Renee

"I . . . I, uh, have something I'd like to ask you now, too," he said.

She tilted her head to the side, inviting him to go on.

"This is kind of embarrassing, but . . . um, do you . . . do you think I'm at all decent looking?"

Her eyebrows arched. It was a loaded question, and she surely knew it. He was certain she could tell he was attracted to her. How could he hide a feeling so strong? So now, she could either tell him he had the wrong idea, she could tell him to shove off, or perhaps she'd go along with him. And if she did. If she did . . .

"Kyle, do you mind if I answer your question with a question?"

Yes, he minded! "No," he said.

"Why are you so unsure of yourself? I noticed that about you right away, last night. Don't get me wrong. You're very sweet. And that is so refreshing. Most guys are asses, to be honest with you. But still, even beyond that, you just seem . . . insecure. Why?"

Good God. Was he so transparent?

"I . . ." This, in its own way, could be another trap question. He thought of what to say, how to avoid ensnaring himself with his own words. But then, he decided to just be honest. "I've never been confident around women," he said. "I guess I haven't had a lot of experience, and . . ." Stupid! Hideous! Why not just plaster a sign on his chest that shouted, "Nerd-head! Jackass! Idiot! Geek! Loser!"

He was astounded that, instead of ridiculing him, she smiled. There was a softness in her smile, a tenderness, a gentle understanding. "That's okay," she said, and reached her hands across the table, taking hold of his. "You can talk to me, Kyle. I won't bite. Promise."

"I get nervous around women I'm attracted to," he said, loving the feel of her hands in his. Her skin was so soft.

"But why? You're a nice guy! I think you're too hard on yourself."

Yeah, he might be a nice guy. But he was a nice guy with a small dick, a nice guy with a skinny body. A nice guy. Didn't nice guys always finish last? "I guess . . . I guess I've just had mostly bad experiences with women," he said. "They don't seem interested in me."

She eyed him, closely, as if looking into his soul. He suddenly felt naked. "I know what you mean," she said. "Before I met my husband, I was like that, too. I mean, you see the glasses." She adjusted them on her nose. "You know I love to read. Most guys, when I was growing up, pretty much left me alone. They thought I was boring."

His mouth dropped open. How in the world . . .?

"Believe it or not," she went on, "I used to be way shier than you, Kyle. A real bookworm, always off by myself. I used to be chubby, too. High school was tough. But my husband is just the opposite. Very outgoing, very confident. When I met him, he saw something in me, and really helped me. He allowed me to come into my own, I guess. He made me feel comfortable with who I am, with the way I look. . . . Of course, that was more than a few years ago. Lately . . ." She blushed. "But you don't want to hear about my problems. We were talking about you."

True. But he wanted to talk more about her. About the two of them. Together. Be bold, he told himself. She was interested in him. It was obviously more than a passing interest. Be brave. Take a chance.

"You, um, you never really answered my question," he ventured.

"Which one?" she said.

"Whether or not you think I'm halfway decent looking." He felt like a creep asking again, fishing for a compliment. Still, it was true. He had asked. And she hadn't answered.

She smiled. "Kyle, you're super cute. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

He nearly fell out of his chair. "Really?"

"Really." She squeezed his hands, then finally let go. "I want you to start believing in yourself more. Can you do that?"

He nodded, but said nothing. He loved sitting here with her, this beautiful woman, but he hated it too. His feelings for her kept growing, growing, he felt unable to stop them. He wanted her. So bad. Maybe she could be the one who would be patient with him, accept him for who he was. Maybe he could show her the tenderness she deserved, and, evidenced by the hints she was giving him about the current state of her marriage, was lacking. Maybe they could help each other out. Maybe they could share something special with each other. The connection he felt with her was too strong to be completely one-sided. She must be feeling it too!

"I have to tell you something," he said. "I don't know what you'll think of me when I do. I don't mean to be a jerk. But I . . . I just have to say it."

She didn't say anything. Just sat there, waiting.

"From the second we met last night," he said, "I . . . I've never. I mean . . ."

She reached out, took his hands in hers again. "It's okay," she said. "I think I know what you're trying to say, and I'm flattered. I truly am. Especially since you're only twenty-five."

