I squeezed my hand around the black clutch Jenna had loaned me for the night. Luckily I had opened it before leaving, though she had assured me she had put everything in it I’d need. Between the handcuffs, lube, condoms, and a packet of birth control pills I was definitely well supplied. She had even included a lipstick that turned out to be a vibrator. I had giggled at that, as much as I wanted to be angry. Part of me felt like crowing about the fact that I didn’t need a vibrator as I had a bevy of men to get me to orgasm, but I figured I should be above such juvenile behavior, or at least I had for about five minutes before sending her a link to a porn website suggesting it could help her pass her lonely hours while I chose my man of the evening.

The purse cleaned out and my sister cursing my name, I left only my wallet and my house keys in it; the rest I dumped into my sock drawer, and I made a mental note to hide it before the children found it. This felt so different than the nights I’d walk next door to Alex’s or when they came as a group to pick me up for Cedar Point. It was more personal somehow, more of an event, waiting behind the door so I wouldn’t miss his car pulling up. I hemmed and hawed about whether I should run out as soon as I saw his car, or whether I should let him come to the door. It’s not like I was going to make some kind of staircase gliding entrance, but with the dress and the makeup, I definitely felt more princess-like.

His car pulled up and I hesitated for a moment, unsure, but when he opened his door I dove for my couch, making a split second decision to wait for him to knock. I was almost on it when I remembered Jenna’s orders to be careful not to wrinkle myself before he saw me, and I took a staggering step, trying to catch myself on the end table. Instead, all I managed to do was knock over the end table, the lamp clattering to the floor as I tripped over my feet, my skinny heels skidding on the slick tile as I pinwheeled my arms to try and catch myself. My arm hit the top of the couch with a resounding ‘thwack’ and I swore as I cradled my arm, cursing the fact that I could always manage to hit my funny bone.

“You alright, Emmie?” Troy’s voice asked behind me, and I squeezed my eyes shut in mortification. I turned to find him with the door slightly open, a bouquet of gerbera daisies and sunflowers in his hands as he studied me. “I’m sorry for being forward, I heard the noise and opened the door trying to make sure you were okay.”

“It’s fine. The furniture decided to fight me and I let it win so it wouldn’t get its feelings hurt.” I offered up, still gritting my teeth as my fingers tingled.

“Ok, then.” Troy seemed unsure of the correct response to my statement, though I saw the telltale twitch at the corner of his lips signifying that he was hiding a smile. “These are for you.” He held out the large cloud of blossoms, and I took them happily, enjoying their cheerful, colored faces and soothing scent. “They reminded me of you.” He said with a shrug. I didn’t think my smile could get any wider as I met his eyes, feeling the heat of my blush mantling my cheeks.

“Thank you, Troy.” I brushed a kiss over his cheek before heading to the kitchen for a vase. It was nice to be thought of as a cheerful, pretty flower, I realized as I arranged them neatly into a vase. I considered a moment before turning to him. “I’m going to put these in my office so that I can see them every day while I work. Do you mind waiting a minute?” I gestured towards the stairs.

“Take your time.”

“You can join me if you like, I’ll only be a minute.” I cursed myself as I heard him following me up, unsure of why I had offered in the first place. “Ta-da.” I spoke in a deadpan voice as he squeezed into the doorway of the office. It seemed almost the size of a walk-in closet with his bulk in the doorway. “It’s not much, but it helps keep out some of the noise.”

He considered the shelves of books I had on the walls, the stuffed animals stacked on a ladder, the baseball memorabilia, my pretty knick-knacks and the pictures of my kids.

“This is absolutely not what I pictured,” he declared after a moment, then smiled softly as if ensuring I didn’t take offense. “I can definitely see you here, that’s not the issue. This room screams you. I guess when I picture a writer’s garret, however, I’m still quite literal. I think a quill and manuscript may be a bit outdated.”

I chuckled at that, imagining a stuffed raven in the corner, a wood and metal writing desk with piles of parchment rolls and dried out quills, the scent of pipe tobacco lingering in the air. “Yeah, that’s not exactly my scene. I prefer my computer and easy access to coffee.” I indicated my Keurig with a wave.

“Coffee addict, hm?” he asked as we headed back downstairs.

“Caffeine is life,” I stated seriously.

“A solid exercise routine, healthy meal plan, and a good sleep schedule, and I could convert you,” he suggested, as I locked the front door behind us. I simply groaned in response.

“Yeah, you convince my six-year-old that lettuce won’t actually kill him, my ten-year-old that getting up and ready in the morning can take less than three hours if done correctly, and my seventeen-year-old that staying up until two in the morning texting her friends until I take away her phone does not qualify as rest, and we can talk. Since none of those things will happen, and I get plenty of exercise chasing the hellions from one activity to the next and trying to outrun my deadlines, I think your hopes for my future are doomed.”

