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Saturday, August 5—London
The night of our first official date, Richard picks me up in a black cab. I greet him with an embarrassed peck on the lips, blushing madly as I do. I’m a shy person. I know we’ve kissed already, but this is still too new for me to be completely comfortable or relaxed around him. We get in the car and Richard gives the driver an address in Peckham.
“Where are we going?”
“Since we both love eighties movies, I thought you’d enjoy another one.”
“There’s a movie theater showing eighties movies?”
I love how I can always discover new things about London.
“Yes, it’s an open-air rooftop, actually. They’re showing The Blues Brothers tonight. You’re from Chicago, right?”
“Yes, a small town nearby. I miss Chicago sometimes and I love The Blues Brothers!”
“They also have a great rooftop bar, so we can have a casual dinner there too.”
“Sounds amazing.”
And it does turn out to be amazing. The place, the movie, the sky, the food, it’s all perfect. The theater is on top of a tall building with stunning panoramic views of London’s skyline, watching one of my favorite movies under the stars, is incredibly romantic. It almost feels like Richard bribed the sky to stay clear of clouds and wink down at us from a million sparkly dots.
We’re seated in beach-like chairs that don’t allow too much closeness, but it’s all right. I’m still debating where I want tonight to end. And being too close to Richard would be distracting. Every now and then, I throw a side-glance at him, taking in all the different expressions he makes that I still don’t know. The way his eyes sometimes pop in surprise or the grin pulling at his lips when he’s amused but not laughing yet. He’s a great guy who’s taken me on a perfect first date. Any girl should call herself lucky to be with him. So why can’t I stop categorizing him as plan B?
When the movie’s over, Richard leads me toward the elevators and we catch an empty one. As soon as the doors close, Richard’s lips are on mine. He presses me against the elevator’s back and lets go of me only seconds before the doors open again on the main floor. Well, he’s definitely not shy. I walk outside, confused, and follow him onto the street where we jump into another black cab.
On the taxi ride home, I’ve as much buzzing in my belly as in my brain. My lips are still swollen from the kiss, spreading tingles of excitement through me, but the excitement is verging on panic. I have so many questions fluttering in my brain. Like, when we get home should I invite Richard in? Am I ready for third base? Will I ever be ready? Is sex third base or is there a fourth? I always get confused by the bases.
All this second-guessing is weird because I’ve already been with another man after Jake. His name was Michael, and we dated for a year. So it’s not as if sleeping with Richard will be my first time with someone else after I broke up with Jake. Then why does it feel that way? Maybe because last time I’d deluded myself I was over Jake, whereas now I’m painfully aware that no matter how much time has passed, I’m still in love with him.
Richard chooses this moment to brush a thumb over my hand and all my rational thinking gets sidetracked. It feels, mmm, I’m… conflicted. This is one of those classic situations where body and mind—or heart in this case—don’t agree. Okay, let’s calm down and put the jigsaw pieces together.
Evidence number one: I’m in love with Jake.
Evidence number one-b: Jake’s married to another woman and probably making love to her right at this moment.
Evidence number two: Richard’s a great kisser, he knows what he’s doing, and there’s chemistry between us.
Evidence number two-b: I don’t need to be already in love with him to sleep with him. I need to let myself fall in love with him one small step at a time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Evidence number three: I’m not committing to anything for life. It’s just one night. Yeah, I should take things on a day-by-day basis from now on. That should be my new life mantra.
Final piece of evidence: Amelia’s staying at Dylan’s tonight and we could have the apartment all to ourselves.
When the black cab pulls up in front of my building, Richard asks the driver to wait for a second while he says goodbye. Ever the gentleman. I exit the car, chanting in my head over and over again: to invite him in, or not to invite him in? To invite him in, or not to invite him in?
Richard rounds the car and is at my side in a few quick steps.
To invite him in, or not to invite him in?
“I guess this is goodnight.” He cups my head with both hands and gives me the softest kiss.
To invite him in, or not to invite him in?
“I should get going now; want to do something next week?”
To invite him in, or not to invite him in?
“I… yes, I mean. Wait here.”
Acting braver than I feel, I walk past Richard, lean forward, and knock on the cab’s window. The driver immediately rolls it down.
“Yes, miss?”
“You can go,” I tell him.
“You still need to pay me.”
“Aw, oh. Yes, sure. Of course…” Why do I always make a fool of myself? I’m fumbling desperately in my purse to find my credit card when Richard pulls out a bill and passes it to the driver through the open window. The driver takes it and zooms away into the night.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
He smiles. “You’re welcome.”
What do I do now? My split-second bravado is already gone.
“So,” Richard says.
“So what?”
“You tell me.” He chuckles. “You’re the one who sent my taxi away.”
“I did. Well, I guess now I can’t leave you here alone in the street.”
“That would be truly cold-hearted.”
I take a deep breath. “Would you like to come in?”
“I’d love to.”
I smile. “Great.”
Move on, I say to myself, you need to move on. My new life begins tonight.