He released his hands from hers, stood up, pushing his chair back so hard, it nearly tipped over. Was that all he was to her? Just someone to screw around with? Someone younger, to see if she might still be attractive to a guy in his midtwenties? Well, fuck that! Feelings or no feelings, he wasn't going to be used like that. She had goaded him, led him on in a subtle but very real way, and for what? Just so she might feel younger again?

"Kyle . . ."

"Don't," he said. "Just don't. I don't need to hear it. Okay? It was all my fault. I'm just a stupid ass."

He started to walk away, but then he felt her hand on his arm.

"Wait! Please wait."

"Look, you don't need to say anything. I'm a stupid ass, I know that already."

She jerked on his arm, hard, forced him to look at her. "You are a stupid ass, Kyle. But not in the way you mean."

What did she mean by that?

"I know you're attracted to me," she said. "I could see that right away. It didn't bother me, though, because you were sweet. And yes, I am flattered that you find me attractive, even though I'm ten years older than you. Is that so bad?"

"No," he said. "But c'mon, Renee. You're gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. You honestly think any twenty-five-year-old guy would think otherwise? What difference does it make? You're married. That's why I'm stupid. There was never a chance."

He tried to break lose of her grip. She was stronger than she looked. She didn't let him go. And then, quickly, faster than a heartbeat, she moved in close and kissed him. He didn't reciprocate at first. He was too surprised, too stunned. But she persisted, and he relented. How could he resist? She tasted so sweet, her lips were so soft and inviting. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned in close. He responded by hugging her, tightly, rubbing his hands up and down her blouse-covered back.

But, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. She pulled away, her face flushed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry." She looked almost on the verge of tears.

She grabbed her coat, put it on. "I need to go."

Now it was his turn to grab her arm. "That's not fair," he said. "If this is how you're reacting now, why didn't you just let me walk out of here instead of . . ."

"Instead of kissing you, acting like a wife who hasn't been properly made love to for months . . .?" She blushed again, obviously wishing she could take her words back. "Kyle, I'm so sorry. I was not in a position to talk to you, last night or today. Things haven't been going well for me in my marriage. And when I saw you, was attracted to you, I should have just walked away."

Attracted to him? He grasped so tightly to those words, he nearly blanked everything else out.

"Good-bye, Kyle. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me."

This time he didn't stop her. He was too stunned by everything—the kiss, the fact that she was attracted to him, his feelings for her. But he did call out, "I'll be home tomorrow night. At The Mill. Apartment 233, second floor. Maybe we can talk."

She stopped walking, for a moment, but didn't turn around, or answer him in any way. Then she was in motion again, and then she was gone. . . .

♣

His mom called him that night, wanted to talk to him about all the gossip back home. She was on for an hour as he sat, watching in the glare of the city lights the first snowfall of the season, as it danced in the gloom beyond his window. He followed the flakes down, down, as they fell into the gray-black river, melting, dissolving, becoming one with the current.

"We miss you, Kyle," Mom said near the end of the call. "We all do. I can't wait for Christmas, having a chance to see you then."

"Yeah, me, too, Mom. It'll be good to see everyone."

"And maybe we'll be able to convince you to move back, come back where you belong."

Where he belonged. Perhaps it was. He'd never felt like anything but an outsider in New England, like a traveler, on leave, visiting a faraway location, a place that could never be home. Maybe Mom was right. But where he wanted to be, where he longed to be, was back in Renee's arms, his lips on hers, her arms around him, her fingers running through the curls of his hair.

"Are you still there, Kyle?" Mom asked.

"Still here, Mom."

"Good. You got so quiet all of a sudden."

"Sorry, Mom."

"Well, it's late, I suppose. Did you have a good supper?"

"Hamburger Helper," he said.

"Goodness! You do need to come back home! I'll be sure to make all your favorites when you come next month."

"I can't wait for that," he said, and it was true. He couldn't.

"Well, you go to sleep now, Kyle, you hear? You're still a growing boy."

He laughed. His mom always said that to him. Every time they talked. "Good night, Mom. Love you."

"Love you, too, Kyle. Good night."

There was a click, and he hung up. For some reason, he didn't know why, he felt like crying.

♣

"So, how's your new fling going?" Trista asked him the next morning. "You get any last night?"

