Or what, you’ll hire a personal injury attorney? That was
extremely funny, by the way.”

“Well, Rachel, being turned down by a beautiful girl like
yourself could cause any man personal injury, I would think.”

He speaks the words with such heartfelt earnestness, I
actually feel flattered. Once again, I’m back to the thought that he wants to
get in my pants. Compliments are an excellent way to get in there, and maybe he
senses my vulnerabilities.

“You’re embarrassing me,” I whisper and lower my head to the
table.

“You should learn to take a compliment, Rachel. I tell it
like I see it.”

I shove the straw in my mouth and suck, but the bottom of
the glass just gives that empty slurp sound.

“Want another?” He waves the waitress over to our table.

“Better not. I think I should be going home.” I can’t drink
another if he’s driving, or I’ll need to stop and pee somewhere between
downtown and home.

“So soon?”

A flash of disappointment spreads across his face. He wants
me to stay. I want to stay. My fears tell me to go.

“Yes, my cat…he’s probably hungry.”

“Okay, then. You’re still going to let me drive you home,
right?”

“Sure.”

“Beginning to trust me?” He sounds anxious for me to do just
that.

His hand squeezes mine. I had forgotten he was still holding
it. For some odd reason, it felt as if we blended together as one. I’m
disappointed when he pulls away and goes fishing for his wallet to pay the tab.

For the next few minutes, I’m off somewhere in my mind,
wandering around in a daze. The world around me diminishes into a blur. I know
I’m walking with him, and I feel his hand holding mine, guiding me down the
street. A moment later, we’re in the concrete basement of some garage, and I
hear the beep-beep of his security system on his car and see the latches pop up
on the doors. His bumper is still wrapped in tape.

“You didn’t get a loaner yet?”

“Tomorrow, I’ll have one.”

I glance at the damage that I’ve done to his lovely car, and
the sense of mortification returns. If I had watched what I was doing, I
wouldn’t be here now—with him—the perfect specimen of manhood, who is far too
good to be with a girl like me. Of course, I could be prejudging him solely
based on his smoking looks and kindness. He could be a monster underneath, just
like the rest. A woman never knows. My half smile fades into a frown as the
memories of former brutes flood my mind.

“You okay?” he asks, as he opens the car door for me.

“I’m a bit tired.” Hasty lies always hide the feelings. I
can’t tell him the truth for heaven’s sake. We’ve just met.

The journey home is quiet. He appears immersed in his own
thoughts, but he’s driving straight toward where I live. “I should give you
directions,” I offer, a bit surprised he hasn’t asked.