Page 80 of The Dancer

I looked in the direction of her room mad as hell. This shit is all kinds of fucked. I find myself in the unenviable position of loving a woman who

on the surface wanted nothing to do with me. Ain’t this all about a fucking bitch! Life sure likes to fuck with my ass.


That night the four of us went to dinner. Yes four, because Tony wanted ringside seats to the show. At least I think that’s what he whispered to me when we were heading out the door.

That’s because Ms. Thing had just noticed that her jacket was missing and went on a yelling spree. She even had me feeling guilty for getting rid of that ugly shit until I caught myself. If I’m not careful she’d take my damn balls and turn me into a mindless idiot.

I pulled the new coat I’d bought her from the bag she’d left it in and forced it around her shoulders. When she tried to hit me I ordered her to stop, and she did.

Once again I was shocked into silence at her acquiescence. I was able to fix the coat in place and zip it up without any hassle from her. “Starting from today, we’re going to think and act like rational human beings.” Her pout is too cute.

“This coat is warmer and more comfortable than the other one.” I refrained from calling it an eyesore again and that seemed to work in my favor. “Now let me see if I got the right size.” I held her away from me and looked down at the perfect fit of the coat on her.

“Now let’s go have dinner, you must be starving. Then we’ll come back here and you’ll go to bed early tonight because you’ve had a full week.” She had that confused look on her face again as I led her from the room. Good, you’re confused? Join the party.

At dinner I just sat and watched to get a feel for her. How could I have learned to trust her in such a short matter of time?

And why the hell can’t I get it out of my head that I can and must trust her? Whoever was driving this train had taken their damn foot off the brakes.

How can it be that I’m the one in trouble? That I’m the one putting in the work to win a woman over? Hasn’t it always been the other way around? And why her? Why not a more accommodating, even tempered female?

Even as I thought it, my heart did one of its twisting motions. Because it can’t be anyone else but her. I knew that now as well as I knew my own name.

It didn’t matter that the shit made no sense. I really didn’t have any control over any of it. It wasn’t so much that I had chosen her as it was that she’d been chosen for me and that made all the difference.

From the first moment I laid eyes on her, nothing has been up to me. I realized that now. The way I was drawn to her. The way she stayed on my mind even when we were miles apart. It all added up to one thing. She was mine before I even knew her.

So this is how it happens. How that stumbling block called love sneaks up on you. I looked at her through new eyes as I felt something inside me let go. I knew without having to be told that it was pointless to fight it.

As I ate and listened, I let my mind go back to the first time we met. I tried to remember everything about that day, because I know that’s when it happened. When I first started to fall.

When karma jumped up and bit me in the ass. What a warp minded bitch karma is! This one is going to run circles around my ass. She’s going to make me pay for every damn thing I ever did in the past where females are concerned. Fuck me!

She kicked the side of my foot with hers under the table bringing me out of my reverie. “What? What happened?” I asked her in an almost whisper.

“You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes, cut it out.” She hissed before going back to her meal.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize.” Now she’s got me falling all over myself to apologize for some shit that doesn’t need an apology. Fuck this, I’m not going out like that. I’m not ready for what she’s trying to bring out in me.

Now the idea of her and mom in the same room gave me the shakes. I’d wanted mom to work on her, make my life easier. But if my mother ever figures out what’s going on with me, it will be me who gets worked on.

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