By their thirteenth date, Bryce decided to just make a game of it. Would it be tonight that Leigh dumped him? Tomorrow? Would they make it to fourteen dates? Fifteen? Why she kept saying “yes” to him when he asked her out was beyond him. On their second date they’d kissed. On their fourth date, they’d made out on her sofa. After that, all progress toward consummation came to a screeching halt and entirely without explanation.
Dinner came. They ate it. Dessert came. They ignored it. Bryce studied Leigh over the top of his wine glass. Beautiful girl…red hair with streaks of brown and black, dark eyes that brightened with laughter…she had a freckle on her top lip that he loved to bite when she let him kiss her. On date twelve she hadn’t let him kiss her. Tonight she wouldn’t even look him in the eyes.
“Are you a virgin?” Bryce asked, deciding he had nothing to lose at this point. Clearly things were going nowhere. If he couldn’t have her, maybe he could at least get some answers.
Leigh sat up straighter and gave him a look of profound shock.
“No…of course not. Where-”
“Born again virgin? Incredibly Catholic? Do you have an STD? HIV? Raging antibiotic resistant tuberculosis? If so, I’m willing to work around any and all of that.”
Leigh laughed nervously and shook her head.
“Bryce, I don’t have-”
“Why haven’t we slept together yet?”
She sat her wine glass on the table and crossed her arms over her chest.
“It’s…complicated,” she began and stopped. “I wish I could explain. I want to but when I try it’s…” She brought a hand up to her lips and pulled at the air as if trying to drag reluctant words from her mouth.
Her body sagged and suddenly she looked so small and sad in the chair across from him that he wanted to drag her into his arms and apologize for even bringing it up. This girl…he fucking adored her. Her laugh, her smile, her dry sense of humor, the way her voice went all goofy and high-pitched when she played with his dog…he had to have her in his life. And she must have felt something, anything for him to keep saying “yes” to all these dates. So why…?
“Can’t what? Can’t tell me? Can’t explain? Can’t say it in any language other than French? That’s fine. I’ll learn French. Just tell me.”
She shook her head.
“I should never have said ‘yes’ to the first date, Bryce. And I’m sorry. People like us, like me…we usually don’t go out with guys we meet at the gym.”
She paused and growled as if profoundly frustrated with her own inability to explain. Bryce wondered what the hell she meant by “people like us.”
“I like you so much that against my better judgment-” she continued.
“Oh, thank you very much for that.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Leigh clenched her hands and groaned softly. That groan, he heard passion in it. Frustration. No way was this woman frigid. Exhaling through her nose, she looked up and met his eyes. “You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met. You’re kind and sweet and chivalrous and gentle…”
“Horrible, I know.”
“I’m not like you. I’m different. And I want to tell you how but I just can’t get it out.”
“Then write me a damn letter if you can’t say it.”
Leigh’s eyes widened at the suggestion.
“A letter? I can do that. I’ll do that.”
“You will?” He hadn’t been serious. But the thought of a letter, the thought of any form of explanation for her strange behavior excited him. At this point knowing why she wouldn’t sleep with him turned him on almost as much as her actually agreeing to sleep with him.
“Yes. I’ll write it and mail it to you. It’ll explain everything. And then you won’t have to see me again once you know if you don’t like what it says. You’ll just know. And then we’ll both feel better.”
Bryce nodded in agreement.
“Fine. Write the letter. But I promise you will see me again.”
Leigh turned her head and stared down at the floor. She grabbed her sweater from the back of her chair, threw her purse over her shoulder, and stood up.
Looking at him, she gave him a wan smile.
“I really like you,” she said. “So read the letter first. Don’t promise me anything until you do.”
And with those ominous words, she left the restaurant and maybe even his life.
For the next three days, Bryce rushed home from work and checked his mailbox before doing anything else. Nothing…nothing…nothing…Finally on day four, he held it in his hands. Pale pink envelope, black ink…the letter.
It took all of his willpower not to open it up and begin reading it right on the sidewalk. Shoving it in his pocket, he went inside, poured a glass of white wine, sat in his favorite chair and carefully sliced open the envelope.
The stationery matched the envelope-black ink on pale pink paper. Scanning the first page, Bryce saw no date at the top, no “Dear Bryce.” His eyes fell onto the first sentence and he began to read.
Naked she waited on the bed…knees to her chest, arms around her shins, head bowed and eyes closed. As instructed. As always. And as instructed she’d pulled her long hair into low pigtails that hung over her shoulders and tickled her collarbone. He seemed to love the combination of sweet and spice in her-her hair so girlishly dressed, her body naked, her eyes rimmed with black eyeliner in full Cleopatra mode. Anything he wanted she would do for him. She’d style her hair as he wanted, dress as he liked…anything for him. All it took was an order.
She stiffened slightly when she heard the bedroom door open. Closing her eyes tightly, she fought the need to look at him. God, she loved to look at him-at his black hair, slightly unruly, his bright blue eyes, the leather bracelet he wore along with his leather-banded watch. He’d always rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbows. Until him she’d never realized how erotic male forearms could be.
Bryce paused in his reading. He looked down at his shirt. As usual he’d rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. On his left wrist a black leather bracelet accompanied his leather-band watch. He ran a hand through his black hair a few inches longer than his mother considered entirely respectable.
Wait…was Leigh writing about him?