Waiting Ch. 02

At 2 pm, Meg Keating pushed through the doors, did a quick scope around the coffee shop and marched over to her table. She wore a pair of Doc Martens that were either well-loved or had seen some action, torn jeans, an Alanis Morissette "Jagged Little Pill" tour t-shirt, and a black leather jacket that looked more like it came from Good Will than a boutique on Spadina Avenue. The wind had dishevelled her curly black hair, and she flicked it from her eyes with impatience. Meg looked effortlessly fashionable and someone you absolutely did not want to mess with.

"So, how do you want the cheating bastard fucked up?" Meg asked. Samantha was unsure if she was talking to a lawyer or a hitman. She guessed, in a way, she was hiring both.

They talked for about an hour, with Meg taking notes and offering sympathy. Later, she found out they met at that Tim's because she had been doing pro bono work at a local women's shelter. That's when Samantha knew she had her lawyer.

Today's meeting wasn't as dramatic. It was an update on how things were going. On Meg's advice, she'd avoided her ex, which didn't need much arm twisting. Thinking about him spiked her blood pressure; being in the same room as him might give her a stroke. They were also not meeting in a coffee shop, which Samantha preferred. It felt different there, more like a conversation. Or more conspiratorial. The process relaxed her. At Meg's office, it felt like her life was a business transaction.

Meg's admin escorted her into office. It was disappointingly....lawyerly. There was a bookcase filled with legal texts, a desk, degrees on the wall and some professional photos. The window offered a scenic view of a window in a building across the street. It was as if Meg had been instructed to behave at work. Meg got up from her desk to hug her, wearing a dark blue pantsuit that screamed lawyer. But then paused halfway, tilted her head and smiled.

"Good for you," she said after the admin closed the door.

Samantha's jaw dropped.

"There is no fucking way..."

"Oh, please. You're not the first woman I've had stroll into my office going through a divorce who just got her first post-separation railing. All the signs are there. The stress lines have eased up, your shoulders aren't hunched, and you're smiling," she said, waving her towards a chair. "Was he good?"

"How do you know it wasn't a she?" Samantha asked, settling into the chair and giving up on denying something had happened.

Meg stared at her head for a second, then shook her head.

"Nah, you don't give off a lesbian or bi vibe. Besides, you're still walking a little weird. So unless she used a hell of a strap-on, you dealt with a significant size readjustment over the weekend," Meg said, sitting back behind her desk.

"Jesus Christ," Samantha said, burying her blushing face into her hands.

"In all seriousness, though. You need to be careful, and I'm not talking about using protection. Was this a one-time thing, or is it something else?"

Which was the million-dollar question.

"I mean, I might see him again...later?"

"A couple of days later or....?"

"Like, in a few hours?"

Meg put the pen down she'd used for notes and stared at Samantha. It wasn't a disapproving look, but likely the one she gave clients who needed a smack in the head when they were being idiots.

"Look, Canada's divorce laws are arcane bullshit, and they've not seen fit to give me control to make things better. But technically....technically, you've committed adultery."

"What!"

Meg held up her hands, trying to ward off the outrage.

"As I said, it's bullshit. If I had my way, once a couple called it quits, have at it. Fuck whoever you want as long as they're legal age. But the law of the land says that, right now, this is adultery. Is he likely to find out?" she asked.

Samantha recalled yesterday's brunch cross-examination and Rachel's current loathing of her. It wasn't looking good.

"My girlfriends dragged it out of me yesterday," she said. Meg made a note.

"Ok, so assume he's going to find out shortly, if not already," she said. Then seeing the despondent look on Samantha's face tried to reassure her."

"Look, first of all, adultery isn't illegal. Plus, your ex cheated on your first, and he's stupid enough to have gone and shacked up with his girlfriend. Your fling, or whatever it is, will add some drama and paperwork, but we're still looking fine. You'll be free and clear of him soon enough," she said.

"But I've been doing this for a while. I like you, but I am your lawyer, not your friend or shrink. I've had plenty of women sit in that chair and tell me a similar story. They've been laid properly for the first time in what feels like a century. You are still in a vulnerable place, and there are assholes out there who will take advantage of that. You want to keep fucking him; have at it. But keep your wits about you. Don't start lending him money or taking him on extravagant vacations. And for the love of God, do not offer to have him move in with you because he's ringing your bell right now. Nothing good ever comes from it. Clear?"

Samantha felt this was not the best time to mention the expensive hotel room she'd used to seduce Seth.

"Clear," she said, feeling like an idiot.

"Is he hot?" she asked, taking some mercy on how dumb Samantha felt.

"Oh my fucking god, so hot."

"What does he do?"

Samantha winced and drooped her head, waiting for the hit. "He's a waiter," she said. Then added in an attempt to salvage things, "at a high-end Italian place."

