Eleven (4 page)

I swallowed hard, cleared my throat,
and pressed the talk button, “Hello…”

“Well, hello there,” he
answered.

His voice; oh, that voice! It was warm,
smooth, and deep with the sexiest kind of drawl. As he spoke, his
words danced in my ear like a slow, Texas waltz.

Before his call, I had been worried
about what tone and pace our conversation would take. Would I
stammer? Would I choke? Would there be awkward pauses? Would I say
something stupid? Would we run out of things to say?

It couldn’t have gone any better. Our
verbal exchange was easy and effortless. We talked about our
families and discovered how many ironic similarities we shared. We
both took pleasure in mutual banter. His laugh was deep and hearty.
We caught up on the high points of the past thirty years of one
another’s lives.

Our first conversation lasted over
three hours. I didn’t want it to end, but I knew there would be
more to come. We made arrangements to meet on Saturday
night.

He ended the call with a melodic,
“Goodnight, beautiful. Sweet dreams. I’ll pick up you up at 7:00 on
Saturday night.”

As I hit the ‘end’ button, I glanced up
at the DVD clock. The blue numbers beamed 11:11. My heart
smiled.

I didn’t know if he would be the same
in person. But over the phone, he had made me feel beautiful,
young, smart, and so very comfortable. I couldn’t wait for Saturday
to get here!

I had 3 days to touch up my manicure,
tan, get my brows waxed, and shop for a knock ‘em-dead gorgeous
outfit.

I met the girls for lunch on Friday.
They made me promise to call each and every one of them on Sunday
to fill them in on all the juicy details. Before we adjourned our
lunch meeting, one of my sweet friends led us in a group prayer.
She had been raised by agnostic, hippie parents and had recently
become a brand-spankin’-new Christian. Not to mock her enthusiasm,
but I had never seen anyone so excited to have discovered Jesus.
Her new found spirituality was actually quite sincere and
refreshing.

She delighted in asking us all to hold
hands and bow our heads as she offered up a prayer, “We come to you
today, dear Lord, on behalf of our sister. Please be with her
tomorrow night. Give her confidence and guide her every step.
Please be with the man she is meeting, Father. Open his eyes and
heart to her. Dear God, we pray this man is the answer to her
prayers. We know she deserves a good man, oh Father, and we ask you
to intercede in her favor. Oh, and dear Lord, please help her keep
her britches on! In sweet Jesus’s name we pray…”

And all my girlfriends giggled to a
chorus of “Amen!”.

With that, I had the blessing of my
friends and God himself. This was going to be THE first date of a
lifetime!

Chapter 10

In the Flesh

House immaculately cleaned—check!
Shower—check! Legs and pits shaved—check! Chilled bottle of wine
opened to breathe—check! Nails—check! Lotion, deodorant, and
perfume—check! Hair and make-up—check! Teeth brushed and mouthwash
swished—check! Chanel No. 5 spritzed ever-so-sparingly on my
wrists, between my breasts, and on my hair—check! Bangin’ hot
outfit—check!

Everything was ready and in its place.
He was scheduled to arrive in 15 minutes. I had never been this
nervous or apprehensive about a first date. I had to force myself
not to go back to my old way of thinking. I had a brief Stewart
Smalley moment when I stood in front of my mirror to check my look
one last time.

I gave the mirror a cheesy grin and
recited to myself, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and
dog-gone-it—he’s gonna like me!”

That quick moment of levity relaxed me
a bit. Plus the fact that I looked my best gave me a much needed
boost of confidence. I didn’t just look good; I looked damn good!
My hard work at the gym had paid off. My last set of measurements
read 5’8”, 138 pounds, 38-28-38. Yeah, baby!

My chosen attire was nothing short of
fabulous. No, it wasn’t the white cotton blouse or leopard capris.
It was even better.

