Page 75 of Shelter
“What if…” Alberta sniffled a very unladylike sniffle and fanned her face. “What if I swear on my life that Ross’s friend will have no extraneous facial hairs? Would you come out with us?”
“Is this a date? Because I’m not going if it’s a date.”
She shook her head. “It’s not a date. You’ll be there for moral support, and Ross’s buddy will be there…” Alberta searched the air for a reason, and then she shrugged. “…for decoration.”
I raised a brow at her. “Decoration?”
Alberta turned her hands up. “Well, if he’s friends with Ross, he can’t be a troll, right?”
“With my luck? Yes. I think there’s an excellent chance he’s a troll.”
She rolled her eyes at me, but she did it smiling. “Oh, please. Yeah, you’ve had a bit of a dry spell, but it’s notthatbad.”
I frowned at my best friend’s selective memory. “Two years isn’t a dry spell,” I said sourly. “It’s a drought.”
Alberta gave me a scolding look. “Self-sabotage. You workall the time.I’m not even sure you want to go out. With anyone.”
I didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. I mean, I wanted to go out, but not just with anyone.
I’d done that in college, and I’d discovered after a little experimentation that I wasn’t into casual sex, but even I would admit that my dating habits had established a kind of pattern. Back in college, whenever I met someone I was attracted to, I’d get excited over the little sparks they’d set off beneath my skin. I’d never been shy that way, so if a guy I was interested in didn’t ask me out, I didn’t mind doing the asking. And I found most guys liked that.
So we’d go out. Usually to a club because, you know, college. Clubs were fun. Dancing was fun. And surrounded by deafening music, the press of bodies, and the elixir of alcohol and hormones, my attraction usually grew. And that would lead to second date. And a third. And so on.
And I kept waiting for it to happen. That feeling of being recognized. Of being seen. The one that went along with looking at him and knowing exactly what he needed. Wanting, like nothing else, to make him laugh. Chase his smile. Argue. Tease. Push and pull.
I was patient. Even though I sensed in my gut that what I sought didn’t come with waiting. I was so patient, I started to wonder if something was wrong with me. I’d been a junior in college before I slept with a guy.
Eric Leonard.
He was smart. And soft-spoken. A gentleman and a gentle man. Every time he took me out, he’d pick me up, and as soon as I was seated in his little 2002 Toyota Tercel, he’d tell me to close my eyes and stick out my hand. Each time, I opened my eyes to find a tiny origami figure resting on my palm. A crane. A flower. A little elephant.
They were adorable and sweet. I dated Eric for three months before I slept with him. I’d decided it was time, and I’d hoped that allowing myself to give that to Eric, to be that close to him — closer than I’d ever been with anyone — then I’d feel that feeling.
The pull. The need. The certainty.
But it felt like paper. Smooth and certainly useful, but still thin and blank.
I gave it a few more tries. Alberta had told me that sex was always crap at first. And Eric had been eager. Giving. He’d made me feel nice.
But paper was nice.
An origami bird can’t fly. A newsprint flower doesn’t blossom and blush. And paper elephant can’t stampede.
Years ago, I’d taken flight. I’d blossomed and blushed. And I’d certainly been trampled. All before I’d done anything below the belt.
And never since.
I’d broken up with Eric after sleeping with him a third time. After I’d realized that being with him made me feel more alone than being by myself. And that was when I’d experimented. If a sweet guy who really liked me wasn’t the thing, maybe it was animal attraction.
Guess what? It wasn’t.
So, yeah, when I graduated and started working full time, it was easy to throw my focus onto my jewelry. Work late. Sketch designs. Use the 3D printer when I could. And get that blood-fueling rush when one of my babies came to life in metal and gemstone.
“I’m happy where I am,” I told Alberta. And that was true. Mostly. I basically just had two problems.
Loneliness and hope.
The first I was used to. I’d had loneliness as my companion most of my life. It was hope that chafed at me and made my loneliness that much more acute. Hope was messy. Hope was inconvenient. Hope fucked with my head.
