“I’m curious,” I tell her, waiting until her laughter dies all the way down. “What ever happened to that date you went on when we first met?”

I’m not sure what I expect her to say. Do I honestly think she’s going to say, I canceled it because I couldn’t think of anyone but you?

Nice thought, but no, that’s not going to happen.

She’s silent a moment before she answers, and I think I might have struck a bad nerve with her. I’m on the verge of telling her to forget I even asked, when she says, “The date was good…it was fine. I even had a second dinner with him, but it’s not going anywhere.”

My interest is perked. “Why’s that?”

“Because you came along,” she answers me honestly, and I can feel my head swell to epic proportions and f**k, my chest may even be puffing out a little.

She continues on. “His name is Brandon and he was actually my boyfriend in college. We dated for almost four years and he broke up with me right before graduation.”

Her words are matter-of-fact, no bitterness, no hurt. Yet rage starts to build inside of me on her behalf. “Why the f**k did he do that?”

“Well, according to him, because he wanted to spread his love around a bit before he settled down with me.”

“Are you serious?” I ask. “He actually told you that?”

“Yeah…I mean, I kind of respected his honesty about it,” she says. “You know…he was painfully honest.”

Painfully honest.

A term that has been thrown about between Sutton and me numerous times. It’s something she respects, this I know.

“Still had to hurt,” I take a guess.

“Very much,” she says. “But I moved on. He contacted me out of the blue a few weeks ago and wanted to see me again. He’s ready to move forward with our relationship.”

“So he expected you to just wait around for him?”

“I don’t know what he expected,” she says with a sigh. “But I didn’t wait around. I went on with my life. Dated some but nothing serious.”

“So what happened on those two dates?” I ask, my curiosity about to kill me, and depending on what Sutton says, I may want to kill this asswipe.

“First date was fine—a lot of catching up. Second date, he made it clear he wanted to get back together.”

“And what did you want?”

“I wasn’t sure at the time,” she says in a murmur. “I really just wanted to try to be friends first and I was honest with him about it. Painfully so.”

“Have you gotten any clarity on the matter since then?”

“I believe so,” she says, and I can just imagine the quirk of her lips by the teasing tone in her voice. “Seems some hot hockey player has my attention now.”

“Yeah? That’s ironic, because I’m sort of lusting after this hot drug counselor I met.”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” she quips.

“I’m thinking it could be,” I agree, my mind turning dark with blistering hot images of what I would do to Sutton when we got around to trying to re-create heaven.

“Seriously, though,” I continue on. “Is this guy still in the picture? Are you still interested in him?” I hold my breath for her answer because this guy could be a major threat. He has history with Sutton.

I have two weeks.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sutton says quickly. “I called him the other night and told him that I didn’t ever see us making it past friends and if he was harboring hope for something more, I needed to let him know that it was probably a waste of time. I told him that I didn’t want him trying to prove me wrong. I told him…”

She drifts off, almost embarrassed to say what I think she’s getting ready to say.

“Told him what?” I urge.

“That I was seeing someone else. That I was very interested in someone else.”

“And just so I’m clear on the matter, you are talking about me, right?”

She laughs merrily into the phone, causing my smile to flare bright again. “Yes, I was talking about you.”

“Can I see you after the game Saturday afternoon?” I ask her, completely changing the subject.

“What did you have in mind?” she asks, her voice slightly husky and I know she’s thinking of something slightly indecent.

“Well, I was thinking of taking you and your family out to dinner after the game. Then maybe we could do something…together.”

“Like what, together?” she presses.

“Hmm. I do have something specific in mind.”

“Define specific,” she says, her voice light and breathy.

“I think it might involve me putting my hands all over you,” I murmur, and I love the intake of her breath that is loud enough that I can hear it through our phone connection.

She clears her throat. “Anything more specific than that?”

A low laugh bubbles up in my throat. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I can’t wait,” she sighs with a bit of frustration that has my man card elevating from gold to platinum status.

We talk for a bit more, a little of this and a little of that. We find we have a mutual love of B-rated horror movies and fried dill pickles. We are widely divergent in our musical tastes— she’s all hearts and sweet pop and I’m heavy metal and grunge. It is an easy agreement we make that whoever’s car we are driving in gets to pick the music. Which implies that we will be riding in each other’s cars in the future, and probably on more than one occasion.