My blouse was a deep blue paisley print
with subtle touches of deep green, burgundy, and a fawn color
accented with metallic gold thread. It was a long sleeved, fitted
button down made from stretch satin and had princess seams down the
front. It seductively hugged the curves of my upper body in all the
right places. I left just enough buttons undone at the top to
barely show a hint of cleavage.

The pants were killer! They were quite
a find: soft fawn colored suede leather, boot cut to fit perfectly
over my tall heeled Luccheses. But the best part: the pants fit me
like a glove! They accentuated my curvaceous hips and long legs
superbly. I wouldn’t have any problem in leading the way. Those
pants would give him quite a nice view from behind.

Underneath it all, I wore a decadent
navy blue, lacy bra and panty set I purchased with a Victoria’s
Secret gift card one of my sisters had sent in the mail, just for
this occasion. She was the sister who had taught me
well.

I took her advice to heart, “No matter
what you wear on the outside, always wear something sexy
underneath!”

I kept my accessories simple. The gold
hoop earrings would look pretty against my long, brown hair. No
necklace—I didn’t want to risk the clasp getting stuck in my hair.
I adorned my wrists with multiple, delicate gold bangles that set
off the gold in my blouse.

Okay. I was ready. I kept repeating to
myself, “I can do this, I can do this” between deep, cleansing
breaths while pacing the floor of my tiny living room.

I prayed he would be as down-to-Earth
as I had heard he was. Please, Dear God, don’t let him judge me
based on my house! I had tried to cautiously explain my situation
to him without going into too much detail. Remember the rules:
never ever talk about past relationships! I hoped he would see past
everything—and see me for who I really was.

Oh, God! Please let him like
me!

Through the sheer curtains and panes of
my front window, I saw a spotless black Chevy Silverado Crew Cab
pick-up pull up to the curb in front of my house. The driver’s side
door opened and I saw him step out, and then reach back in for his
hat. I peered through the break in the curtains and watched him as
he checked the tail of his deep blue starched shirt which was
tucked into the waist of his well-fitting Wrangler jeans. His black
cowboy boots matched his leather belt. He was obviously a Lucchese
fan, as well—full quill ostrich, no doubt. The belt was fastened
with a custom made silver and gold buckle that featured his ranch
brand. He smoothed his dark hair back as he crowned his head with a
black felt Stetson.

Good God, Almighty! I opened the front
door and saw 6 foot 7 inches of living, breathing chemistry
swaggering toward me. For one brief moment, I considered the
possibility that I might melt into my boots.

I quickly amended my silent prayer,
“Dear God in Heaven, don’t let me pass out!”

Hoping the “cat that swallowed the
canary” was a better look for me than the “drowned rat” look, I
greeted him with a warm smile and invited him to come inside. As he
walked inside, he removed his hat and hung it on the hat rack by
the front door.

His face actually flushed as he
politely introduced himself and said, “It’s nice to finally meet
you, ma’am.”

What a refreshing surprise! In spite of
his good looks that were of legendary proportions amongst my
friends: he was humble—he was shy! That grin: the one he had
brandished at the gas pump and concert—there it was; stretched
across a tanned face that was gorgeously weathered from riding and
working cattle.

He had the most genuinely beautiful
smile. He was even more handsome up close than from a distance. His
deep blue eyes were framed with long, dark lashes and the outside
corners were accented with distinguished creases when he smiled.
His hair was dark brown, almost black, and slightly wavy. It wasn’t
cut too short. It was the kind of mane you were tempted to run your
fingers through. There was slight greying at his temples. He had a
dark moustache that edged his upper lip and crested the corners of
his mouth. His lips were full and looked so velvety under the
trimmed line of his moustache. Irresistible.

Oh, and he smelled good—an intoxicating
mix of leather, testosterone, and Eternity by Calvin
Klein.

Oh, mercy!

After finally meeting him in person, I
felt much more at ease. However, I was totally mesmerized by him.
The eye contact was almost too intense, so I would defer my gaze to
his lips as he talked. I would have been perfectly happy just to
sit and stare at him for the rest of my life. Neither of us could
stop smiling. I was afraid I was going to suffer permanent wrinkle
damage from the parentheses surrounding my stretched
smile.

