I hate shopping. Why people do this for fun, I will never understand.
Dana holds up some bright red contraption against her chest. It has too many buckles and strings to be anything I would ever consider personally wearing. “Now that you’re dating you should invest in lingerie.”
My face scrunches. “I am not dating. We have been on precisely one date.”
She shoves the object back onto the rack. “Just one? What the hell, Abby?”
“It’s been a busy week!”
“Has it?”
“Yes.”
“Has it really?”
“Yes! Tuesday rehearsal ran late and then we were recording all day Wednesday and Thursday.”
Dana continues her stroll around the store. “For what again?”
“The soundtrack for some romance movie. I don’t remember the name.”
“Do you remember who is staring in it?”
“Some guy called Preston Wally or Kyle or-”
“Wyatt?! Preston Wyatt!?”
“Why are you shouting?”
“Holy shit!” Dana squeaks in front of me. “You’re recording soundtrack music for a movie starring the Preston Wyatt?”
“No. I was. We finished late last night.”
“Do you have any idea how amazing that is?”
If she wasn’t squealing about it, no. I have no idea who he is or why he is important or why it would be worth mentioning other than the fact he is in a movie. Lots of people are in movies nowadays. Lots of movies get filmed. Lots of music needs to be recorded. I want to tell her the piece was a little boring for my taste. Too heavy on the piano and not enough from the strings, but that seems like a good way to start an argument I don’t want to have.
“Wild,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Absolutely wild. That is definitely one of the times you have a badass job. Playing for celebrities whether it’s their wedding or their son’s christening party or their next movie…That is so beyond the normal scope of amazing.”
I smile proudly.
Very rarely is that something people say when they hear what I do. In fact, besides her, my parents, and Blake, I can’t think of anyone outside the industry who has referred to cello playing as something special.
The thought of him widens my grin noticeably.
Dana stops searching for her size in a corset top. “So, you haven’t had a second date with Blake yet, but have you two talked since the first?”
Every. Day. After he left on Monday night, he swore he’d call me every morning to talk to me on my way to work. I expected him to abandon the idea when he found out I had to be out the door at 5 a.m on Wednesday and Thursday yet, he set himself an alarm, and groggily chatted with me on my way in. This morning I slept through the call, so he left a voicemail. He leaves texts for me during the day despite the fact I told him I probably wouldn’t be able to respond to them in a timely fashion. He insisted repeatedly as long as I answered at any point, he’d consider himself lucky. Last night, we actually video chatted briefly before I fell asleep. He said he had been missing my sweet face and needed something to get him through until the next time we were together. I warned him there was a high probability I would pass out during our call, which I did, but he said he didn’t care. All he wanted was a ‘real moment’ with ‘his Angel’. I don’t get it. Our first meeting he came off as this cocky, self-assured asshole, but ever since we actually talked during our first date, he’s been wonderful. Almost too wonderful. Like the type that will say or do anything just to get into your pants. Hm. Skeptical when he’s arrogant. Skeptical when he’s kind. Maybe my skepticism is the problem….
“Oh my gosh…” My best friend gets an excited look in her eyes. “You have!”
I nod slowly.
“You’ve actually talked to him since your first date?!”
Reluctantly, I repeat the action.
“Like once or twice?”
“Every day.”
“Every day!” Her victory punch in the air seems unnecessary. “You two are dating!” She bulldozes her way past my attempt to argue. “This is so exciting! Are you going out with him this weekend?”
“He hasn’t…asked.”
“Have you?”
There’s an immediate glower from me.
“Abby, women can ask men out too. We’re not in the 50’s anymore.”
Nope. Not touching that one or why if we were in the 50’s me dating Blake wouldn’t even be a possibility.
“When we’re done shopping, you should call and ask him out. Or at the very least call and let him know you’re available this weekend. Which you totally are.”
“I am?”
“Well, I’m going to some charity event thing with Hugh, so we don’t have plans together, and if you say you’re going to spend the rest of your weekend sitting at home, alone, rehearsing for whatever you have to do for work next week, I will throw your cello off my penthouse balcony.”
My arms fold across my chest. “That’s an 8,000 dollar threat you’re making.”
Dana mimics my action. “I’ll call it an investment in your future.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Makes perfect sense, Abby. You have to realize there’s more to life than playing. Some part of you already knows that. It’s why you quit being a part of an elite band-”
“Orchestra-”
“To settle down and try to find love or at the very least happiness away from those strings.”
