Ryder

“And that’s the field guide to dating and winning the heart of a modern woman.”

I deliver the last line of my new seminar with the best smile I can manage. With business picking up, I refuse to fall into old habits. I won’t let one loss slow me down. One big, monstrous, painful loss of the woman I love.

But still, Nicole and I remain friends, colleagues, co-parents. I do my best to remain positive, avoiding the trap of my once jaded ways. “Any questions?”

Several arms shoot up in the air. I’m at a Midtown hotel, giving a talk on a Tuesday evening to fifty or sixty guys.

I call on a sturdy fellow with glasses in the front row. His hair is military short, and he stands. “What if you’ve got baggage? Like from an ex-girlfriend or ex-wife? That’s my situation, and I’m trying to figure out how to approach the minefield of dating. Any advice you can give about getting back out there for guys like me?”

“I can definitely talk about that. That’s my situation, too,” I say, and he blinks, surprised at first. I’m surprised, too. I haven’t shared the demise of my marriage in my talks before. But this guy is direct, and he’s asking something that matters. Briefly, I think of Cal and what a hard-ass he is, but maybe the old bastard was onto something—speak from the heart, not the dick. “I’m divorced, and let me tell you, it can be hard to get back out there. You think you’re going to be blindsided again,” I say, and the guy nods vigorously. Several others do, too. “You think you can’t possibly ever want anything serious again. Then, sometimes unexpectedly, a woman comes into your life, and she’s not like your ex. She’s not like anyone you’ve ever met. And you just know you have to give it a shot.”

“That’s awesome, man,” the guy says with a smile.

“And the best advice I can give you is don’t let the past hold you back from the present.”

He beams. “And that’s what you did? With your new woman?”

I’m silent for a moment. Is that what I did? Did I give it a shot? I’d like to think so. “Yeah, I did do that.”

He doesn’t need to know the shot didn’t quite work out the way I wanted.

The next night, as I sink into the leather couch in the lounge bar of a swank restaurant, I reflect back on the military dude’s question.

And that’s what you did?

I ask myself if I answered with complete honesty.

I’m not sure I did.

I’m not convinced I went balls-to-the-wall for Nicole. I took what she offered, and only what she offered. I didn’t tell her I wanted her to sweeten the deal. To offer herself, too. I sure as hell didn’t let her know that she and Papaya are a package deal, and I want the whole package.

But I shelve the thought when Flynn, his identical twin brother, Dylan, and Flynn’s divorced friend, Aaron, return with drinks and join me. We’re here to celebrate with Aaron, a stocky guy with a baby face and a good heart. Flynn holds a beer to toast his buddy. When Aaron decided he was ready to try the dating scene again, he hired the Consummate Wingman to give him advice. Naturally, the Consummate Wingman’s unofficial sidekick, Flynn, has been observing the whole time.

I raise my glass and toast. “You ready?”

Aaron smiles. “Ready or not, here I go.”

He takes a drink, inhales deeply, and sets down the glass. He gives us a farewell salute and heads to the hostess stand, then to his table to wait for his date. He’s had a crush on a woman at work, and he finally had the guts to ask her out for dinner after a few coaching sessions.

Aaron moves the linen napkin a centimeter, fiddles with a fork, peers at his watch, and looks at the door. His eyes light up, and I follow his gaze.

A blond woman with her hair in a bun walks in, scans the eatery, and sees him. She waves. He waves back.

I look at Flynn. “He’s on his own now.”

“It’s like the first day at school,” Flynn says, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

Dylan mock sniffles, pushing his black glasses up the bridge of his nose. Thank fuck he wears different colored frames than Flynn—when they’re together it’s the easiest way I can tell them apart. “He’s on the bus. We’ll have to be strong and say good-bye.”

I toss a few bills on the table, and we leave.

“You’re awesome, man,” Flynn says, as the three of us amble down the street. “You gave him the confidence he needed to get back out there.”

“To just take a risk,” Dylan seconds.

Risks. Chances. Shots.

As I consider the men surrounding me, I have to ask myself if they’re taking bigger chances than I am.

Honestly, it’s not that hard to answer.

And later, it’s not that hard to figure out what I need to do to put myself on the line.