To her credit, Meg didn't laugh. Instead, she pulled out some papers and prepared to review them with her.

"You got yourself a himbo. Good for you. Now, regarding the division of assets once the house is sold...."

***

Over an hour later, Samantha sat on a park bench, drinking a coffee and wondering what the hell she was doing.

Her lawyer was right, of course. She'd spent ludicrous amounts of money on that hotel room; all it showed was that she had more money than sense. She didn't know a damn thing about him other than he was hot, and it was the best sex she'd had in decades, maybe ever. She didn't even know his last name, for Christ's sake. Plus, he dragged out her long-dormant submissive side like it was the easiest thing in the world for him. She was an idiot, and this was dangerous. She should text him right now, say something had come up and call it off.

And yet...

It was the first time she could remember feeling good about herself or anything in years. He helped lift a weight she didn't know was there. She also liked orgasms that didn't involve things purchased from Lovehoney during a desperate weekend. There had to be a way to see him without wondering if she would be a warning fable for one of Meg's future divorce clients.

She drank her coffee and stared at her phone, willing it to give her an answer.

Her phone vibrated and a message flashed up on the screen.

"Hungry? Want to grab a bite? No tiramisu, I promise."

Fuck. More proof the universe had a sense of humour. Her thumbs hovered over the phone as she debated a response. But before she could completely understand what was happening, she typed out, "Sounds good. Where to?" and hit send.

Samantha stared at her hands, wondering why they had betrayed her. She might not know what she wanted, but her subconscious had other ideas. A text with the restaurant's name, address and time came up a moment later.

When Samantha had a long day that required different things, she often threw a couple of different outfits in the trunk of her car. She rarely had time to go home and change. Plus, she had a back-up in case there was an accident. When she left her house this morning, Samantha wore professional clothes for her clients and divorce lawyer. But it would look weird for an evening date. Then there was the "How do you dress for a date/maybe a hook-up?"

She debated a sundress she'd brought along because it was warm. But it felt like trying too hard. She grabbed a favourite pair of faded and torn jeans, sneakers and a yellow top that showed off a bit of cleavage. The address he gave her was for a diner, so something casual should be acceptable. She popped into a coffee shop, got a small latte to go, and changed while waiting. She wished she'd worn sexier underwear, but sacrifices were necessary when you're on the go all day.

When Samantha walked into the diner, she grinned. She'd seen places like this but couldn't recall her last time in one. Maybe back in university. The booths, the stools at the counter, 50s artwork and posters on the wall. Signed pictures of famous people who had dined there. She was so distracted she almost didn't notice the young woman approaching her. She looked like she might be 19 with red hair, and someone had shot a freckle gun at her face. The uniform was black but had red trim around the collar, belt and the edge of the dress, which came to her knees. She was cute, in the exact way you'd expect a waitress working at a diner would be.

"You must be meeting Seth. Samantha, right?"

"Um, yes?"

"Follow me," she said, walking towards the back of the diner. "Seth said he was meeting someone, which is weird enough. But he mentioned you'd stand out, and he wasn't wrong. If you ever want a job here, you'd do good on tips."

The chattering waitress distracted Samantha, so it took her a second to realize she was at the table. Seth smiled and stood up, showing off a pair of clean black jeans, a tight black Merino wool t-shirt, and a light blue short sleeve dress shirt unbuttoned over it. He gave her a friendly and affectionate hug, but not sexual.

Still didn't stop her panties from getting wet. Why did the man have to smell so goddamn good on top of looking so fucking good?

"Thanks for agreeing to the change of plans, Samantha. I figured a bite to eat first would be good," he said, waiting for her to slide into the booth. He slid across from her, still smiling. Then he glanced up at the waitress. "Are you going to give us menus, Erin?"

The waitress looked like she was in a daze. It could be whatever pheromones Seth and Samantha were generating in the air. She snapped out of it long enough to put a pair of menus on the table. "Like I don't know what you're going to have anyway," she said, then headed away from the table, shaking her head.

"Sorry, I've been coming here every Monday for years. I've known Erin since she was in pigtails. She's a little rattled seeing me here with a woman," he said.

Samantha flipped open the menu and looked at a selection of caloric bombs. Salads were on the menu, but you didn't come to a place like this for the salad. Then again, she might need extra calories, given her current mood.

"You've eaten here for years, and you work at an Italian restaurant. How do you look like....that?" she said, waving in the general direction of his abs.

"I jog 10 kilometres every morning. And I do some yoga," he said. "And how do you keep looking like that?"

"Spin class and yoga. Although I'll have to add some extra classes if I keep eating like I have this weekend," she said.

"I'm sorry. We can go if you're not comfortable with the menu...."

