dibs (2 page)

With his new drink in hand, he tilted the glass to me in acknowledgement of my words.

“Becca said it’s been a while since you’ve dated or been with a man.”

Blood inched up my face warming my cheeks. Here we go again.

“Becca seems intent on informing Lake Tahoe and the surrounding area that I’m hard up,” I rumbled.

After throwing back his second glass, he rested his hand on my knee. I’d known him all of fifteen minutes. Against my better judgment, and listening to my raging hormones, a checklist fired off in my head. Doctor—check. Single—check. Attractive—check. Willing—check. Older than me—check. Fuckworthy—check.

“After you finish your drink, you want to go back to my place?”

This was so awkward for me. Is this how it worked now? Frankly, I did want to go back to his place. Jake was at mine with his buddies studying for a final. The thought of being touched by a man created a longing in my abdomen… an ache that hadn’t been filled for some time. That ache needed filled damn it!

“Jay. I’d like that. But listen, my life is crazy, and I have a son, and…”

“Sam. I’m Becca’s oncologist. I have two kids. I know crazy too. I was just thinking if,”

“Yes,” I interrupted. “As long as we both understand that…”

“I got it. No confusion on my part,” he chuckled.

We both laughed as he motioned for the ticket. Sad that this man I’d just met knew I was a sure thing. We didn’t work at the same hospitals, not even in the same network. At this point, I didn’t care if we did. This is what I wanted in this moment. I was going for it.

I followed him to his freakishly spectacular home, trailed him indoors where he fixed us a drink. When he turned to me with pure desire in his eyes, a rush of excitement overwhelmed me. After downing his drink once again, he strolled toward me with intent.

My pulse pounded in my throat. I’d not kissed a man in so long. When his lips parted, I followed suit trying to suppress the brewing anxiety in my chest.

His lips pressed against mine only once before his whiskey flavored tongue plunged into my mouth. Instinctively, I pulled back, but his hand gripped my neck pinning me close. A nervous apprehension settled inside me, but being so desperate for a man’s touch, I ignored it, focusing more on my lower half than my head.

Within a matter of minutes, a pile of clothes surrounded our feet. My bra and underwear were still on. Even though it wasn’t what I dreamed of and wouldn’t come close to satisfying my true needs, I could do this. A one-nighter. A booty-call. The girls said I needed this. Hell, I DID need this.

My tentative hand reached for his cock. His boxers weren’t tented, but I reached for where I assumed it would be. Nothing…like nothing… So as he kissed my neck, I felt downward on the outside of the boxers until I found his dick. Soft. Limp.

With unskilled hands, I began stroking him up and down with little to no success at getting a response. Zero blood flow. His lips pressed against mine again. I couldn’t shut my eyes. I tried to force them closed but they popped open in shock. Even as his lips pecked mine, I stared at his eyelids. Surely he knew that his lifeless penis lay in my hand.

A groan scraped up his throat as if he was nearing an orgasm…as if. When he started massaging my breast, for the life of me, I felt nothing because the only thing on my mind was his flaccid dick.

His smooth, un-calloused hands felt good running over my skin. Once they broke the elastic barrier of my panties, caressing my ass, I decided I had to say something.

“Everything ok?” I asked, trying not to totally put him on the spot.

“Yeah, Sam, what’s not ok?” he asked, nuzzling into my hair while gripping the cheeks of my ass with his fingertips.

Was he joking? Releasing his
genital
s (I couldn’t even refer to it as a dick in my head), I was intrigued to see if it would stand at attention without the assistance of my hand.

Plop. Nope! It was a dowsing rod pointing directly south. Too much alcohol or erectile dysfunction…

“Jay, I don’t think I’m ready to do this,” I lied. My body was more than ready until the ED police put a stop to the possibility.

He took a cautious step back. “Not ready?” he asked as if something was wrong with me. For real?

I wanted to shout…YOU aren’t ready! But if I needed to shoulder this, I would. At this point, I just wanted to leave. Here stood the second person I was considering sleeping with after my husband of sixteen years, and he couldn’t get it up for me. How personal should one take that?

Humiliated, I tossed my shirt over my head, not bothering to put on my bra. I didn’t really care that my nipples were poking through the sheer blouse like a well-done turkey…this walk of shame was necessary. Once I buttoned my shorts, he took hold of my arm.

