“Baltimore?”
“Yes, Baltimore. You act like it’s a road trip. We’ll be there in forty minutes. Besides, I’m driving. Let’s go.”
I put my shoes back on, got up, and followed him out to his rental car.
Daddy and I had a great three days together before he had to leave for New York. He managed to keep my mind off Jemistry for most of the time. We hung out every night at various restaurants, played golf on my day off, and he even chilled around my office while I was at work. Most of the people in my department were picking his brain about various techniques or new technology. My father was no joke when it came to surgery. And the fact that he had been hired by a hospital in Sweden gave him great credibility in the field. That’s why they were paying him to speak at a conference.
I ran into Magdalena in the hallway, which was strange considering that I never had before and I was located nowhere near the oncology unit three levels below. She was determined to try me.
Daddy spotted her talking to me and drilled me with twenty questions afterward. He tried to insist that I take her out; I told him that I would think about it. The one thing that I could not deny is that staying busy outside of work was helping to keep my mind off my heartache. Working overtime didn’t always do it because the fact that it was all about avoidance was always there. Spending time doing other things meant that I was somewhat moving on with my life.
Once Daddy left, I invited Floyd to go out bowling. I hadn’t picked up a bowling ball in more than a decade. From the looks of it, neither had he. While I’m sure that he partially showed up at Lucky Strike in Gallery Place because he wanted to hang out, I’m sure trying to see what kind of women congregated there was also a part of his plan. He left there with seven phone numbers locked in his phone under male names or initials. I left there with two but never planned to utilize either of them. The women were attractive but desperate—exactly how Floyd preferred them—and I was not ready to toss my dick around to the masses simply to be doing something.
I decided that I might actually ask Magdalena out for dinner . . . once. It was going on nine weeks since I’d heard from Jemistry. Frankly, I was beginning to be upset with her. If she ever tru
ly loved me, she at least owed me some type of closure. Blocking me from communication was rather childish. If she didn’t want to be bothered with me, I had finally come to the point of acceptance. It was time to claim my life back.
Chapter Twenty
“Love is most weak when there is more doubt than there is trust but love is most strong when you learn to trust even with all the doubts.”
—Unknown
I asked Magdalena to meet me at the Capitol City Brewing Company on New York Avenue. We got settled into a booth and ordered some Southwest Keg Rolls for an appetizer, and an order of the Brew House Ribs to share as an entrée. The meal was really enough for at least three adults so we were definitely about to throw down.
“I can’t believe you actually asked me out.” Magdalena beamed from across the table.
I chuckled. “You make it sound like you won the lottery or something.”
“In a sense, that’s what it seems like. I’m sure you realize that there are very few eligible, successful bachelors around here.”
“So I keep hearing.”
“It’s the truth. I’ve been single for almost five years.”
“Wow, really?” I was shocked. “That has to be by choice. You’re a career-driven, attractive woman who interacts with people on a daily basis. I could see if you were teleworking or something, but you’re always out and about.”
“Out and about, and down and out.” She sighed and took a sip of her wine. “Most men out here want to play games. They only want to get women in bed, take them for a test drive, and then toss them out the window.”
I could tell that she was damaged goods like so many women and wanted to make some things clear upfront.
“Let me be straight with you. Rather, let me be straight with you again, like I was the day we met at the Fourth of July picnic. I’m not looking to get involved right now. I went through a nasty breakup less than three months ago, and I haven’t gotten over it. I haven’t gotten over her.”
“Tevin, I feel you. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything. All I’m saying is that if we hit it off, you might change your mind.”
I stared into her eyes and my eyes dropped down to the cleavage she was showing in her black dress. My body was betraying me—in particular my dick—and I had almost become immune to jacking off.
“See, that’s the entire point. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. You said a moment ago that most men are after sex. What I’m saying to you is that, if anything were to develop between us, all that I have to offer is sex. I can’t fall in love with you or anyone else because I’m still in love with my ex.”
“Sex can change things.”
“Not for me it can’t. I’ve been having sex my entire life, with all kinds of beautiful women. And out of all the women that I’ve bedded, only two made me want to make a commitment—my ex-wife and my recent ex-girlfriend.”
“Damn, that’s cold!” She started pouting. “Talk about fucking with a chica’s self-esteem.”
“I’m not trying to do that, and you shouldn’t take it personally. That’s the point. It’s not about who you are; it’s about you not being her. I don’t believe that women are interchangeable like a lot of my friends do. I have these various . . . compartments, for lack of a better word. Compartments where I place people, in reference to my life, and they very rarely switch over into another one. I’ve ended up dating some women who started out as platonic friends, and it never worked for me.
“Even though I cared for them as human beings, that initial chemistry wasn’t there, and it’s something that can’t be faked or fabricated later on.”