“I like the way you smile,” he said. “It’s sensual.”
I thought we might kiss right then, in the car. But we didn’t.
It was a warm summer night, and he suggested we find a spot to sit outside. We drove east a few blocks to Central Park. There was an empty green bench outside the park entrance.
He gave me a bottle of water. He said that we should watch out for rats. After all, this was Central Park.
Then he pulled out his bottle of bug repellent. “Mosquitoes love me,” he said.
“I see why,” I said.
We were holding hands. Then his phone buzzed. He let go of my hand to look at his phone. He didn’t say who was calling, and I didn’t ask. But who would be calling him at midnight?
“It’s cold,” he said. “Let’s get in the car.”
He bent over the cup holder. I met him in the middle. We kissed.
This was the moment I’d fantasized about over and over. Now it was real. Or unreal.
But he was nervous now. His body seemed tense. I wondered if it had anything to do with that phone call.
We were kissing again. Then his phone buzzed again.
If he’d looked at his phone, and ignored it, I would have let it go.
He let go of my knee and looked at his phone. He was focused on reading his text message.
“Excuse me,” he said. Then he turned away from me and started to type.
I looked at the clock on my phone. It was 1 a.m. If you think I was getting turned off, you’re right.
“Who’s that?” I said, teasing him.
“My young lady friend,” he said, still typing.
“Your young lady friend?”
Go ahead and think that I was jealous. But I wasn’t. He was being rude. Of course, he had a young lady friend.
But did he really have to sort this out in the middle of our kiss? Certainly, my fantasy was much better than the reality.
C'mon now, tell the truth: Have you ever hit on your UPS man? Your postman? Your Fed-Ex man?
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