He snorted, trying to hide his amusement at my assessment. “Thanks for coming out with me. I wasn’t sure if you liked Italian, but I figured it was a safe bet.”

“I do like Italian, actually.” I smiled. “Unless it’s calamari.” His answering grin left me breathless.

“I’m not a calamari fan, either,” he admitted. We pulled into the small Italian restaurant, and I exhaled a relieved breath, noting it wasn’t too crowded. He guided me with a hand along my back as we entered, whispering our name to the hostess at the stand who greeted him with a smile and once over. I bit my tongue, trying to ignore the blatant flirting. I couldn’t really blame them, I had looked at him like that. Yet the petty part of me still didn’t like it. I assumed he had made reservations with how quickly we were seated, though it could simply have been him flirting with the hostess. I would do just about anything for one of his smiles.

Conversation lagged but it wasn’t an awkward silence as we decided on our meals and placed our orders. I sipped the white wine I had ordered, enjoying the flavor before turning my attention back to Troy. “So, why Oakville?” I asked, curious. “Max told me how he ended up here, how his relationship with Alex started in law school. What about you?”

“My grandmother lived in Fredericksburg,” he stated, naming a nearby town. “We’d occasionally come here during the times I would visit her. When she passed, I came down here to deal with all of her stuff. Her house in Fredericksburg was small, but I decided I’d live there for a while until it sold. I met Alex one night, watching a game at a sports bar, and we clicked. Started hanging out. He was up here looking at office spaces since he hated where he was working. He said he wanted the small town feel.” He shrugged and took a drink of his own wine.

“Why teaching?” I asked, still trying to figure him out.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading. I hoped to teach someday, but it wasn’t my focus when I started college.”

“What was?” I couldn’t resist the question, enthralled by the way he spoke. If I had this man as a teacher in high school, my grades would have been far better. I was hanging onto every word, enjoying the play of thoughts and emotions over his face, the way that he used his hands when he talked, how he seemed to think about each word before speaking.

“Football.” He grinned, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I was on scholarship for it.”

“You decided you didn’t like it?” I buttered a piece of bread, enjoying the warm, yeasty smell before sinking my teeth into the crisp crust and soft center. He stared at me for a moment, his eyes focused on my mouth before shaking his head as if to clear it.

“Watching you eat is dangerous.” He held up a hand as I went to reply. “I know, that sounded perverted. It wasn’t how it was meant, however. I’d just like to see you enjoy me the way you’re enjoying that bread.” I raised a brow, glancing at the bread then back to him. Unsure, I set it on my plate and then took a large gulp of wine.

He sighed and picked up his story. “I wanted to play professionally, actually, and planned to teach after I was done. It didn’t work out like I had dreamt, though. I got injured; messed up my knee in a bad way. Even with surgery, I wouldn’t play again.” He shrugged as if it didn’t mean anything, but I could see the regret on his face.

“You still coach it though?”

“I enjoy coaching. My kids are awesome. Most of them want to be there, want to improve. Some do it for family pressure, but others have the drive in them. They live for football, the same way I did. It’s rewarding to see them improve themselves.”

It seemed to me that it would take an incredibly strong person to watch his dream fall apart, then build his life back up by teaching others to take the place that he would never be physically able to fill, to try and help them reach the dream that eluded him. If he was working with the players, it wasn’t as though he was trying to push his dreams onto them, I knew enough about this town—and teenage boys—to know that becoming a sports star was a very common goal. It didn’t seem that he was living vicariously, more that he was giving back as much as he could.

“That’s impressive,” I offered in response.

“Your turn, Emmie.” He raised a brow as our meals were delivered. “You started with career, so I figure I’ll start there too. Why writing?”

I cut my chicken, thinking of the best way to word my thoughts. “I’ve always enjoyed writing.” My words were slow as I tried to get my thoughts in order. “For me, it’s always been easier to write than to speak. I read all the time when I was growing up; I was never without a book or two in hand or in my bag. I loved disappearing into stories. When I was younger I’d frequently make up stories about my sister and me, or I’d try to spin out what would happen next in a book or what happened after ‘happily ever after.’”

I took a bite of my piccata, wrinkling my nose at his grilled chicken and vegetables. He really needed to let loose. “I put it aside for years, barely even having the time to read as I raised children, worked on the side in whatever capacity I could manage, tried to run a household.” I shrugged. “After several years though, I realized I was all of these things: an employee, a mom, a—wife.” I stuttered over the word. “Yet, I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. I was just all of these labels.”

