Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MOLLY

What in God's name is Kyle doing here? He can't have broken up with Amelia, too, can he? Thoughts spin through my head like a tornado tearing through a mobile home park. No freaking way is my ex at the same singles' event I am. What kind of heinous crime did I commit in a past life to warrant this kind of rotten luck?

Before I can continue my flight to safety, I hear Kyle call out, "Molly, is that you?"

While I want to run, I'm suddenly overcome with the desire to confront him. Whipping around, I force what feels like a maniacal smile onto my face. Through clenched teeth, like I've come down with a bout of lockjaw, I sneer, "Kyle. What are you doing here?"

He shoves his hands into his pockets, but he doesn't answer. In the silence, I stare at him long and hard and decide that he's as handsome as ever, but there's something else that wasn't there before. Is that humility? If so, it looks good on him.

He finally says, "I … um … Amelia and I broke up."

Excellent. "Really?"

"Yeah, um … well … the thing is, she married someone else."

"Oh." What else is there to say? You certainly got what was coming to you, didn't you? But I don't go there. He'd have to be an idiot not to have already worked that out for himself.

Before I can ask for further details, Blake walks up and joins us. "How do you two know each other?"

Kyle's face forms into a wince. "Molly is the girl I left for Amelia."

Before Blake can comment, I ask, "How do you know Kyle?"

"We met this afternoon," Kyle says. "We were both out walking."

"You told a complete stranger that you left me for another woman?" Well, this is embarrassing. It's also not something I would have ever thought Kyle would cop to. The man I knew wasn't particularly keen on taking responsibility for actions that made him look less than stellar. Case in point, he told all of our mutual friends that our breakup was a joint decision.

Addressing Blake, Kyle asks, "Would you mind giving us a minute?"

Apparently, Blake does mind because he stands riveted to his spot. I'm glad too, because I think I might enjoy having a witness while I rail against Kyle for wasting so much of my time. Having an audience will embarrass him more.

Barely controlling my anger, I announce, "I'm not sorry Amelia left you, Kyle. In fact, it's exactly what you deserve. And while I no longer fantasize about you getting run over by a semi-truck, I really don't think there's any point to you and me talking."

"You wanted to kill me?" He looks appropriately chagrined.

"Not personally," I tell him. "In my fantasies, I liked to be on the sidelines watching you meet your end." Your grizzly, untimely, painful demise, you big turd.

Kyle's complexion turns a dingy sort of grey. "Oh."

I continue, "I'm not sure how many of these mixers I'm going to attend, but I'd like to make it clear that you are to avoid me like I'm the bubonic plague and you're a midwife. Because that's how I see you. "

"You see me as a midwife?" He sounds genuinely confused.

"No, you get to be the bubonic plague."

"I suppose it's too late to say I'm sorry then." If I didn't hate Kyle quite so much, I'd almost feel some compassion for him.

"Not at all," I answer. "In fact, I'd very much like to hear your apology." It won't do me any good now, but I find I'm quite enjoying my ex's discomfort.

Taking a deep breath, Kyle says, "I'm so sorry, Molly. From the bottom of my heart, you deserved better than what I did to you, and there's no excuse that would justify my past behavior."

Darn if he doesn't sound sincere. But I'm not about to let him off the hook. "Better late than never, I suppose," I tell him. Then for good measure, I add, "Now, stay away from me."

Kyle's gaze shifts from me to Blake and then back to me. "If that's what you want." I nod my head once, which is all the energy I deign to expend on his behalf. I can't believe I let Kyle scare me away from dating, and I'm really starting to resent him for that.

Kyle turns to walk away but Blake does not follow suit. Instead, he steps closer to me. "That was brutal," he finally says.

I take a giant step to the side to regain my personal space. "What was brutal?"

"Kyle and you. You know, the whole leaving you for another woman thing?"

In attempt to recoup my dignity, I tell him, "It's over and done. Kyle doesn't mean anything to me anymore."

"Yeah, but still. It must have been a shock at the time."

"A shock?" I ask before saying, "Yeah, it was a shock, but you know what they say, don't you?" He shakes his head, so I tell him, "All's fair in love and war."

