My weakness fills me with shame and I turn away.

I notice her blinking rapidly as my rejection hits her. She’s out the bedroom door before I can even say anything. I find her in the kitchen.

“Elle?”

She’s taking the lasagna pan out of the refrigerator. She ignores me as she pulls out one of those plastic food storage things and slides several pieces of lasagna inside. The room is silent other than the popping sound of the top closing over the bottom of the container. She pushes the full plastic box toward me.

I clear my throat loudly and when she looks up I gesture toward her bedroom. “Hey, about what just happened.”

“Nothing happened.” There’s no tone or inflection in her voice.

“Look—”

She cuts me off. “So something’s just hit me, Paul.”

Stepping up to the kitchen island where she’s working, I tighten my fingers over the edge of the honed marble top.

“And . . .”

“I hate being rejected. Rejection makes me sad. And I lived through an entire marriage being rejected. So I really don’t need it from you.”

“I understand. I’m sorry I make you sad.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“I’ll leave now if you want me to.”

She nods. “Yeah, maybe you should.”

I feel unbelievably bad. I’m such an asshole. She deserves better.

“Okay. If that’s what you want.” I pick up my jacket. “Thanks for dinner.”

She points to the box. “That’s for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. You really seemed to like it.”

“I did. I like your lasagna a lot.”

She gives me a tiny smile.

“And I like you a lot.”

She arches her brow. “You like me? So what, you want to be friends?”

I nod.

“With no benefits?”

I shrug. “Yeah.”

She shakes her head and laughs. “What am I going to do with you? Well, let me think about that, okay?”

I smile. “Yeah. And I’m going to bring this plastic thing back when I’ve eaten all of this and make you laugh again.”

“And while you’re at it, bring my book back.”

“Torched? Did that book really get you off? I mean, that shit was crazy. Who talks like that in bed?”

“It totally got me off, and it will again as soon as you bring it back here.”

“Can you tell me what man speaks entire sentences when he’s fucking a hot woman?”

“Well apparently you don’t. But I’ll never know that for sure.” She winks at me and leads me to the hall. We’re almost to the front door when her doorbell rings.

“Expecting more company?” I ask.

She looks at me with wide eyes. “No.” She peeks out the door viewer and jumps back. “It’s Stephan! I thought he wasn’t coming tonight.”

“You want me to sneak out the back door?”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll introduce you. You can judge him for yourself.”

She opens the door. “Stephan!” she says like she’s thrilled to see him. She gives him a big hug. “I thought you said you weren’t coming!”

“I couldn’t stay away.”

She pulls the door open wider and when he comes in he looks up and our eyes meet. He’s taller than me and thinner. He’s blond and looks like an underfed Viking.

At least he’s not wearing a wifebeater and worn jeans. That would piss me off. Instead he’s wearing a black turtleneck.

Poser.

I wonder if he smokes a pipe.

I raise my hand in greeting. “Hey Stephan. I’m Paul. Elle’s told me all about you.”

She smiles and nods as he studies her. “Has she now?”

“Paul’s a friend of mine.”

“A good friend of hers,” I add.

“Really?” His gaze darts back and forth between us like he doesn’t know what to make of us.

“Yes, matter of fact I had an electrical problem and Paul came by to fix it for me.”

I nod. “Yes, her light bulb burned out.”

“Light bulb?”

The pipe-smoking Viking appears ruffled.

“Gee Elle, you struck me as the type of woman who could handle anything, certainly a burned out light bulb.” He gives me a wary look.

Ha! He’s suspicious of us now. I should feel bad for being delighted, but I don’t at all.

“Oh, Paul is only telling half the story. Aren’t you, Paul? The heavy hanging light fixture was the issue.” She punches me semi-playfully in the shoulder.

I nod. “Really heavy.”

“And as a matter of fact Paul was just leaving.”

I’m being asked to leave?

Well screw that.

“I am leaving. Great to meet you, Stephan. And thanks for the lasagna, Elle. Sorry we made such a mess in your bedroom. I think I got some dirty footprints on your bed.”

The expression on the Viking’s face is priceless. I think I’m seeing some shades of green breaking through the bronze toner it looks like he’s sporting.

Elle starts scurrying about to push me out the door and distract him. Is the Viking’s booty-call a bust?

“Bye!” I call out right as the door shuts.

I’m sitting in my car, contemplating going back inside, when my cell phone goes off.

It’s a text from Elle.

Dirty footprints?

I text back a smiley face.

Her response makes me smile.

Asshole.

Chapter Six

THE MAN TRAP

That night as I lie in bed I think about Elle and how I wish I knew what to do about her. She’s the most unpredictable woman I’ve ever met. One minute she’s getting me worked up with that dirty mouth, the next she’s baking lasagna and apple pie like one of those 1950’s T.V. moms.

It’s confusing because I’m constantly fighting off the urge to get close to her. Maybe it’s because I grew up being taught that divorce damages people and they carry that into their next relationship. I can’t disagree since Elle still talks freely about her disappointments. My mom taught us to never date a divorced woman or we’d regret it . . . what would guarantee that the same thing wouldn’t happen to us?

Besides, after how I’ve changed my life, could I really date a girl who was willing to screw everything from a germ-a-phobe to a finger sucker? Where would I stand in her illustrious Tinder line-up?

I toss and turn until I finally make up my mind. I’m going to tell Ma that she can finally hook me up with that Sunday school teacher at her church. Maybe it’s time I see if what I think I’ve been wanting was worth the wait.

At our family dinner Ma glances up at me with a hopeful look. “Are you serious, Paulie? You’re really going to let me introduce you to Lourdes?”

“Indeed I am.”

She claps her hands together. “She’s the sweetest lass, and has the most gorgeous shiny black hair. It’s curly, with ringlets down her back. Oh, Poppa! Just think of the babes!”

Dad gives her a warm smile. Hell, they’re practically goo-goo eyes. He must really want grandkids too.

Trisha sets down the chicken leg she’s been gnawing on. “Is Mercury in retrograde or something? Ma’s pulling off two set-ups in one month. Surely this is a new record.”

I shake my head. “It’s not a set-up. Lourdes hasn’t agreed to go out with me yet.”

Ma has a smug smile. “Oh yes she has! She hasn’t left me alone since I showed her your picture!”

I narrow my eyes at her. “And what picture was that?”

“The one of you crossing the finish line,” Dad says.

I feel my ears get hot as my blood pressure goes up. “You showed her that high school track picture?” This picture was infamous in my family for reasons I try not to think about.

Trisha starts howling like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “The one where his thing is falling out of his track shorts?”

“That’s the baton,” Ma insists.

“How many times do we have to go over this Ma? The relay baton is black not flesh colored.”

“Enough!” I roar.

“Stop provoking your brother, Patricia,” Dad demands.

“Lourdes said you look like a young Ryan Gosling,” Ma says to distract me.