I kept my eyes trained on my food, unwilling to look up and see what he was thinking as I spilled my story. “So, I started reading again. The more I read, the more the worlds came back into my head. After I’d put my kids to bed at night, I’d do chores around the house and tell myself stories. One day, I decided I’d try writing it out. I’d forgotten what that felt like.”

I leaned back in my chair, considering my hands for a moment. “To be able to take just my hands and a keyboard, to watch my fingers move over it, and to share the worlds that were inside of my head, worlds that no one else would ever have a chance to enter.”

I laughed a little, shaking my head at my foolishness. “I didn’t figure it would ever go anywhere. I just thought of it as an exercise for myself. I finally got up the nerve to share one of my stories with Jenna, and she told me she loved it. I assumed that she was simply being the supportive sister, but it gave me the nerve to start looking online, finding other aspiring writers.”

I thought of all the support I had received from the writing community, all of the digital friends I had made, though we had never met in person. I wondered briefly what their response to this dating arrangement would be and could only smirk. I bet many of them would be thrilled and asking for pictures.

“I polished up a few short stories, and I found an editor. I published those ones under a different pseudonym at the time, mostly in anthologies and things. Just little sci-fi pieces. I kept working on my novel, wondering if I should put it out there for people to judge. It was hard enough seeing some of the snarky comments in regards to the short stories I released. I was scared to death of releasing my novel, this work that I had poured so much of my heart into, this entire world that I had created from scratch. I wondered what I had missed that others would catch if anyone would relate to it.”

“Time Tunnel,” he murmured, and I nodded.

“My first novel. It went off like a rocket. I’m one of the lucky ones,” I admitted, taking another sip of my wine. “I published at the right time, had an eye-catching cover, and I got written up in a blog.” I grinned, remembering that moment. “I hadn’t realized he’d written me up at first since he kept referring to me as a male. I assumed later it was because my character was a male. People’s reactions were so positive, that I published the next one, and the next. There’s still some who hate my work, think I’m overhyped and just a one-shot wonder. An indie author who will fade into obscurity and back to my day job.”

I shrugged, unwilling to mention some of the hate mail that crossed my desk or the sleepless nights as I hoped my book would sell so that I could pay bills. “For now, though, readers seem to like the worlds I create. Whether or not they continue to, I don’t think I’ll give up writing again. I’m more myself when I write; more honest, more emotional, more clear. I’m an entity unto myself, an entity in the world that I create. While I write them, while they flow through my head and my fingers, I get to live all of these amazing lives. I don’t think I could ever give that up and go back to a simple label again.”

I chuckled, thinking of my characters. “I can be the sadistic villain, the evil queen, the naive princess, the pirate, the astronaut, the fairy. Anything and everything is mine to live, as long as I write.” I finally turned my face towards Troy’s; his eyes shone a brilliant green, a small smile on his lips.

“You’re as much a poet as you are an author.” He reached out to stroke a finger down my hand. I ducked my head, embarrassed at the praise. I took another bite of my food, unsure of how to respond. Troy cocked his head, studying me for a moment and then grinned. “You don’t handle praise well. It’s cute, but we’ll have to change that.” I felt the heat of my blush and pretended an intense interest in the bottom of my wine glass. “For now though, I think we’ve both revealed quite a bit about ourselves. Why don’t we lighten things up?”

“Yes, please.” I grasped onto the lifeline he threw. We talked about books and movies, debated sports teams and favorite activities in the area as we finished our meals. He simply arched an eyebrow when I pulled out my wallet to pay and, with only minimal hesitation, I returned it to my clutch. He helped me from my seat, leading me back out to his car.

“I know you’re busy writing, and I also know that the others will be claiming their dates. I just wanted to let you know that I enjoyed myself immensely with you tonight. You’re a very intelligent and very beautiful woman.” He brushed a light kiss over my lips before leaning in front of me to open the car door.

“Troy!” An unknown female voice called out from a few cars over and I froze. The woman who strolled up to us was a gorgeous brunette, her hair nearly inky black, her skin darkly tanned, shaded and a rich brown. Her red bandage dress hugged her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination. I thought rather bitchily that it was a bit much for eight thirty on a Tuesday at a family restaurant, but I did admit she rocked it quite well.

Troy paused for a moment as if searching for something to say. “Libby.” He finally greeted her, his voice as cold as ice.

She smiled, apparently immune to the unwelcoming vibes he was throwing off. “It’s good to see you, hun. You look incredible as always.” She paused, as if waiting for him to respond, although he didn’t take the chance to fill in the gap. She gritted her teeth, her attention turning to me. “Aw, you never told me your mother was in town. Nice to meet you!” She offered her hand, and I considered smacking her with my clutch. Too bad I had taken everything out of it, at least then it would have hurt more.

