Divine: A Novel (2 page)

CHAPTER
TWO

I
t’s somewhat of a blind date. I’ve seen
the guy around my neighborhood. Jogging, mowing his miniscule front yard, and
I’ve eyed him through my curtained window as he takes out his trash. He’s
fucking hot, of course, I mean, why would someone go on a date with another
person if they didn’t find him or her attractive? The tall, dark, and handsome
description fits him ‘to a T.’ A big dick is also a plus, but we haven’t gotten
that far. The date’s first, what’s in his pants comes second.

I’ve never asked a guy out before. Men
should come to me, and they have, but not as often as I’d like. This time I
made the move. I slipped a note through his mail slot so I wouldn’t have to
humiliate myself by stuttering to get the words out if we were face-to-face.
Don’t roll your eyes at me. Some people don’t have the nerve to do such things,
okay? I’m a badass in my head and when I write, but quite shy in person.

Hi!
I’ve seen you around the neighborhood and was wondering if you’d like to have
dinner or a coffee sometime. I’m the woman who lives in row house twenty-two,
just a few doors down from you (we both have end units!). Shoulder-length dark
brownish-auburn hair, green eyes (not hazel, green), five-nine, not too skinny,
not too fat, drives an eighties Ford F-150 (red and white)... that’s me. You
can message me on Facebook. I’m the only Div Hallowell in the land of online
social media.

My profile pic is my truck so it was easy
for him to find me, besides the name, that is. He messaged me almost
immediately, thirty minutes after I left the note, which is kind of creepy. I
was hoping for at least a day or two of nerves, pacing around my place,
wondering if I had made a fool out of myself. But it was quick and now here I
am, at Antoinette’s Italian Eatery, waiting oh-so patiently for
James Keller
, or maybe it’s
Keller
James?
I’ve known a few people to reverse their names on Facebook.
It’s possible, and if it’s Keller it’s a great name, like ‘killer.’ And stable
too, better than Tom, Dick, or Harry. Nicer sounding than a guy I once dated
named Calix who went by Cale. I kept thinking his name was too similar to a
vegetable, and I didn’t want to date a vegetable; it’s unhealthy. Even if it
was disguised with the letter C, it was still a green leafy pile of Vitamin K.

James Keller didn’t write anything in his
message, just a date, place, and time with an emoji of a thumbs-up added at the
end. The whole thing made me feel like I was in high school.

I’ve never heard his voice or had even a
whiff of his skin, and that makes me nervous. A man’s voice and the way he
smells are both extremely important to me, more important than dick size. Only
when a man’s dick is less than an inch does it take precedent over voice and
scent. Yes, I’m a jerk, but most women think the same thing; they just won’t
admit it. Like masturbation and passing gas. No one admits to either one.

And that’s what’s on my mind as I sit in
this dark Italian Restaurant and wait. He’s late. Not a good sign. I look at my
cell and then ding my plate with my salad fork, waiting... waiting... not
worried about what he does for a living, or if he has any kids from a past
relationship, or if he’s far in debt. Nope. Just voice, scent, and thinking
about dick. Voice can’t be too high, scent can’t be pungent or overwhelming,
and his dick, well at some point it’d be nice to get to know it ‘up close and
personal.’ My fu-fu’s not coming out just yet, but I know I can’t wait too
long. The longer I wait the more attached I may become, and then if I’m
emotionally involved, but we’re not on the same wavelength in the sack, it’ll
be much harder to call it off.

“Div?”

Oh thank God. A manly voice. Heavy and
deep.

“Hi,” I extend my hand. “It’s nice to
meet you. James is it? Or Keller?” I’m nervous, with sweaty armpits that
luckily don’t show in my black dress.

He smiles as my hand is encased by his
warm grip. The scent of a light spicy cologne floats through the air as he
takes the seat across from me. Voice, check. Scent, check. Good start.

“It’s James Daniel Keller. My friends
call my Daniel, Dan, or J.D., but I’m not a fan of James,” he says as he leans
forward.

