Love is an enigma that can't be fully defined. Poets and philosophers write about it. People are willing to bet their very existence on it. Every race and culture throughout history embrace it. It is the driving force of all mankind. Science says it's nothing more than chemistry or hormones, and the faithful claim it's a gift from God.
As for myself, I've avoided the "L-word" at all cost, believing it would make me act as stupid as my friends. I've watched time and time again how people dedicate their love to one another, only to end up bitter and broken. No thank you, I'll pass.
People accuse me of being cynical. So be it. At least I'm not divorced, and crushed under a landslide of child support and alimony. I approach every relationship for what it really is and never try to project more than what is actually there. I believe all relationships eventually run their course. A guy I've worked with for years recently asked me if I was going to ever settle down, and get married. I told him no. Actually, I told him hell no! I think marriage is a great institution, if being institutionalized is your thing.
My name is Alex McKinney and I'm a thirty-two-year-old confirmed bachelor. I reside in Silicon Valley and work as a systems analyst for a major corporation. I live very comfortably in my condo with Grover, my two-year-old Labrador. Okay, I believe he loves me, but that's probably because I feed him... a lot.
I had recently broken up with my girlfriend of six months and I was temporarily between girlfriends, but I wasn't worried. The pond is always stocked with fish and I considered myself to be a very accomplished fisherman. Life was good. Let me reword that: life was fucking awesome! But, what I didn't know at the time, everything in my life was about to change.
*****
The dealer called and informed me my Tesla was ready to be picked up. I left work early and went to the dealership. As a confirmed environmentalist, I was excited to get this all electric and lower my green footprint.
After driving a Shelby Cobra for years, I thought the lack of a roaring engine would take some time getting used to, but that wasn't the case. When I pushed the throttle the first time, those thoughts quickly disappeared. The acceleration was instant as the car lurched forward with incredible power.
My saleswoman must have seen the huge grin on my face. She smiled at me and asked, "So, what's the verdict?"
I looked up in her beautiful face and replied, "Hmmm... That this car is almost as hot as you?"
"Very good answer. Remember, you can always call me if you have any questions." She handed me her business card.
I looked at her card, took out my phone and punched in her number. Seconds later, her phone chirped. She looked at the screen and said with a chuckle, "What is it I can I help you with today, Mr. McKinney?"
"You said to call if I had a question. Well, I have a question."
"Are you always this confident in yourself, Mr. McKinney?"
"No, not really. I think it must be the car. By the way, my Dad is Mr. McKinney, you can call me Alex."
"Are you hitting on me...Alex?" She leaned forward, making eye contact and giving me a nice view of her cleavage.
"Me? Hitting on you? Absolutely! You're gorgeous!" I replied with a smile and a wink.
"Not that smooth." She laughed lightly. "So... what's your question?"
"How would you like to see the Kings-Warriors game tonight?"
"Are you kidding? That game has been sold out for weeks."
I held up two tickets and said, "I just happen to have an extra ticket."
"Are you asking me to go out with you, or are you trying to sell me a ticket?"
"I'm asking you to go—but the thing is, tip-off is in less than an hour."
She thought for a second or two and replied, "I'll grab my purse and coat."
She had a quick talk with her supervisor and rushed back. When she got in, I got a great view of her shapely legs. I put the car in gear, and we sped away in style. I thought, fishing is easy if you have the right bait.
*****
"How did you know?" she asked.
"Know what?" I said, feigning ignorance.
"How'd you know I'm a Kings fan?"
"I'm a psychic."
"More like psychotic... How'd you know? Have you been stalking me?"
"Nothing that sinister. When I signed the contract with you a month ago, I couldn't miss the Kings poster hanging in your cubicle."
"Well, that kind of makes us even," she replied.
I looked at her, puzzled and asked, "Even? How so?"
"The same day you came in and signed the contract, I checked you out on the web. You're single and have never been married... A graduate of Caltech... and earn a good income. Plus, you own your own condo and have almost a perfect credit rating."
"Hmmm. Did your sources tell you I'm an intolerable bore and a notorious Warriors fan?"
"No, but nobody's perfect. Did you really think I'd just hop into your car without knowing something about you?"
"Not at all, but remember, I'm a computer geek. I did my research too, Miss Abigail Perkins who graduated top of her class in business management—from Stanford university, who has a passion for playing beach volleyball on the weekends. You've been engaged twice, but never made it to the altar... Should I go on?"