“Sam. What did I do?” he asked. Desperation lurked in his eyes.

Keeping in the forefront of my mind that he said he wanted this as much as I did, I refused to hurt him. And I knew he meant something to Becca.

“I just don’t think I can follow through. I thought I could. It isn’t you…it’s me.”

His cheeks puffed out as he released a long, slow breath and nodded. A simple nod.

“And the possibility of trying this again?” he asked.

There was no part of me that wanted to experience this rejection again.

“I’ll let you know, ok?”

Another nod. “Ok.”

Shuffling my feet, I finally swiveled around, my glance casting downward toward his shorts. On everything holy, I swear, his shorts were tented…but as I walked away, I didn’t look back.

Date 3

There was no part of me that was looking forward to this date. I’d already determined this was strike three. Psyched myself out to failure. But everything I’d read about this guy online was positive.

The swanky restaurant in the posh neighborhood wasn’t one I came to often, but he insisted on meeting me here, which I was totally fine with. There was no obligation for an uncomfortable ride home.

When I walked in, insecurities settled in as I stood there wondering if he saw me.
Marshall
, I thought to myself, suddenly drawing a blank on his last name. As I scanned the fancy room searching for a man looking my way…I spotted several. One in a suit—but he was already sitting with a woman. Another in a sport coat and tie with a group of guys.

The maître d motioned for me to step forward.

“May I help you, Madam?”

My entire body stiffened. Madam was code for old.

I forced a smile. “I’m meeting a gentleman. I cannot recall his last name. First name, Marshall?” I asked.

Recognition registered on his face. “Mr. Overby. Please come this way.”

I followed him—nerves getting the better of me. I could be meeting Mr. Right…finally. For the first time this evening, excitement crept into my body, but when I spotted him I thought to myself,
wow, Vanilla Ice has a son.
I didn’t like the original. This wasn’t going to be good.

“Madam. Mr. Overby,” the maître d said.

“Sa-Man-Tha!” Marshall rapped my name like it was three separate words, his head jetting a different way with each syllable. He pointed to the seat across from him. As he sat, the gold nugget attached to the gaudy gold chain circling his neck, thumped his chest.

His skin was nearly orange from the fake baking this guy had done. My alabaster skin clashed horribly as he took my hand and brushed his lips over the back. Then he stared…seductively… at me as he slowly sat in his chair. I kid you not, I waited for ‘Ice ice baby’ to come out of this dude’s mouth.

Nearly every guy in this place sported a suit, sport coat, or collared shirt, but not my guy. No, my date wore a bro tank. A damn bro tank! He leaned back in the chair, his gaze still fixed on me.

“Your profile says you’re an artist,” I finally forced myself to speak.

His face contorted into a painful looking grimace. “Bro, you haven’t heard of me?”

I’m quite sure my face contorted as well. Bro? “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I didn’t want him to know I had forgotten his last name. Marshall Overby didn’t ring any bells.

“Emin-O, bro. I just signed with Jammin’ J Records.”

Feeling polite, I nodded like I’d heard of him. “Ah! That’s awesome. Is that like Eminem?”

“His name is Marshall Mathers so the M and M thing worked for him. I had to go with the M and O.”

I grinned simply to hide my eye roll. This guy was a dumbass. I was 0 for 3.

“Do you like Eminem?” he asked.

“Not really,” I lied. I freaking loved Eminem. I could rap any one of his songs better than he could. It was Emin-O that I didn’t like.

“What may I get you to drink?” A waiter in a tux stepped up to the table.

“Bring us a bottle of your best champagne,” Emin-O quickly said.

I hated champagne. “I’ll take a glass of water as well,” I added, smiling at the waiter.

“So, what does it feel like to be the most attractive woman in this room?”

At first I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, but he stared at me waiting for my response.

“Umm. Thank you...I…”

“Better yet,” he interrupted. “What does it feel like to be with the most attractive man in the room?” He flexed his arm and kissed his bicep. “How’d that baseball get in there?” he laughed, pointing to his flexed muscle.