She has a very good point, but I refuse to acknowledge it out loud.
“Now, let’s get you away from those strings and more acquainted with these.” She motions her fingers towards the underwear bins.
“I have those types of panties. I’ve had to wear a number of evening gowns as you damn well know and hate lines just like the rest of the female population.”
“Are they solid black or nude colored?”
Why did she say that like it was terrible thing?
Dana giggles to herself victoriously. “Exactly.”
Unsure of how to rebut, I press my lips tightly together.
“We’re not leaving this store without you buying at least one pair of date underwear.”
“Date underwear? You want me to buy something specifically to be uncomfortable in?”
“No. We’re going to buy you something you specifically want Blake to see.”
“We’ve only had one date!”
“Doesn’t matter,” she brushes off. “What matters is when you two go out, you should always be wearing the type you want him to see because the truth is you never know when that’s going to happen. The absolutely most embarrassing thing is when you get into a sexual moment and you’re wearing laundry day panties.”
“We’re taking things slow,” I try to justify. “He will not be seeing my panties any time soon. Possibly never.”
“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be prepared.”
My hands fly into the air in surrender.
Obviously she has a bit more experience in this department than I do. She also hasn’t been wrong about things with Blake yet. She knew I should go over and talk to him. She knew we should have dinner. Chances are she probably already knows exactly when he’ll see my panties. Oh…Oh that’s an odd thing to think about. I’ve only had to care about what I feel comfortable in, not what’s sexy. He’s probably seen thousands of women in their underwear. Am I going to be judged or compared? Is he going to see me in mine and immediately regret being in bed with a woman who lacks sexual experience?
“You’re having a panic attack,” Dana declares swiftly. “Stop it.”
I let my eyes pierce hers. “What’s the point of all of this? I have no clue what I’m doing. I have no clue when I should be doing anything and to make matters worse he’s probably just sticking around so he can bag a virgin and win sex bingo or something equally crass and disgusting.”
My best friend’s hands land on my shoulders. “You have to relax, Abby. You are wound much too tight for good things to flow into your life.”
A heavy sigh seeps free.
“Make having fun with Blake the only goal. That doesn’t have to be sexual, but it doesn’t have to be innocent either. Do what feels right when it feels right and if you don’t wanna have sex with him or anything of the nature, then don’t. And if he tries to pressure you into it, knee him in the balls. That always teaches them.”
Her comment gets a small snicker out of me. “He’s actually okay with taking things slow. I accidently let it slip I’m a virgin.”
“He didn’t run screaming for the hills?”
I shake my head. “He actually suggested we do other physical things together that will get us just as sweaty and our hearts beating just as fast.”
Another wave of excitement hits her eyes as she coos. “Aw. He’s perfect for you.”
“If he were perfect for me, I wouldn’t have had to explain to him who Bach was, argue why my lack of knowledge about 80s hair bands is not a crime, and then listen to his favorite Taylor Swift song to engage in a discussion about poetry to music.”
Oddly enough his favorite by the ‘country turned pop sensation’, I now know more about than I feel an adult woman should, is ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’. Which he is. And I hate myself for enjoying the song as much as I am enjoying him.
“You listened to country music for him?”
The joy in her tone causes my scowl to return.
Dana girlishly squeaks, wraps her arm around mine, and tugs me towards the lacy under garments. “Tell me everything…”
For the next forty-five minutes, I recall every word I possibly can from of our conversations. Reflecting back on them provides me with more smiles than I predicted. In between arguing about the monstrosities she has the nerve to call lingerie, I find myself wrapped up in the unusual truth of Dana being completely right. I really do like Blake. It’s more than him being patient with my schedule and idea of going through things slow. It’s his ability to make me laugh. His desire to want to know what I like and to see if maybe he could learn to like it too. His encouragement to stretch the comfort zones I have and the promises he’ll be right there to hold my hand when I do. There’s a give and take aspect between us I’d be lying to say I wasn’t curious to continue exploring.
I shut my car door just as my cell phone begins to ring.
The sight of the caller has me hesitant to answer.
It’s not that I don’t love my parents, they just have an incredible way of always making me feel like whatever I do is never enough.
“Hello,” I answer politely.
