Strong and Steady - Vanessa Vale Page 0,1

me lonely.

Lonely!

She wasn't being mean, just honest. But, I'd been cautious for so long, and it had been even longer since I dated. Like almost twenty years. Two decades. That was why I showed up at the engagement party without a plus-one and why I wasn’t interested in Bob/Bill and his ridiculous pick-up tactics. Sure, a guy would be great, but I wanted a few brain cells between the ears. While my vibrator didn't talk and got the job done, it wasn't like a real man. The weight of him pressing me into the bed. The hard feel of him between my thighs. In me. But an orgasm with a real man wasn't worth playing games, and I didn't want to even learn the rules of dating in the twenty-first century. Watching Bob/Bill wipe his mouth again, there was no doubt my vibrator was going to win tonight.

I sighed and took a sip of my water. “Look, I’ve got to go. Christy’s waving me over. Good luck with eating those oysters out of season,” I said.

I took a step away, but he put his hand on my bare arm. He grinned, and I noticed a slight overlap of his front two teeth. “I like to live dangerously.” His thumb stroked over my arm, and I stepped back out of the hold.

Right. I inwardly rolled my eyes.

Clearly, he didn’t take any chances since he was talking to me and not some of the other women in the bar area who were more provocatively dressed and a sure thing. Younger, too. At thirty-eight, I wasn't really old, but most women my age didn't have a son in college. Some, I knew, were herding their kindergartener to peewee soccer.

I wasn’t giving off any indicator to Bob/Bill that said take me home with you. The way I had my arms crossed over my chest, even while holding my glass, was a classic indication of not interested. He had no clue. Zero. A woman wanted a guy who pushed her up against the wall and kissed the ever-loving daylights out of her. Well, I did. Wild monkey sex would be good, too. This guy? Not a chance. If I had to guess, I’d say… accountant.

I took a sip of my ice water with lime and glanced up at him through my dark lashes. “What do you do?”

He put an empty half shell on his plate. “I’m an auditor with Social Security.”

Close enough. I nodded vaguely, trying to keep my eyes from glazing over. He was looking for a woman who wanted the white-picket-fence life with two kids and a dog—and oysters. Been there, done that. I even got the T-shirt and now used it to clean my toilet.

Glancing at Christy from across the crowded room, I saw her laughing at something the woman next to her said. She looked amazing in her red silk halter dress, her tanned shoulders and back exposed. Her hair was sleek and long and her makeup was definitely night-on-the-town heavy. It was a different look than her business attire for her job at the hospital and even fancier yet than my everyday ER scrubs. Surprising Paul with her daring outfit had been her plan when we’d gone shopping for her dress, and the way his hand rested just north of appropriate on the small of her back as they chatted and mingled with their friends, I’d say it worked. They were blatantly in love, and it was a little hard to watch sometimes. The tug of longing was strong, like an ache, for I’d never seen the look Paul was giving her ever from Jack, my ex. What hurt wasn't that I'd missed out but that I might never have it.

My own dress wasn’t remotely in the same caliber as Christy’s. I wasn’t trying to please my future husband, and I wasn’t looking for one either. Not at a bar and not with Bob/Bill. I had no clue how to pick someone up, and I wasn’t twenty-one anymore. My dating skills weren’t just rusty, they were stored in a time capsule from the late-nineties. I observed other women around the bar area. Some wore less clothes than I did when I was in my pajamas, leaving not much to the imagination. They smiled coyly, touched, crossed and uncrossed their legs, batted their eyelashes.

“What about you?” he asked, distracting me from my study. “What do you do?”

I glanced once again toward Paul and Christy and caught sight of a man who