"It sounds like you're defending the guy." Blake sounds surprised.

"No. I'm not defending him. But Kyle did teach me a valuable lesson."

"What's that? "

"He taught me trust is something that needs to be earned. I gave him my trust too easily, and I won't make that mistake again."

Blake looks at me questioningly while continuing to stare at me like he's trying to see inside of my brain. "People do have to earn trust," he says, "but at some point, you have to take things on faith."

The first thought that comes to mind is that Blake is simply too good-looking to be here which makes me not trust him. But then again, who's to say gorgeous men have an easy time dating? Maybe women throw themselves at him and he isn't finding the quality of person that he's after.

I remain quiet for long enough that Blake breaks the silence by asking, "So, you still want that double gin with a tequila chaser?"

I snort in response. "No, but I wouldn't mind a glass of red wine if they have it."

Blake points to the bar table set up next to the dancing chipmunks. "Let's go see," he says.

I remain quiet on the way to our destination. Blake makes me nervous. He's exactly the kind of guy I could imagine seeing myself with, but he's made it clear I'm not the kind of woman he's looking for. Without thinking, I blurt out, "So what's your ideal woman like?"

"Over three feet tall but under seven feet."

I stop walking and stare him down. "Excuse me?"

He stops moving and says, "She walks on two legs, unless of course she only has one, then I'd have to assume she might hobble a little."

"What in the world are you talking about?"

His smile is enough to set loose a flock of butterflies in my stomach. "I don't know what my ideal woman is like," he says. "I haven't met her yet."

"You mean you don't have a type?" I find it hard to believe that Blake's future mate might be a three-foot, six-inch, peg-legged pirate .

"I've dated a lot of different kinds of women," he says.

I snort loudly in response.

"You don't believe me?"

I suddenly return to the nervous mass of awkwardness that I've always been around him. "It's just that … well …"—I point at the top of his head and let my finger slowly move toward his feet—"you're not exactly, you know …"

"A lumberjack?" he teases.

Oh, he could be a lumberjack all right. Before a trail of drool slides down my mouth, I manage to say, "You're not exactly unattractive."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome."

He smiles endearingly. "You're not exactly unattractive yourself."

"That's not much of a compliment," I tell him.

"Yeah, I didn't think so either when you said the same about me."

"Sorry about that." Why can't I act normally around this man?

He gestures toward the bar. "What do you say we go get you that drink. Then maybe we can wander around the room together looking for our soulmates."

That says it all, doesn't it? As if I needed reminding, Blake does not see me as a potential love interest. And being that we're at a singles' event, if he were even slightly interested in a five-foot, six-inch brunette with blue eyes, he'd certainly let me know, wouldn't he? Either that or he's decided I'm too awkward to catch his fancy. In truth, that's a real possibility.

"I think I'll get that gin after all," I tell him.

When we reach the bar, he tells the bartender, "We'd like two gin martinis, dry, straight up with olives. Make them extra cold, please."

"How do you know that's how I like my martini?" I ask, surprised that he nailed my order .

With a slow grin, he answers, "Because you're clearly not a barbarian."

Laughter erupts out of me. "Only barbarians drink their martinis on the rocks with lemon twists?"

"Obviously," he says with such dry humor I want to throw myself into his arms and beg him to like me. Short of that, I guess I'll just enjoy spending whatever time I can with him.

As soon as we get our drinks, we hear a loud tapping sound before Trina's voice is amplified around the room. She says, "I hope you're all enjoying yourselves. I have a lot of fun things planned for us in the next two weeks. But first things first …"

She gestures around the room. "Turn to the first person of the opposite sex you see." She waits while we follow orders, then she says, "Now, tell them something about yourself that you've never told a potential suitor." So much for tonight just being a meet and greet.

The room fills with nervous murmurs before the quiet mumbling of confessions fills the air. I look up at Blake before unconsciously fluttering my eyelashes. I mutter, "I've always wanted to date a lumberjack."

His smile is as slow as cold molasses pouring from a jug. Then he leans down and whispers in my ear, "Me too …"