“Good afternoon, Mable,” my mother greets.
They both refuse to call me Abby. The argument that ensued when I requested my college graduation announcements include the nickname made leaving the country almost like a vacation. Their claims vary depending on the day. ‘It’s not what they named me’. ‘My great grandmother would be appalled’. ‘Do not insult the great jazz artist Mabel Mercer who had historical admirers’. The last one often tempts me to remind them they chose not to spell it the same way she did, but again, arguing with them always makes me feel like everything I think or do or want is disgraceful.
“Your father and I are having dinner downtown in Highland tonight. He attended a three- day conference last weekend and wanted to spend this one discussing some of the latest decisions he’s made in regards to topics about his book. Would you like to join us or have you already scheduled your weekend? Perhaps with practice?”
Her assumption furthers my self-annoyance. All I do is rehearse. It’s always practicing for one piece then onto the next. Dana’s point bounces around the front of my mind. Part of the reason I joined the Highland Orchestra was to venture out and do more in life, although over the past year aside from Dana’s pushy moments I haven’t. It’s basically been the same shit I’ve always done except now instead of staying shut in a hotel room, I’m shut in my house.
“You should be practicing,” she continues, raising my expectation of a callous comment to soon follow. “The last time we heard you play it was almost embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?”
“Yes. It was obvious you hadn’t been spending enough time practicing that week. Your focus wasn’t there.”
Last time the two of them saw me play was almost a year ago right after I caught the flu, which I played through.
“You know your father and I did not spend the money we did for you to throw your talent away. It’s insulting enough you are still with this ensemble, the least you could do is make sure the people who pay to hear you play receive their money’s worth whether it was hard earned or not.”
Feebly, I reply, “I know.”
There’s a small sigh followed swiftly with a follow up to her assumption. “So, you’ll be practicing?”
Against my better judgment, I answer, “Mostly.”
“Excuse me?””
“Mostly…”
“As in you’ll be mostly rehearsing. What exactly do you plan to do with the rest of your time?”
“I um…I actually have a date.”
Okay, so I plan to have a date. Or maybe two.
“Oh,” the surprise in my mother’s tone is unsettling. “A date?”
“Yes.”
“Is this someone you work with in the orchestra?”
“No.”
“Someone you met while working? Perhaps a conductor or composer or…” her voice strains to continue, “a producer?”
“No.”
“Did you meet this man while purchasing a new bow?”
“No…”
There’s a small pause before she tries once more, “At a seminar? Did you finally attend one your father recommended on uplifting and strengthening ties to your community?”
“No.”
“Hm,” she hums with judgment in her voice, “then perhaps this man is not a good fit for you.”
I try not to glare. “Just because I didn’t meet him doing one of those things?”
“Because it means he’s a distraction from those things. From your life’s passion. From your culture. You don’t need someone like that in your life, Mable. You need someone who has equal drive and commitment towards the same activities and principles.”
Her logical explanation churns my stomach.
Is this what I sound like? Is this what the rest of the world hears every time I talk? Better yet, is she right? Is that really the life I want to lead? Is that really the life I need to lead? That I should lead?
Rather than continue a conversation I have no desire to have, I lie, “Mother, I am receiving another call. It’s work.”
“Oh, take it. Work should always come first.”
The explanation for why I am exactly the way I am. Having not one, but two parents, drill that into you while they schedule your entire life accordingly, is a lot of pressure.
I end the call with a curt goodbye and immediately dial another number.
There are two rings before Blake’s accented voice greets, “Afternoon Angel.”
“Hey…” My hand nervously fidgets with the gold music note necklace I’m wearing.
Why do I always find myself slightly terrified to talk to him? Why am I afraid I’m always going to screw it up? Could be because I successfully tanked our first two conversations and now that I actually enjoy being around him, I don’t want to accidently do it.
Without any warning, I blurt, “I’m boring.”
Blake lightly laughs. “Are you lookin’ to pick a fight with me?”
A small smile crosses my lips. “No.”
“Not gonna lie. Kinda sounds that way…”
“I just…I’ve come to the realization I’m boring. Really boring. Like a PBS special on…clouds, level of mind numbingly boring.”
“Well, you do look good in white, Angel,” he says with enough sexual undertone to push my thighs anxiously together, “but you’re far from boring. I think you’re just afraid you’re going to get addicted to fun and it’ll affect your playing.”
