was freaking me out.
He had made a show of putting on his seatbelt securely when he first got in, and I had made it a point to tell him what an asshole he was. Which of course, made him burst out laughing.
Now we were cruising along, and while I wasn’t enjoying his careful observation, I was enjoying the silence. Because silence meant no questions.
Just as I was congratulating myself on this nicety with my internal monologue, he burst the bubble.
“So, Roni.”
Crap. Nothing good ever started with a “So, Roni.”
So, Roni. We know you like this Josh boy, but he’s not right for you. He’s taking your focus away from important things.
So, Roni. You actually think you can chase storms with the big boys?
So, Roni. How about we go do what you’ve been begging me for? (Cue inappropriate touching followed quickly by a knee to Max’s balls.)
As far as now was concerned, I just knew I was about to get hit with a “Tell me about yourself” or some other probing question.
“Where are you from?” Coleman asked.
Well, look at that. I was right. However, as far as these questions went, it was a fairly easy one.
Keeping my answer to a bare minimum, I murmured, “Just outside of Little Rock.”
“Arkansas, huh? Hmm.” I glanced away from the road, looked at him, and saw that he was tapping his fingers against his soft lips.
He pretended to mull that over for a minute and then casually added, “Family?”
Yep. There it was. The dreaded question. Normally, this was a bright spot in someone’s “get to know you” journey. For me, it wasn’t. Not in any way, shape, or fashion. My parents sucked, and everyone else was dead or as good as gone.
“Don’t have any,” I replied curtly, trying to cut off the questions without being an absolute bitch. Unfortunately, I had the feeling I was failing.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, and I could see he was putting his kid gloves on, finding his balls, and figuring out how he was going to keep the caged animal that was me calm.
“So-”
Not letting him get any further I blurted, “Don’t.”
His eyes were assessing, his thoughts complex, but his response was simple. “Roni.”
“Please. Ask me something else, just don’t go there ,” I pleaded quietly.
“Alright.” He thought on it for just a couple of seconds and then moved on. “How old are you?”
Trying to break the tension I muttered, “You know, you’re not supposed to ask a woman that question.”
“Roni.”
I heaved a breath, and on the exhale answered, “Thirty.”
I could hear the smile in his voice as he murmured quietly, “Ah, that’s perfect.”
It seemed like he hadn’t meant for me to hear that comment, but I had.
My head whipped furiously between looking at the road and glancing at him. “Perfect for what?”
Weighing his options, he waited for a few seconds before answering, “Me.”
“How is thirty perfect for you?”
I saw a flash of something cross his face, but he quickly hid it before moving on to give me an answer.
“Okay, pay attention because I’m only gonna go through this explanation once,” he said with mock seriousness while shaking one long perfect finger at me.
“Okaaaay.” I drew out the word intentionally, based on what the vibe that was rolling off of him. He had started it like a joke, but I could see in his eyes- his freaking beautiful eyes- and in the lines of his face that he was serious. He was playing the answer off like it was a joke, but it most definitely wasn’t one to him. It was personal.
Smartly, I was getting scared.
“Well, I’m thirty-two and I’ve always wanted a woman younger than me, but old enough to get it. Old enough to understand life the way I do, old enough to understand hard times, old enough to like the fact that I had CJ in my life and not see it as a burden.”
That made good sound sense, but it didn’t seem to warrant any uneasiness on his part and I didn’t think that it was a complete
He had made a show of putting on his seatbelt securely when he first got in, and I had made it a point to tell him what an asshole he was. Which of course, made him burst out laughing.
Now we were cruising along, and while I wasn’t enjoying his careful observation, I was enjoying the silence. Because silence meant no questions.
Just as I was congratulating myself on this nicety with my internal monologue, he burst the bubble.
“So, Roni.”
Crap. Nothing good ever started with a “So, Roni.”
So, Roni. We know you like this Josh boy, but he’s not right for you. He’s taking your focus away from important things.
So, Roni. You actually think you can chase storms with the big boys?
So, Roni. How about we go do what you’ve been begging me for? (Cue inappropriate touching followed quickly by a knee to Max’s balls.)
As far as now was concerned, I just knew I was about to get hit with a “Tell me about yourself” or some other probing question.
“Where are you from?” Coleman asked.
Well, look at that. I was right. However, as far as these questions went, it was a fairly easy one.
Keeping my answer to a bare minimum, I murmured, “Just outside of Little Rock.”
“Arkansas, huh? Hmm.” I glanced away from the road, looked at him, and saw that he was tapping his fingers against his soft lips.
He pretended to mull that over for a minute and then casually added, “Family?”
Yep. There it was. The dreaded question. Normally, this was a bright spot in someone’s “get to know you” journey. For me, it wasn’t. Not in any way, shape, or fashion. My parents sucked, and everyone else was dead or as good as gone.
“Don’t have any,” I replied curtly, trying to cut off the questions without being an absolute bitch. Unfortunately, I had the feeling I was failing.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, and I could see he was putting his kid gloves on, finding his balls, and figuring out how he was going to keep the caged animal that was me calm.
“So-”
Not letting him get any further I blurted, “Don’t.”
His eyes were assessing, his thoughts complex, but his response was simple. “Roni.”
“Please. Ask me something else, just don’t go there ,” I pleaded quietly.
“Alright.” He thought on it for just a couple of seconds and then moved on. “How old are you?”
Trying to break the tension I muttered, “You know, you’re not supposed to ask a woman that question.”
“Roni.”
I heaved a breath, and on the exhale answered, “Thirty.”
I could hear the smile in his voice as he murmured quietly, “Ah, that’s perfect.”
It seemed like he hadn’t meant for me to hear that comment, but I had.
My head whipped furiously between looking at the road and glancing at him. “Perfect for what?”
Weighing his options, he waited for a few seconds before answering, “Me.”
“How is thirty perfect for you?”
I saw a flash of something cross his face, but he quickly hid it before moving on to give me an answer.
“Okay, pay attention because I’m only gonna go through this explanation once,” he said with mock seriousness while shaking one long perfect finger at me.
“Okaaaay.” I drew out the word intentionally, based on what the vibe that was rolling off of him. He had started it like a joke, but I could see in his eyes- his freaking beautiful eyes- and in the lines of his face that he was serious. He was playing the answer off like it was a joke, but it most definitely wasn’t one to him. It was personal.
Smartly, I was getting scared.
“Well, I’m thirty-two and I’ve always wanted a woman younger than me, but old enough to get it. Old enough to understand life the way I do, old enough to understand hard times, old enough to like the fact that I had CJ in my life and not see it as a burden.”
That made good sound sense, but it didn’t seem to warrant any uneasiness on his part and I didn’t think that it was a complete
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