I released a breath, thankful I had my own car, thankful I had two legs so I could get up and walk away from this guy, and even more thankful that Becca was well enough for me to yell at when I left here. Cancer or no cancer…her ass was mine. She may not have set up this date, but she made me get on this damn dating website.

He abruptly sat forward, his eyes widening in a frightening way. “Day-um gurl, there is something wrong with my eyes, I can’t take them off you.”

Beneath the table, I felt his leg rub against mine.

“You like that?” he asked with an arched brow that had two lines shaved in it.

“Not particularly,” I said with a smile.

“I shaved my legs today, they should be smooth.” He said it as if that was why I didn’t especially care for the affection.

“You shaved your legs?” I asked, clarifying.

He inched upright in his seat and beckoned me closer with two fingers. I leaned in.

“I shave. Every. Inch. Of my body.” A seductive tone rolled off his words.

“You’re naughty,” I accused, hoping that he wasn’t into me either.

“Naughty by nature, shawty.”

Oh for the love of God. “Isn’t that a music group?” I asked. I’d sung songs by Naughty by Nature in the nineties.

He shrugged off my question. “I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t, you’re only twenty,” I mumbled beneath my breath.

“Do what?” he asked.

“What type of music do you sing?” I asked, trying to camouflage my annoyance.

“Hip Hop,” he said like there was no other kind. “
Down on that, bitch,
is my song that hit Top 100.”

Down on that, bitch? I think I’d rather be dealing with a nail biter or a doctor with a flaccid dick.

“That sounds like a really good song,” I said sarcastically. “How old are you?”

“Thirty. Fortunately for you, I’m more than just eye candy.”

Trying to hide the smile that was breaking through, I actually covered my mouth. I was done…never going on a single date again.

He opened his mouth again, and I had to speak simply to get him to shut the hell up.

“So, are you a pistol-packing drug addict who bags on his momma?” The question I asked was completely sarcastic. I wasn’t really mocking him, just wanted to see how much he knew of Eminem’s music.

Emin-O chuckled but didn’t seem to recognize the lyrics. Poser.

“Sam is kind of a dude’s name,” he said.

I shook my head. “Yeah, I guess. But I’m not a dude.”

His hands shot up in the air. “Wait, wait.” He closed his eyes as his head started bobbing forward. When he began snapping in rhythm with his head nods, I glanced around us. An elderly couple from the table next to ours watched him. Suddenly, he broke into a beat box routine. My eyes widened as blood inched up my face.

“Sam. Sam. I’m not a dude,” he rapped the sound of drums between his words. “Bam. Beautiful. I want you nude.”

I slid my purse up over my shoulder. This was ridiculous. Was he for real?

“Bitch is hot—though she got small tits,” he continued. “When we gettin’ it on—I be grabbin’ her hips.”

I stood, unable to take another unbearable second.

He chuckled. “It’s as easy as that, bro.”

“Look, Emin-O, Marshall…Bro. You are a sexy, rapping beast. I fear I cannot even begin to keep up with you. You need someone hotter, sexier…” For a second, I thought I might choke on my words.

“You’re leaving?” he asked with shock flitting over his face. I couldn’t imagine a woman staying for this.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

He popped to his feet so quickly it startled me; I froze when he suddenly stood nose to nose with me.

“Sugar. You need a shot of Vitamin Me. Don’t go.”

Ok…He did not just say VITAMIN ME!

“Marshall. As appealing as that is, I must say no.”

His arms shot out to the side as he back stepped away from me. “You don’t know what you’re missing, bruh. I’m like Tony fucking Romo…I go deep!”

“OK. Have a good night,” I said politely and stormed off, yanking my phone from my handbag.

Date 4

Why I decided on the second Findamatch date eluded me as I walked up to the playground equipment where I was meeting Jared. He was older than me by ten years. Admittedly, he confessed in an open chat that he was losing his hair and had gained ‘some’ weight through his midsection. I think what drew me to agreeing to meet Jared was that he was raising a grandchild. Knowing how important my own child was in my life…made me admire him for taking on his grandchild.

The moment I spotted him, I knew it. ‘Losing his hair’ meant bald, which wasn’t a bad thing. I’d always found bald men attractive too. And, ‘gained some weight through my midsection’ was code for a very high BMI. On a pregnancy scale, which is how I was used to measuring things, he was about 7 months along.