“So, you do think I’m boring.”
He chuckles again. “I think you should tell me what caused this conversation.”
The exchange with Dana clashes with the one from my mother in a less than pleasant nature. “I think we should go out again.”
My best friend wins this round. Something has to change. I don’t like the way my mother depicts my life, and I hate how I feel while living it even more. They say life begins at the end of your comfort zone. God, I hope I survive what’s on the other side of mine.
“I think we should go out tonight.”
“Uh…” Blake’s voice trails off lurching my heart into my throat.
“Or not,” I swiftly correct. “We don’t have to go out. Ever. I get it. I-”
“Whoa. Whoa,” Blake rushes to interrupt. “Slow down, Angel. I would love to take you out tonight, but I’m picking up my five nephews and taking them roller-skating.”
The information furrows my eyebrows. “You have five nephews?”
“Actually, seven.”
“Seven?! Like a couple from each brother?”
“No. Five are from my oldest brother and then my second oldest brother has two. But I’m not picking them up. Just Big Foot’s.”
“Big Foot? Like the mythical creature? Are you telling me you’re picking up a mythical creature’s children to avoid telling me the truth?”
“And what do you think the truth is? That I’ve found another piece of ass to take home tonight, but wanna string you along ‘til you’re willin’ to give it up? Is that the man you’re accusin’ me again of bein’, Abby? ‘Cause I gotta say, I haven’t done shit to deserve that.”
Guilt grabs me by the throat.
He really hasn’t. The unusual devotion to me would imply the exact opposite. Why do I have to keep sabotaging myself? What’s it going to take to get me to stop?
“His real name is William Jr.,” Blake quietly explains. “We call him Big Foot because of his size.”
“He’s bigger than you?”
“Yeah. But not by a lot. He’s 6’6.”
“Holy shit!”
The two of us laugh together, eradicating any doubt I let my mind create.
“You do know I’m only an inch shorter, right?”
“I didn’t actually….” Officiousness spurs me to ask, “Are you and your brothers all the same size?”
“Big Foot is the tallest and the biggest, hence the nickname. Eddie, Oliver, and me are the same height, but I am on the leaner side in comparison to them. Then there’s Runt.”
“Runt? You have a brother named Runt?”
“Ford,” another chuckle leaves him, “his real name is Ford, but the whole fam calls him Runt since he is the smallest at 6’0.”
“Wow…”
“I can take you out tomorrow night if you want and tell you more about them,” Blake casually suggests. “That is unless you’re interested in roller skating and poorly cooked pepperoni pizza.”
Before I can give myself a chance to overthink it, I say, “I’m in.”
The shock in his voice is conspicuous. “You sure? Five boys, rolling around all uncoordinated is not going to be easy.”
“You should probably be more worried about me falling on my face than them.”
Blake’s laugh sweeps over me once more leaving me in a tranquil like state. “Don’t worry. I’ll be packin’.” My body begins to tense when he adds, “Hope you don’t mind Captain America Band-Aids. They’re all the rage with the Shaw boys.”
Relieved it wasn’t a sexual reference and irritated with myself for wrongfully assuming again that’s all he cares about, I sweetly say, “I think I’ll be okay, but they may have to explain to me who that is.”
The appalled sound on the other end spirals me into more laughter.
This’ll be fun. Maybe. Possibly? I haven’t had much time around children or roller rinks or second dates. This could be the very adventure I need or it could be the very reason my mother believes I should only stick to what I know. I’m desperately hoping it isn’t the latter.
“And then Cap kicks in the door like BOOM!” Reed, Blake’s nephew, describes.
“Volume,” Blake chuckles from his seat beside me.
“Sorry Uncle B,” he apologizes quickly, but then diverts his attention back to me. “And then Cap does his shield like this.”
The poorly acted actions cause me to grin all over again.
I have never spent this much time around children, but I have to admit, they’re highly entertaining. Their lack of concern with how embarrassing something may make them look and disregard for who is watching or judging is remarkable. I wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up with that mentality. My parents constantly reminded my sister and me how the entire world was always watching and criticizing. How important it was to present ourselves in a respectable way at all times. Silliness was an unacceptable behavior in our household as well as whenever we were in public, which led me to consider it unacceptable in general.