That’s too many options.

“Most people call me Daniel or Dan.”

I nod, still too many options. One name
is all that I need. Although I have to admit I really like nicknames and
shortened names, like Div, so I’ll probably call him by all three names.
Daniel, Dan and J.D., depending on my mood.

My book boyfriends have consisted of Ash,
Jax, Cam, Knox, and Aiden over the past two years, so it’s so nice to hear a
common name like his for once. There must be a million James Daniel Kellers in
this world. It’s comforting. Plus, he’s a tall Irish beauty with maple brown
eyes. Nice.

“Thanks for meeting me. I don’t usually
go about things in this way. I hope you don’t find me... I hope the note wasn’t
too strange.” Fuckin’ hell - sport coat, white shirt with the top button open,
and no tie. Hot. I love his hair. Short on the sides, longer on top, has a nice
swirl to it. Like soft ice cream twisted in a cone with the top licked off and
flattened out. Yummm. I want to lick him.

“You have a beautiful smile,” he says.
“Would you like some wine?”

He didn’t answer my unease about the
note. I tame my smile, wiping the ecstatic Cheshire Cat grin off my face.

Try
not to look too much like you’re in heat, Div
.

“Yes, wine would be nice.” Yay, I’m on a
date. “Red wine; Merlot or Pinot Noir.” Wow, that was forward. I place my
napkin on my lap as a distraction to my words. I’m so out of my element right
now. Haven’t been out with a guy in ages and I called it off with my last
boyfriend because he bored me to tears. He played video games whenever I went
to see him... that was it. Video games for Christ’s sake. No, he wasn’t
fourteen, but he sure did act like he was. I’m glad I never moved in with him,
or anyone for that matter.

“Do you like video games?” I ask
moronically.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Is that a deal
breaker? Should I go home now?”

Ah, good humored. Thank you. And he
smiled when he said it so I didn’t have to make a guess if he was kidding or
not.

“No, just curious. I’m not a fan of
them,” I say.

“So tell me what you’re a fan of? Give me
a list.”

That was abrupt. “What do you mean? Like
now?”

“Take out your phone, go into notes and
make a list, I’ll do the same, then we’ll compare. Ten items, no more. If we
have two things in common, two similar likes or more, I’ll stay and we’ll call
this an official date. Something that could lead to greater things. If not,
then it’ll probably never work between us, in which case you have two options.”

What the fuck? Wait, this just went
south. What did he say? Do I dare ask or just leave? “What are the two
options?” Shit, I asked.

“If we don’t have any common interests
then I’ll leave, but I’ll put a fifty on the table so you can have an enjoyable
meal, that’s option one. Or, there’s option two. We can eat and then go
somewhere and fuck, but I can’t promise anything after that.”

I swallow hard, a big gulp of saliva. I
don’t know if my mouth is watering because of the wonderful Italian spices that
fill the air, because of the wine that was just placed before us, or because of
the picture in my head of him fucking me... hard. I know it would be rough, I
can tell by the look in his eye and the words that just came out of his mouth.
Bastard. I think I like him. He looks so sweet and innocent, but I have a
feeling that’s all part of his personality... he’s nasty... a bad boy.

He’s not serious though, right? With that
grin he can’t be.

“I’m game,” I say, phone in hand.

We type away. He’s got a smirk on his
face that matches mine. This is totally bizarre.

He sets his phone on the table and waits
for me to finish. What am I a fan of? What do I like? Who is Div Hallowell? How
much of this is a test?

His fingers tap the table. How sly, to
put me in this position. But I’m smarter than him. I guarantee it. I may be
discreet in person, but he has no idea who he’s dealing with. Games like these
are where I shine and he’s about to get punked. Punked in the ass.

“Done.” My phone is on the table and the
wine glass is pressed against my lips.

He puts a hand in his jacket pocket and
continues tapping the table with the other. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. I’m ready, you
ready? Tap-tap.

“So, Daniel, before we find out how very
different we are, I’d like to know your age.”

