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I rolled my eyes and grinned. “Prepare to be beaten again.”
He grinned. “Deal.” Then he leaned down and rested his forehead on mine for a few seconds. My breath hitched, and I closed my eyes. Then I felt the softest kiss on my lips, and my heartbeat tripled. Suddenly, he pulled back, and when I looked up, he was grinning. Then he started to sing John Denver’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”
I pushed him, laughing. “Go. Don’t keep Melvin waiting. And text me when you land. Just so I know you got in okay.”
He touched my hand as he walked out the door. “See you soon, Ana.”
I waved as he drove away, then shut the door, giddy and ready to work on my pitch.
A short while later, I looked up from my work and stretched, checking my phone. I had a text from my dad. I shot up into a sitting position. Dad didn’t text. Ever. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how (sort of), but he didn’t like learning new things, and learning email had been enough to annoy the hell out of him.
I hear of new man, he had written.
I rolled my eyes. For one, thank you, Nancy. For two, he sounded like something out ofTwin Peaks.
A friend came over to my apartment yesterday, I wrote back.
Nancy mentioned pregnancy.
I had just taken a sip of coffee when that came through, and I choked hard. Damn it, Nancy. I couldn’t tell which one of them was being difficult.
Unrelated. I am not pregnant. Neither is anyone I know.I glanced over at Hopper. At least not now.
If not ashamed of dad, bring new friend for a visit.
Of course I’m not ashamed of you. We can figure something out.I threw the phone back on the couch. I added that to the list of things of fun, awkward things to do.
Heidi came over later that evening. I’d been working all day, studying S.J. Sporting’s inventory and current web design, and it was nice to have a break. We ordered some pizza, watched the fish, and talked about work for a bit before Heidi turned to me with a serious look. “You know I love you as you are, Ana, but Indiana really is the ideal man. I wish he were real. But I would keep you, too,” Heidi said hastily, seeing my expression.
“‘Indiana’ would be insufferable, Heidi. You know that,” I said. “He’s exactly the type of guy we hate. Spearfishing? Cliff diving? Craft beer? He’s such a macho hipster dude that it actually makes my stomach hurt.”
“Not true,” Heidi insisted. “He has a sensitive side. He expresses his feelings through art. He’s working through stuff he had to experience in a war.”
“He was not in a war,” I said, staring at the ceiling. She could beincredibly exasperating. “God, why am I even talking to you like this? None of this is real. You, of all people, should know that.”
“I do,” she said and flopped back onto the couch. “I’m just saying, it’s kind of like we created the perfect guy.”
“We definitely didn’t. We created a stereotype of over-the-top masculinity. I prefer bright, talented, nerdy guys. If they’re smart but also kind, that’s way better than someone who can wrestle a tiger.”
“Now that we’re not cavemen anyway. Back in the day, the tiger wrestling might have been higher on the list.”
“Can you imagine how unbearable those cavemen must have been?”
“‘I’m so strong and eat raw meat with my hands,’” Heidi mimicked. “‘Go home-make, woman.’ But still,” she murmured, almost to herself, “it’d be nice to feel petite, or whatever, for once.”
I made a face. “Trust me, it’s overrated. I’d kill to be tall and willowy like you are.”
She looked away. “I wouldn’t mind being tall, except guys don’t like girls who are taller than them.”
“You have twice the cupboard space I do,” I argued, “because you can reach all your cabinets. You could also kick someone’s ass in a fight. I wish I could do that.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “I could. I guess there are a few perks.”
“You have presence. Shorties like me are rarely ‘beautiful.’ We’re ‘cute.’” I thought of Shane calling me beautiful that night at the bar, and warmth spread through my chest. “You know, ever since I got into this mess, I’ve been thinking about all the women through the years pretending to be men just to get a bit of respect. Like our girl Joan.” I sighed.
She squinted at me from her spot on the couch. “Who now? Joan Rivers? Joan of Arc? There are so many.”
“But only onePopeJoan, the female pope. Middle Ages.”