“Hey,” Blake interrupts the enthusiastic demonstration. “Why don’t you go play with the twins? Looks like Adam could use a little bit of help.”
Reed glances over his shoulder where his oldest brother is chasing around a pair of adorable, rambunctious boys on the skating rink floor. He nods profusely, has a long sip of his empty soda cup, and then rushes to join the others.
I give Blake a wide smile. “Are they always this lively or is it all the sugar you are pumping into them?”
“Bit of both.” He chuckles and wraps his arm around the back of the table behind me. “Come on, didn’t you ever do shit like this when you were a kid? Eat a bunch of crap and then ride the sugar high?”
“No.”
“Not even on your birthday?”
“No.” The urge to end the conversation becomes overwhelming. All of a sudden, Blake gives my arm the gentlest stroke with his thumb and the resistance disappears. I slightly melt against his touch, the warmth replacing any trepidation over revealing too much of myself. “We didn’t have birthday parties. We had birthday dinners with our parents. They would take us to these upscale places, kids obviously didn’t belong, and we would usually have steak. For dessert it was typically, tiramisu.”
A look of horror falls onto Blake’s face. “No cake? No ice cream cake?”
I give him a playful smile. “I take it, ice cream cake is your favorite.”
“By a landslide, and also the absolute best cake to serve when your birthday is in the middle of summer.”
“Wouldn’t know. I didn’t go to any birthday parties.”
His brown eyes fill with befuddlement once more. “No friends? Even as a kid?”
“No. My parents were adamant about our time being spent on less ‘frivolous’ things.”
They aren’t monsters, but they have never been the warm and fuzzy type.
Blake shakes his head. “I can’t imagine not havin’ had a childhood. Me and my brothers were always into something and people used to beg to come hang out at our place. The parties we used throw in the barn on Friday and Saturday earned us quite the reputation.”
“I have no doubt you have always had quite the reputation, Blake.”
He gives me a crooked smirk. “We were quite the batch. Gave my parents hell and a good reason to drink.”
“Are your brothers as cocky as you are?”
“Charming,” he corrects. “The word you’re looking for is charming.”
“It isn’t.”
His frown successfully gets me to laugh once more. Instead of joining in, he watches, with wide eyes and a bright expression.
No, it’s something I’m not used to doing often, but it is definitely something I am learning to enjoy more and more. Blake makes it easy to laugh and even easier to smile. His goofy nature is actually endearing, and the child-like carefree attitude feels exactly like what I was hoping for when I quit traveling.
Blake pulls out his cell phone, turns on the camera, and extends it to fit us both in the frame. “Smile for me, Angel.”
I stare at my reflection with displeasure. “Are you going to post this picture too? Like you did of the one we took on our first date?”
He nods, thumb stroking me again. “I want the world to see how lucky I am…”
Personally? Social media is one of those things I don’t understand. I never feel social when I use it. I never have anything to “share” or “update” about my life. I don’t see the point when those you care about should have real connections to you. But Blake says their business gets bigger boosts when he posts, and his dedication to multiple platforms is also what got him the promotion at his job. I guess it works for some people…
His tilted head presses against mine, and I unconsciously smile at the connection. There’s no hesitation on his part to capture the moment.
“Damn, you’re quick.”
“Not where it counts,” he teases while his fingers fly across the keys.
The sexual reference sends my mind to a path it has steadily been traveling down since we first met.
No. I don’t wanna rush things, but it doesn’t mean I can’t continue to have reveries about him naked on top of me.
Blake’s eyes catch mine and he smirks as if he can see what I’m picturing. Thankfully, he lets it go and states, “I love this song. Classic, Tim McGraw.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Favorite country singer.” He doesn’t wait for a response. “You will hear plenty of him while we’re together. Teach you to two step in your livin’ room if you want. Or salsa if you prefer. Of course, that would have to be to different music…”
My face cringes. “Are you gonna start singing Tiny Dancer while you teach me those things? Because I am far from tiny.”
“You don’t know Tim McGraw, but you know Elton John?”
“I met someone who used to work with him. Mutual circles. I…searched his stuff after that. I have a fondness for it. I like the strong strings.”
He shakes his head, astonishment appearing in his expression again. “Let’s go skate again Angel, and I’ll tell you why I feel Tim McGraw is just as important as Elton John.”