"No, that's not necessary, but what does that prove? That you can operate a cellphone?" She snickered under her breath. "By the way, my grandmother is the only one who calls me Abigail. You can call me Abby."
"What does it prove? I think it shows that we are both cautious about relationships."
"Is that what we've begun, a relationship?" Abby replied.
"I really don't know. It's way too early to tell, but things are looking good so far. I also discovered something else about you."
"And what is that?"
I pulled out my phone and held up a video of her playing beach volleyball. I said, "You look amazing in a bikini."
"God! men! You all have one-track minds. Okay, my turn to ask you something."
"All right. Ask away."
"Without looking at me, can you tell me the color of my eyes?"
I thought a few seconds, staring straight ahead, before answering, "Um, that's easy. Your eye color is... 36 D?"
She playfully punched my shoulder and said, "Just what I thought. Actually, my eyes are blue and I'm a C. You missed badly on both counts."
I pulled my all-electric car up to one of the charging stations provided at the Golden 1 stadium. Abby showed me how to plug it in. I thought, this is great! This car even gets me reserved parking.
*****
We walked sided by side toward the entrance. I wanted to take Abby's hand but decided to play it cool and not be pushy. As we made our way through the crowd, she bluntly asked, "Whose place am I taking?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. Who were you originally taking to this game?"
"Nothing seems to slip by you, does it? If you must know, her name is Betty."
"What happened? If you don't mind me asking?"
"I don't mind. Nothing really happened. Our friendship just ran its course. It was an amicable break and we're still good friends."
"Well, that's great. I've actually never actually witnessed a friendly beak up myself. So, where are we sitting, the noes-bleed section?"
I led her down to the lower level, where the premium seats were. We were located exactly center court, three rows back. She gripped my arm in excitement. My friends Randy and Marsha stood up to greet us as we found our seats.
Marsha beamed and said, "Who's the hottie?"
"I'd like you to meet Abby. Abby, these are my good friends Marsha and Randy," I said, putting my arm around her waist.
Randy's eyes looked like they might pop out of his head.
Marsha smiled. "You'll have to pardon my fiancé for drooling." She laughed. "Wait... I recognize you. Weren't you on the Stanford debate team?"
"Yes," Abby replied. "But that's ancient history."
"Two years ago is hardly ancient history. I remember you defended the issue of affirmative action very well. I was with the USC team."
"Thanks, but all I seem to remember is how we got waxed."
We all chatted for a while, and watched the warm-ups, when seemingly out of nowhere, my ex-girlfriend appeared, boiling over with anger. She grabbed Randy's beer out of his hand and tossed it in my face before yelling, "You're a fucking asshole!"
She turned and stormed off into the crowd. I stood there, dripping wet with beer and feeling like a fool. To add insult to injury, I saw myself on the crowd-cam big screen.
Abby laughed and said, "Amicable? Still good friends? Let me guess... that was Betty? Geez... I like you guys. I haven't had this much fun in a long time!" Everyone laughed, but me.
When Randy and I went for refreshments at halftime, he said, "Dude, I thought Betty was a knockout, but my God, Abby is incredible! How in the hell do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Do what? Are you kidding? Look at her! What the hell makes you such a chick magnet?"
"I don't know, I guess I'm just... lucky?"
"Yeah? Well, Mr. Lucky, you hit the lottery with this one my friend. She looks like a keeper to me."
The game was a blowout, but that happens a lot with the Warriors. Abby and Marsha chatted with each other almost nonstop since the middle of the first quarter. When the game was over, I suggested we all go out for something to eat, but Abby politely declined, saying she needed to go home because she had an early wake up call.
*****
I asked where she lived and Abby explained she was temporarily living with her parents. She gave me the address and I typed it in the GPS. I thought things were going smoothly between us because our conversation flowed so effortlessly. There was something about her I felt was special. It was something besides her outrageous good looks and obvious intelligence.
When I drove up to her folks' place, I was taken back by how huge the house was. All I could say was, "Holy crap! Nice digs."
I got out of the car and walked her to the front door being as gentlemanly as possible.
"Thanks for a very memorable evening." Abby said with a smile.
Feeling extremely confident, I said, "I enjoyed myself, too. When can we do this again?"
Without hesitating she answered, "Never!"
"That's great. I was thinking that Saturday we might—wait... what did you say?"
"Never! But like I said, it was a memorable evening."
