Page 57 of Grouch-ish

Cupping her jaw in my gloved hand, I turn her head, so she faces me and kiss her. Long and sweet, slow but steady, like the movement of this antique sled.

Pear is a classic.

And again, I wish I could keep her, bringing her into the future with me.

Day 9

Nine ladies line dancing

January 3

Chapter 16

[Pear]

I was starting to feel cooped up. Sure, we’d been on the snowmobile trail and visited Mr. Renshaw’s farm, but I wanted to go out-out. I needed a break because my thoughts were getting too comfortable with Brock. The romantic gesture of a sleigh ride was my tipping point. For such a grouchy man, the request felt out of character. Then again, he’d brought me flowers, made me French toast, carved me a wooden snowflake and given me some amazing orgasms.

Were orgasms the only thing he’d give me? Could I have his heart?

On the ninth day, after Brock completed another list of menial tasks around Dad’s place, I made a decision.

“We’re going out,” I announce as the heavy darkness of a winter evening fills the sky.

The closest town was a touristy place on the waterfront of Lake Michigan where we took the Polar Plunge. Just outside of town was a large barn-like country bar hosting a ladies’ night.

The theme did not mean men could not attend. In fact, tons of men were present to scope out the large collection of women gathered with their friends for a night out. Some women I imagine were moms, looking to let lose a little after weeks of being cooped up with their school-aged kids. Other women might be single ladies on the prowl, hoping to turn ladies’ night into one-night stands.

I’d taken myself out of that crowd a while ago. I wasn’t a one-night kind of gal, which made whatever I was doing with Brock special.

He was special.

“Whatcha think, fireman?” My body vibrates with excitement. I love to dance, and I’d promised Brock a burger and a beer. We sit at a high-top table, our knees touching since he pulled my stool closer to his when we first took our seats.

“I’m not dancing.”

I pout. He’s such a spoilsport. However, the great thing about line-dancing is you don’t need a partner. And when the ladies are called to the floor, I hop off my stool, eager to shake off this weird energy humming within me with some honky-tonk boogie.

A little to the left, to the left, and the right, and the right, then slide was doing wonders for my mood until I see a brunette standing close to our high-top table, laughing at something Brock said and placing her hand on his forearm.

I don’t like it. Not one bit. I’d been a jealous lover with Reggie which was something I didn’t like about myself. I should have felt confident in our relationship that he wouldn’t cheat on me, and for the most part, money had been his mistress, not another woman. However, that didn’t mean there weren’t plenty of times when I felt inferior around Reggie. How women looked at him. How he watched them. How he eventually viewed me.

He’d told me I was fat. That alone should have told me his true feelings.

He didn’t respect me or my body type.

He hadn’t deserved my jealousy.

Still, a pinch of envy ripples through me as Brock leans toward the woman, speaking closer to her ear. I could write it off as the music being loud, but I refuse to make excuses for any man. For too long, I’d made them about Reggie and his issues.

Stepping away from the dancing ladies, I strut back to the table. Brock glances up at my approach. His smile curls the corner of his mouth before instantly falling at something he reads on my face.

“Snowflake?”

Don’t fucking snowflake me. I’ll burn this place down if he’s flirting with another woman in front of me.

Brock chuckles roughly before introducing, “This is Anna. Anna McCaryn.”

The woman’s face blushes. “It’s actually Anna Becker now.” There’s a story behind the brightness in her face but I don’t ask, too busy seeing red thanks to his hand on her back as he introduces her.