Troy growled, opening his mouth, but I interjected. “Sorry, I’m not his mother. I guess contacts aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” I couldn’t resist the dig. I may be chunky, but I was thirty-four damn it. I was dressed to kill tonight, and I knew I didn’t look sixty!

She laughed lightly, laying a possessive hand on his arm and ignoring when he yanked away from her touch. I could only raise a brow, wondering what in the world was going on here. I couldn’t understand this dynamic in the slightest. “My mistake, sweetie. Sister? Cousin?” She suggested, cocking her head. “There’s really no familial resemblance, so it’s hard to tell. Genetics are funny that way though, men usually get the good ones,” she said with a giggle.

I ground my teeth. “Sorry, nothing so innocent as that. Troy’s my date tonight.”

She released an over exaggerated gasp, laying her hand against her chest as if horrified and unable to catch her breath. “A date? Really? Well, I guess that explains the dress.” She shook her slightly, a smile tinged with pity on her lips. “Although cotton really doesn’t work for everyone, at least you almost have the silhouette!” She reached out as if to pat my hand, and I resisted biting her.

“Libby, what the hell do you want? I’m sick of your nonsense. You can’t insult her like that.” He turned to me, some of the frost thawing as he brushed a kiss across the back of my hand. “You look gorgeous tonight, Emmie.”

Libby chuckled again, the sound grating. “Oh, bravo, Troy. Really. Oscar material. You haven’t lost those public relations lessons, that’s for sure.” She turned her attention back to me. “Emmie, was it?” I merely nodded. “Troy and I go way back. He, Alex, and I used to…” She trailed off with a smirk. “Hang out together.” She finally offered up when I refused to fill in the blank for her.

“And?” I drawled the word, letting my southern twang fill it. Let her think me a hick. She was simply too dumb to realize I was mocking her. “Well, sugar, I assume you mean you were all friends. Just like I’m friends with them all.” I offered a sweet grin. “They really are such dolls, aren’t they?”

Her smile froze for a minute. “Oh, of course. All three of them.” Her mouth tightened for a minute, the brilliant red lipstick she wore nearly smudging with how hard she pressed her lips together.

“Yes, definitely. Alex is just the sweetest, always helping me out. Max is adorable and he’s always around. Troy, too. Such a cutie.” I patted his cheek and he stared at me, horror, confusion and amusement warring on his face. “He was kind enough to ask me to dinner and I just had to oblige.” I played up the southern bell as hard as I could.

“Yes, they can be very accommodating.” She fluttered her lashes, reaching out to stroke a hand down Troy’s face, but he sidestepped her, instead wrapping his arms around my waist and drawing me against him. “Troy, you need to give me a call soon. You still owe me a date, remember?” She blew a kiss, completely ignoring me as she drew a line from her throat to the top of her abundant cleavage and headed into the restaurant.

“That was…” I trailed off, unsure of an adjective to describe the situation.

“Libby.” Troy sounded beyond exasperated. “Classic Libby.”

“Is anyone going to explain Libby to me?” I asked, hoping for a lead in. Troy paused for a moment, rubbing at his neck before shaking his head and helping me into the car.

“It’s really Alex’s story. Talk to him if you want to know everything. Even I only know some of it,” he admitted, before climbing into the car himself and heading back towards my house. “I’m sorry she had to go and spoil everything.” His voice heated, and I could see his knuckles turning white from his grip on the steering wheel.

“Hey, she didn’t ruin it.” I leaned over as far as the seat belt would allow and stroked my hand across his arm and his thigh. The ride home was silent and I mourned for the casual comradery we had been sharing, the intimate connection that had started to forge at dinner.

He blew out a hard breath as we stopped in front of my house, unbuckling his seatbelt and rubbing at his eyes. “I’m sorry, Emmie. I just want you to know that. I had an incredible time with you tonight. You look gorgeous, and all I want to do is kiss you until we’re both mindless and then make you scream with pleasure.” I hissed in a breath at his description. I was definitely okay with that plan. “I just need to clear my head though.” He looked up, his eyes pleading with me. “Can we plan that part of the evening for another time?” He seemed hesitant as he spoke, and I wondered if maybe he and the other guys were just as confused and out of place with this style of dating as I was.

“I’d like that.” I smiled, leaning forward to brush a kiss over his lips. He groaned, deepening the kiss until my head spun, pulling away when I was gasping for air.

“Go on up, Emmie, before I change my mind.” I paused, wondering if that would be a bad thing, and he barked out a laugh. “I’ll text you later, all right?” I nodded, climbed from the car, and applauded myself when I didn't trip in my heels.

“Thank you for tonight, Troy. It was my first true date in years, and I enjoyed it immensely.” I waved as he pulled away, turning to head back inside. To do list: research Libby, put ice on the bruise I could feel growing on my funny bone, burn these shoes, and have intense, sexy dreams about my men.