Page 6 of Soft Rebound

Joe frowns. “Well, what I described is exactly what I noticed. I’m sorry it sounded silly—I told you I was rusty.” He looks away and takes several gulps of his beer. Is he embarrassed? “I never planned to hit on you. I was sitting there, waiting for Lance.”

“That your brother-in-law?” I say as I take a sip.

“Yeah. Waiting for Lance, stealing a glance—”

I almost spit out my beer. He grins victoriously.

“But I wasn’t going to approach you,” he says.

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t really dated since I got divorced. It’s been a decade since I approached someone in a bar. Plus you definitely didn’t look like you wanted any attention.”

Despite myself, I feel a little flattered. “But then you came over.”

“I think you don’t understand just how awful sitting at a bar feels for someone like me. My knees would never forgive me.”

“So how tall are you?” Another sip of the beer. He’s right, this is very good.

“Six ten.”

I whistle. “Noice. Sadly, very tall people don’t live very long.”

He snorts. “Thanks for that morbid nugget.”

“You’re welcome. Your impending demise is why you shouldn’t mope around after your ex-wife and should instead live to the fullest.”

For this bit of self-help wisdom, he gifts me one of his smiles. Those teeth will be the death of me.

“I am living to the fullest,” he says. “I’m at a bar with a beautiful, somewhat evil woman, drinking excellent pale ale and watching football. I’m living the dream.”

I take a look at the screen. Still zero–zero. “We’re doing a horrible job of watching football.”

“That we are, but I don’t care. Vikings are going to suck this season.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” I grab the front of my sweatshirt and pull it away from my chest a bit, enough that I can tilt my head down and address the upside-down Norseman embossed on the garment. “He didn’t mean that, baby,” I coo. “The big brawny man didn’t mean that. You will be great this year, I know it.”

Joe looks at me fondly, and I melt a little. This is all so fun and easy; I can’t believe this is really me, being flirty and casual with a striking man, all under an assumed name.

“So how come you’re here all alone?” he asks.

“That could be construed as a creepy question.”

“I will swear on anything that I am not a creep or a killer or anything dangerous. I’m a lawyer. I’ll give you my business card. I can show you my ID.”

“Yes. “

“Yes, what?”

“Yes to showing me your ID.”

He pulls out his driver’s license and hands it to me.

“Now you’re the one being too trusting,” I say. “What if I use this info to steal your identity?”

His eyes widen. “Please don’t.”

“I’m on the fence.”