If she meant sleep, no, he hadn't. He lay awake most of the night, thinking of Renee, thinking how stupid he must have sounded to her, yelling out his apartment number. He'd never see her again. He needed to come to terms with that.

He shook his head, hoping she'd go back to her cubicle.

"Well, remember, as soon as you wanna meet Jennifer, just give me a shout." He nodded, and she put her hands on her hips, and thrust her boobs forward—her favorite position. He wondered if she practiced it when she was alone. "I have to say, not to brag or anything . . . but Mike really gave it to me good last night." Kyle moaned under his breath. Mike. Trista's husband. How many times had she gone on and on about the lovemaking prowess of her husband? "He is an animal when he wants to be," she purred, thrusting her breasts out even more. "That's your trouble, Kyle. You're too timid, too damned uptight. You gotta loosen up, learn how to have a good time. That's why I think this Jennifer will be good for you. She's nerdy, true, but outgoing and really cool. And loves sex. Tina well telling me . . ."

But he tuned her out. He had to. It was either that or scream, or tell her to go to hell. He didn't want to do that. He liked Trista. Well, he didn't loathe her anyway. She meant well, even if she went about things in an in-your-face manner.

"You finish that chapter in the User's Guide yet?" she asked him then, finally talking about work. That was the other thing about Trista. Apart from Kyle, she was the only technical writer in the department. The two of them on their own little island amidst a sea of programmers and engineers. They had formed something of a bond together. They were a team.

"I will, this morning," he said.

"That's what you said yesterday, Kyle," she replied. "You're slipping. Love life gettin' ya down, huh?"

He smiled, shrugged. What could he say?

♣

He was watching a porno he'd rented after work when he heard the gentle tapping on his apartment door. Damn, screw the timing. The female lead was just about to get naked. Maybe whoever it was would go away.

But the knocking persisted.

"Fuck."

He turned off the TV, not wanting to advertise his viewing habits, and went for the door.

"Who's there?" he called out. The Mill did not come equipped with peep holes.

"Kyle? It's me. Renee."

Renee?? Renee? He pinched himself, just to be sure this wasn't a dream. Then he opened the door. She stood there in her coat, gave him a shy smile. No one, ever, had looked more beautiful than she did at that moment.

"C-come in," he said, and stood aside, allowing her entry. He closed and locked the door, watching how she moved tentatively, clearly unsure of herself, second-guessing her decision to come here.

"I honestly never thought you'd come over," he blurted out. "But I'm glad you did."

She smiled again, but was still noticeably uncomfortable. "Would it be okay for me to take off my coat?" she asked.

He nodded, and took it from her when she removed it. Tonight she wore a black turtle-neck sweater, which hugged her curves even more than the shirt she'd had on two evenings previous. He felt a tent begin to form in his jeans.

"Um, can I get you anything to eat, or drink?" he asked.

"No, thank you, I'm fine."

This was no good. They were being so formal. They sounded like characters meeting for the first time in a Victorian novel.

He sat down on the sofa, motioned for her to join him. She did, allowing a space of a foot or so to remain between them. She hugged herself.

"Chilly," she said.

"Oh, let me turn the heat up! I keep it pretty low. They charge us for our own heat here, can you believe that?"

He started to get up, but she held out a hand, touched his shoulder. Her fingertips seemed to send a jolt of electricity straight through him.

"Please," she said. "Don't. There's no need to go to any trouble. I'm fine."

He sat back again. "You sure?"

She nodded, adjusted her glasses.

Silence. He knew he needed to take the lead. This was his place, after all.

But before he could, her eyes spotted the DVD case for the porno he'd been watching. It rested on the coffee table in front of them. Shit! How could he have been so stupid? Leaving that out there for her to see? What would she think of him?

"I see I interrupted something by coming here," she said. But her voice had a smile in it.

He felt the blood rush to his face. And then he said something he couldn't believe. "I was thinking of you while I watched it."

Now it was her turn to blush.

"Renee, look . . . why did you come here? I mean, I'm glad you did, but . . . you know, after what we talked about last night, at the library . . ."

She looked down at her lap. "I didn't plan on coming. I told myself I shouldn't. But . . . my husband called me today, while I was at work. And he . . . he just says the most hurtful things." She paused, gathered herself. "I told him I missed him, and did he miss me? And do you know what he said? He said he wished he could spend the whole month with his family, stay over for Thanksgiving. He said he was having a great time, didn't miss me at all. And he told me I'm a co-dependent child, missing him the way I do."