Blake hops up onto his feet and dangles his hand out for me to take. With a shrug, I stand up too. “Fine, I’ll listen all you want, but I’m going to start calling you, Tiny Dancer.”
“That song was about petite women.”
“Making the joke funnier since you are a very oversized man.”
When his grin appears at my attempt at humor, I let myself smile wide only to be dragged back to the rink seconds later.
To call myself uncoordinated would be a lie. I can play a difficult musical instrument. I can waltz effortlessly. I can also strut better than any other woman in my orchestra in high heels. I’m not a gymnast, but I can definitely do more than just walk on my two legs. However, skating, falls into the category of jogging. It is an activity I should never do.
Blake stops his crooning to catch me from greeting the floor with my face. He laughs at my flailing despite my scowl. “You’ll get the hang of it.”
“That’s what you said three hours ago and all I got was a Captain America Band-Aid on my elbow.”
Another chuckle flows through him and into me. Blake hooks one arm around my waist and tugs me a little closer. “Just follow my lead, Angel. I won’t let you fall again.”
The double meaning to his chosen words makes it suddenly hard to breath.
Maybe I should let him take control of our relationship too. Um, friendship? Datingship? That’s not a word, so it damn sure isn’t a thing. Relationship sounds awfully formal for two people who haven’t even kissed yet.
“There ya go,” he encourages between humming along. “Let your body roll with mine…”
A soft moan festers behind my tightly pressed lips.
Is it wrong to want to hear him say that again when we’re naked and alone rather than in a room filled with screaming kids and snarky teenagers?
I do my best to concentrate on the movements we’re actually making instead of the ones I’ve been dreaming about.
Oh, and they’ve been so vivid I’ve had to take a cold shower in the morning to prevent from calling him over to make them a reality. It’s ridiculous! I barely know this man and can’t stop fantasizing about him in ways I have no business doing. I need sex to be more than just about sex. I need sex with another person to have a connection and meaning. I need sex to be about more than just back to back orgasms.
Our eyes briefly meet and Blake offers me a sweet smile.
I may need to retract my previous statements. Maybe I don’t need all those things. Maybe I just need it with someone I wanna spend more than one night with. Someone like Blake…
Without warning, a small child flies past, throwing me off balance. In a fit of squawks and clumsy actions, I tumble towards the ground, cursing the death wheels as well as being on them. However, as promised, Blake swiftly stops me before I can become the laughing stock of the rink. We roll right onto the other side of the edge where there is carpet.
His arms cage me against him despite my attempt to lean my back onto the pillar. “You okay, Angel?”
The heaving of my chest only increases.
I’ve never been this close to a man. Ever.
Paralyzed by fear and intrigue, I simply let my eyes lift until they’re captured by his. The rapid beating of my heart increases. My breath is as shaky as my legs. While his leaned down face appears to be calm and collected, his own breathing seems to have vanished. Before I can overthink the situation, I shoot to the tips of my toes and crash my lips against his. His initial reaction seems to be surprise, but almost instantly, he flexes his arms around me to hold me tighter. Unsure of what to do, I keep my lips stilled and quietly pray he takes the lead. Blake angles his head slightly to the side as he parts my lips with his. Very softly, his tongue brushes against mine, eliciting a sweet whimper from me. He repeats the action once more then waits until I initiate the continuation. Curiosity clinks into empowerment and I push my tongue more forcefully. The moment I realize my action is well received thanks to the heavy groan rumbling out of him, I increase the speed and maintain the intensity. Our tongues roll relentlessly around one another until I’m not sure if the condensation between my thighs is sweat or wetness from my impassioned pussy.
Blake reluctantly pulls back.
The whimpering sound I thoughtlessly make tempts his lips to return to mine by the way he begins to lean forward again.
We can definitely do that repeatedly. Starting right now and ending…never.
With a playful smirk, he gives the small of my back a stroke with his thumbs. “I told you we’d find something else to do instead of sex…”
I give my bottom lip a solid bite.
After that kiss, the absolute, last thing I want is for us to have a sex replacement. If he can make me this wet and wound up from a kiss alone, I can’t wait to see what else he’s capable of. Should I feel guilty for wanting to see those things sooner instead of later? Maybe we shouldn’t take things as slow as I was insisting or maybe…maybe I should put a little more faith in Blake Shaw and let him take the lead.