“You want that information even though
I’m about to leave?”

I nod with a show of my teeth. He’s not
leaving.

“Twenty-seven.”

Young! Oh so very young. Way too young
for me, oh no. This really
is
over.
He’s a baby!

“And you? Div Hallowell? Your age?”

“Twenty-six.”

Alright, I lied. Twenty-seven is perfect.

He touches the screen on his phone and
begins. “Do you want to finish your wine, or should we just get this over
with?”

“You’re kind of a dick.” I think I said
that out loud. Yeah, by his expression, I definitely said that out loud.

“There’re reasons people act the way they
do. I’m protecting myself.”

“From what?”

“Women,” he says.

Oh, one of those. Why the hell did he
show up and agree to this date anyway? He’s a
damaged
man like the thousands in the erotica genre. Right? They’re
all traumatized and fucked in the head, waiting for a woman to save them from
their demons. Wow, poor judgment on my part. The guy’s hot, but a complete
dick. A dickey-dick. Maybe I should just use him tonight, get laid and move on;
then I’ll be the dick. No, I’m not that hard up or easy. Plus, I’m really
starting to like him in some sick and twisted way. Maybe he’s not damaged. He
could’ve just said that to see how I’d react.

“I don’t need to wait to finish my wine
before we begin because all of your options end with me sitting at this table.
You’re the one who might leave, so let me ask you, Dan Keller, would
you
like to finish your wine before we
begin?” Oh shit, there must be beads of sweat on my forehead. My heart’s
pounding like the bass in a rap song. Do people still listen to rap? I asked my
students once if they listened to rap and at first they looked at me like I was
crazy, and then they laughed. Little shits.

Stay on course. Don’t think about work, stay
focused or you’ll start to tighten your fists and scrunch your nose. Think
happy thoughts. Fluffy kittens and rainbows.

“There’s something about that smile of
yours,” he says. “It screams confidence.”

Good, I’ve still got it. People haven’t a
clue about all the fucked up shit in my head or my insecurities.

“Let’s go ahead and begin like you
suggested. Hand me your phone, I wanna see your list,” I say in a soft voice
with a warm smile. Normally I’d just nod and let the guy take the lead. Not
with him. He’s surprised me and now I’m surprising myself. Give me your phone,
fucker.

I nudge my cell forward and he places his
on my bread plate as if I’m being served a meal. Our eyes meet then we dive in.

He’s predictable and I’m not an idiot. I
knew exactly what he was going to write. His likes include:

Porn, Tits, Anal, Beef Jerky, Beer,
Video Games
(in italics), Boxing,
Football, Car Shows like
Fast N’ Loud
,
and fucking fast and loud.

Most women would drop the phone, pick up
their purse and run, but he’s expecting that. His plan was to write down the
nastiest shit that no woman would ever write herself. I mean, come on, what man
would write that he enjoys reading, watching the
Lifetime
channel, or eating salads? And what woman would write the
crap that he wrote?

Me. I would. I wrote that list, the one
above, that’s what he’s reading right now and the one in front of me is very
different. Fuckin’ A. His
real
list
is as follows:

Salads, Chick Lit, Shopping, Romantic
Movies, Shoes, Italian Dinners, Wine, John Legend, Starbucks, and Fleece
Pajamas.

But that’s not his real list either, now
is it? He did exactly what I did. He wrote what he thought I would write. The
ideal image of what
all
men and women
like, or
are
like.

“Sooo... you enjoy anal and beef jerky?”
His brow rises and he cocks his head.

“And you enjoy Chick Lit and John
Legend?” I match his pose. Does this mean he wanted to continue the date? He
was trying to match me? Or he knew how clever I’d be and he listed the opposite
of what I thought. What the hell? Now I’m confused.

“You’re playing me,” he says with a grin.

“No, I think you’re playing me.” My
underwear is soaked in sweat to match my armpits and my face. If I stand,
there’ll be a big wet circle on my ass.

“Div,” he leans closer and whispers.