"Renee . . . you don't have to do this."

"Who said I did? No one forced me to come here, did they?" She looked at him, and there was a hunger in her eyes, a need. She was vulnerable. He knew that. It wasn't fair, being with someone so vulnerable. He knew that, too. But he didn't care. He just knew he had never felt this way before. He wanted to take care of her, protect her, shield her from harm. That's what he knew. That's what he felt. That's what mattered.

"I just feel so alone right now," she went on. "He can be such a fucking asshole!"

He moved closer to her, put his arm around her, told her everything would be all right. She put her head on his shoulder.

"You must think I'm a child, too," she said. "Hard to believe I'm an old hag of thirty-five, isn't it, acting this way?"

"Don't say that," he said. "Last night, you told me I should believe in myself more. Well, tonight, you're the one doing a good job putting yourself down. And don't ever call yourself an old hag again, Renee. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She lifted her head, looked him in the eye. He thought her eyes looked misty, as though she were close to tears. "Do you know, my husband hasn't called me beautiful since . . . since I don't even remember when."

"But I thought he . . ." Stupid. He was like that sometimes. A nitpicker. Too logic-oriented. It's what made him a good technical writer. But it made him a lousy listener.

She rested her head on his shoulder again, inched closer. Well, at least he hadn't offended her. "He used to be great," she said. "Like I said yesterday, he helped me so much. He used to call me beautiful all the time. He used to want to make love all the time, he couldn't keep his hands off me. But after I had my first son, and then my second, it's like he just stopped being attracted to me, or interested in me. When he wants me now, it's for a minute. I told you last night I haven't been properly made love to for a long time. He wants sex, my husband. Five minutes, and he's done. I tell him I want to make love, I don't want to be used like his whore. But he . . ."

Now the tears did come, and Kyle held her.

"I'm sorry, I'm a real ball of joy, aren't I?" she said. "I don't mean to do this. I'll leave if you want. This isn't fair to you."

"It's okay," he said. She was lonely in her marriage, so lonely. And loneliness was something he understood. All too well.

They just sat there, him holding her, her head still on his shoulder, for a long time. They didn't say anything. Then, suddenly, she lifted her head, looked at him, kissed him.

He didn't know if he should kiss her back. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But if they were going to do anything, he needed to know it was something she wanted. Not something she was doing because her husband had called her a co-dependent child a few hours ago. He again reminded himself that she was vulnerable.

"Wait," he said, breaking the kiss. "Renee . . ."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I did it again! I didn't mean to do that, Kyle. When I came here, I just wanted to talk. You're such a nice guy, and . . ."

"Yeah, a real nice guy," he said. "Wanting a married woman. Does that sound like a nice guy to you?"

"You stopped me just now," she said. "I call that a nice guy."

He felt a strong impulse to kiss her again, but pushed it away. "I just want to make sure it's what you want," he said. "You know how I feel. I want you, Renee. I've never wanted anyone more. I'm scared shitless, too, because I have no experience, and I'm . . ." Tiny. Small. Five measly inches. "But . . . I mean, if all you want to do is talk, then that's all we'll do."

A tear fell from her right eye, behind the lens of her glasses, and she brushed it away. She was looking at him so deeply, so intensely. The blue in her eyes swam before his, like pools of water. He wanted to get lost in those eyes. He wanted to get lost in her.

Suddenly she climbed onto his lap, straddling him, her knees splayed out on either side of his thighs. She continued to look into his eyes, and then she cupped his face with her hands, leaned in, and kissed him. Tentatively at first, but then with more meaning. He, too, was hesitant, but when she kept it up, he felt a surge of confidence. Not to mention a surge of something else. He'd rarely kissed anyone. That girl from high school, his one and only sexual encounter, and a woman he met online last year. They had necked a little in the backseat of his car, but she broke it off after only a few minutes. For all he knew, he was the world's worst kisser. Inadequate.

"What's wrong, Kyle?" Renee asked, breaking their kiss.

"Hmm?"

"You seem . . . Do you want me to stop? Maybe I should. I can't believe I'm acting this way!"