Over the next few days, Lynne spent a lot of time writing songs, and reflecting. She kept the napkin with his number on it over, and over. She wanted to call him, and tell him she enjoyed the coffee that they shared, but she felt shy.
Then she began to reason that if he was really that interested in her, he would have asked for her number so that he could do the calling.
Lynne didn't really have a lot of experience with men, but she'd had enough of a negative experience with her first boyfriend, that she'd sworn off men for a really long time. She couldn't believe she almost ended up engaged to him, but she was very glad they'd broken it off. She'd dated him from her senior year of high school, all through college, and part of the way through her master's degree. She didn't know anything about sex when they started dating, and she didn't find him to be an especially patient teacher.
In fact, after having been with him, she wondered if she was the only woman who found sex, especially the penetration part, to be difficult. And she certainly had far more fun with her battery-operated toys, than she'd ever had in the bed with Martin. She never had trouble getting multiple orgasms with those toys, or even with her own fingers. Quite frankly, she loved to masturbate, but Martin had her convinced that this was dirty, and she'd somehow spoiled herself, or trained her body so that no one else could give her pleasure.
Somehow she didn't think she was the problem, but when she tactfully tried to explain this to Martin, he definitely didn't want to hear it. Since Martin was her first, and she had no frame of reference, she didn't really get what the hoopla was about sex, and she also wasn't interested in having anyone control her anymore, telling her, not to waste those expensive Yale degrees, wanting her to fit the mold of a proper wife, grooming her so that she'd be a proper accessory to a budding lawyer, entertaining his clients. It also hadn't helped that her parents were more in love with Martin than she was towards the end. They still hadn't gotten over it.
Lynne poured some wine, and shook her head ruefully, walking towards her keyboard.
She sat at the keyboard and folded that napkin over, and over again. She felt like she almost had too much baggage to even begin tipping her toe into the dating water again.
She could hear Janelle's voice in her ear, telling her that it was "time to move along and test the waters again,"
But Martin had humiliated her so much when they were intimate, with his lack of patience toward her, she just didn't feel like she wanted to even begin talking to a man again.
***
Leif felt a bit embarrassed that he'd been staring at his cellphone like a schoolboy with a crush waiting for it to ring. He even had friends call him to make sure it was still working.
As the day turned into nearly a week, he began to get a little insulted that she hadn't called. She didn't say she was involved. She seemed to enjoy talking to him at coffee. She laughed, and they talked for almost two hours.
They had chemistry, and you couldn't script that. He was hoping that she wasn't allowing the differences in their races to stop her interest in him. He felt guilty for wanting to touch her hair. He thought he'd blown it with that. But it was just a curiosity to him, the same way she'd been curious about his dreadlocks.
So yes, he was curious about her, and that tawny beige skin, and maybe a small part of him did fetishize her because she was a little bit different than him, but why was that any different than finding her appealing because she was a red head.
Maybe he did find her a bit sexier because she was a beautiful beige black woman, but that to him was a characteristic that made her intriguing, no different than if he was attracted to red heads, or a woman with freckles. The differences did attract him, but more than that, he enjoyed her laughter, her sharp wit, and her intelligence.
But, she was also down to earth. Earthy. Sensual. She had an easy, ready laugh. She savored her coffee. The way he would like for her to savor him.
He was tired of waiting for her to call him- frankly he knew he wanted to see her again, and good for him, that he knew where she was. If she wouldn't call him, so that he could get to know her better, he would go find her.
***
She was wearing a simple black and white plaid shirt, blue jeans, and black boots. She had her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She even wore those thick coke bottle glasses. It was a far cry from the black evening gown of the night before, but he'd never been more smitten. He thought she might even be more beautiful seeing her this time, than she had been in that tight black dress the first time around.
Same as before, he was captivated by her voice, this time a simpler, more mellow acoustic set. And, also, the same as before he nursed a drink as he watched her set, this time, a Pabst blue ribbon beer.
He even noticed the second that her eyes met his, and he knew, that she knew, that he was watching her.
He swore that her lip trembled, and she bit her lower lip, and he wished it he were gently biting her lips instead.
Then, he couldn't be sure if her lips always trembled when she sang this song. It was a folky, Joni Mitchell number, and it was so cool watching her do this song, with her own bluesy interpretation of it. The woman knew her music, and the way she leaned on that mic stand, why she caressed it like it was her lover.
Maybe she hadn't called him because her man was music. But he knew he could convince her, that she couldn't cuddle up with the crowd, or a lead sheet. If she was cuddling up to anything or anyone at all, it should be him.
It wasn't like him to be firm and really insistent. He was always a take it easy, go with the flow kind of guy.
Wasn't really like him to chase a woman. He was mostly mellow like that, and normally content to let things happen organically.
This time was different though. Quite frankly, he wanted her. He wanted to know everything about her and get lost in every inch of her sweet, creamy complexion. He wanted something more with her. Sure he wanted to have sex with her. But he also just wanted to be around her.
Adored that giggle and that cultured, yet brash little Brooklyn accent. Her earthy ways, contrasted with the shy demeanor she had sometimes where she'd look away from him and blush.
He could see that he was distracting her in the set somewhat, and this made him feel more than a little aroused, knowing he was having an effect on her. He shifted forward in his seat, and was startled again that he was getting another hard on, just based on the sweet, smoky texture of her voice, and how sexy her legs looked as they were crossed on the bar stool.
It seemed like an eternity before her set was over, even though he was really enjoying her performance, because he wanted to be able to talk to her, and could not do so while she was singing.
As soon as the music was through, he walked right up to the stage.
"Hey, Lynne," he called.