Once our polite introductions were
over, I asked him if he would like a glass of wine before we left
the house. He accepted my offer. I suggested he have a seat and
make himself at home. I went to the kitchen and poured half a glass
of Indigo Hills Merlot for each of us.

I returned to the living room with the
wine. As I handed him his glass, our fingers lightly touched. Zing!
There it was again—a tingling bolt of electricity shot all the way
up my outstretched limb. I looked down and realized I had goose
bumps on my arm. Then I felt the heat rise in my cheeks when I
realized he had noticed my erect nipples showing through the
blouse’s fabric which stretched across my breasts. His effect on me
was palpable—and obvious.

He attempted to look away for a moment
while he took a sip of wine.

Then he confided in me, “You know, I
have to tell you something. When you contacted me online, I didn’t
have any idea who it could be. But I sure was hoping it was you.
I’m awfully glad it was.”

“
I certainly hope you didn’t
think I was too forward,” I replied.

“
Not at all,” he affirmed,
“I’m rather glad you were. I kinda like a woman who knows what she
wants and goes for it.”

Oh, I definitely knew what I wanted—and
it was him.

We finished our wine and decided on a
restaurant. Not only was I satisfied with his suggestion of a
pricey steak house, I was damn pleased I had finally found a man
who knew what he wanted, as well. I had grown disenchanted with the
men I had known before that couldn’t even make a decision about
where to go eat. I despised hearing the reply, “I don’t care, where
you want to go?” It was refreshing to be in the company of a man
who knew how to take the lead; and knew how to treat a
lady.

As we approached his pick-up, he proved
he was a true Texas gentleman by opening my door and extending a
hand to steady me as I stepped up the sideboard and climbed into
his passenger seat. A girl could get used to that kind of
treatment.

Dinner conversation upstaged the
wonderful meal. The ebb and flow of our exchange was like a
perfectly timed dance. He seemed to take as much pleasure in
listening to me as I found in listening to him.

Once dinner was over, we moved to the
restaurant’s dimly lit bar to continue our journey of getting to
know one another. We found a cozy spot in the corner.

He asked me what I would like to drink
and placed our order with the waitress, “Dewar’s straight-up and a
Manhattan for the lady.”

I sipped on my drink and felt its
familiar soothing warmth in my mouth and throat. Then he did
something that caused warmth to spread to other parts of my body.
Underneath our table, he softly placed his hand on my thigh and
began to slowly smooth the pelt of my suede pants.

He looked at me with a hungry glance.
His smile had moved from his mouth to his eyes.

He gently squeezed the inside of my
thigh, just above the bend of my leg and said in a deep, low tone,
“Those pants are driving me crazy, girl. I’ve been dyin’ to feel
them all night.”

My breath became more rapid with his
touch. I tried to regain my composure.

“Earlier in the evening, you had me
believing you might be a bit timid or shy. I think you just proved
my theory to be incorrect,” I teased; accepting his
advances.

He responded, “I always have been a bit
shy before I get to know someone.”

I jumped at the door he had just
opened, “So, tell me, just how are you once you get to know
someone?”

He squeezed my thigh a little tighter
this time. His reply wasn’t verbal, but an audible,
“Mmmmm”.

The Manhattan was bringing out my slow,
Southern drawl.

I don’t know if it was the alcohol or
the obvious compatibility we shared that caused me to tempt him by
saying, “You wanna know what I think, Mister? I think that timid
smile of yours hides a dangerous man.”

He grabbed my hand and brought it up to
his lips and kissed it. I had guessed right—his lips were velvety
soft.

He placed his warm palm against the
inside of my thigh once again. His hands were large and manly. They
were tanned, but smooth and well-manicured. You could tell he was a
man who took good care of himself. I slipped my hand over the top
of his, running my fingers along the veins on the back. I slid my
fingers between his and squeezed.