"Oh God, no. Don't worry; I'm being vain. Plus, I'm babbling because I'm incredibly nervous, which is stupid given how we met, but..."

Seth reached and put his hand on hers. It was cool and dry to the touch and got her heart racing again, thinking about the last time his hands were on her.

"I'm a bit nervous too."

"Bullshit," she said more forcefully than she meant to. Seth laughed.

"I like you, Samantha. I know the chemistry between us is....considerable. If we'd met at a bar, our clothes would have been flying pretty quick."

"God, yes," she said. Samantha had been second-guessing the chemistry between them for days. Was it that good, or the heightened flirting and adrenaline from Friday night. Sitting across from him, she realized the chemistry was simply that off-the-charts good.

He nodded. "I know I like you; I'm trying to find out why I like you. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does. I had the horrifying realization on Saturday afternoon that I don't know your last name," she admitted, feeling her face get red again.

"Seth Cohen."

"Jewish?" she asked before realizing that might be rude.

Instead, he shrugged his shoulders. "I've never been inside a church, synagogue or mosque. It's just my name. And you are Samantha Burnett."

She nodded. Samantha figured he looked at the credit card. "I guess you've Googled me by now."

"No, why would I?"

"Because...it's what people do?" she said, startled that he knew her full name and hadn't done any digging. He could be lying. She still had Meg's warning about not being stupid because she was horny rattling around in her head. But he seemed genuine.

"No, I, well, I guess this is part of the getting to know each other process. I never had a lot growing up. No iPhones. No computer at home, let alone the internet. Ashely calls me a Luddite. My first thought isn't to go online and check on someone," he said. "The only reason I have one now is so a few friends and my boss can reach me. Oh, and I like streaming some videos. That's ok."

Samantha stared at Seth. If she spent a year on dating apps looking for her complete opposite, she couldn't have done better than Seth. She was rich, and social media and computers were her life. He grew up poor and barely tolerated having an iPhone.

Before she could say anything, Erin reappeared in a wave of red hair, freckles, and attitude.

"So, he's going to have triple-decker Reuben and a Diet Coke because it's what he's had every Monday for years," she said.

"Your mom makes a mean Reuben," Seth said. Erin rolled her eyes.

"I'm guessing you're having a Greek salad and water," she said, looking at Samantha. This wasn't the same high-quality, flirty service she got Friday night. She glanced at the menu and decided to try and throw her off.

"I'll get the grilled chicken and avocado club," she said, with Erin jotting it down. "With a side salad." Erin's smirk returned. She spun around with a flair of her skirt and headed back to the kitchen.

"She's normally much friendlier, I promise."

"Seth, I...I don't know if this will work. I like you, and yes, we have chemistry, but I'm a social media manager. I help small businesses with Facebook and Instagram. Do you even have those on your phone?"

"No, I don't," he said, smiling.

"And, you have to know I come from money."

"Yeah, I kinda figured," he said, then the smile dropped, and he got a serious look on his face. "You're worried I only asked to see you again because you have money."

Samantha felt like shit. This had been a mistake. She could feel her body start to edge out of the booth to leave when he gently touched her hand.

"I'm not the smartest guy, Samantha. I scraped through high school. But I'm good at reading people and I'm a good listener. It's why I like waiting tables. Yes, I like the money, but you learn a lot about people. So yeah, I see tables where one person is only with the other because they're rich.

"And it's always awkward to watch. It seems....unpleasant," Seth said. "I find when you grow up like I do, one of two things happens. You can never have enough, always want more, and never be happy. Or you reach a point where you look around and realize this would have been a dream when you were a kid."

Samantha wanted to believe him. Desperately. And not because she lusted after him.

"Friends tell me I'm in a vulnerable place and easily taken advantage of," she said, looking him straight in the eye. She wanted to see how he would react. If there would be outrage, denials or cries that she was being paranoid.

"That makes sense," he said, then paused. "How about this; I'll never ask anything from you. I'll never ask for money or gifts or anything like that. No sudden emergencies requiring money. If I ever do walk away."

It took a moment for Samantha to process what she was hearing. She'd never met anyone like Seth before. Where money didn't seem to be a critical part of their life. Where they weren't bonded to their phone. Her paranoia and self-doubt that had been taking over since her meeting with Meg began to ease off.

"Does that make me a terrible person if I say I actually feel a bit better?" she said.

"No," he said. "I'm not blind that we're from significantly different worlds. And you're going through a divorce, which is a whole thing. But I like you. Yes, the sex is amazing..."

"Fucking spectacular," Samantha said before she knew the words were coming out of her mouth. God damn, her subconscious was horny.

He laughed, but not meanly. "But my gut says you're kind, and my last ex was not a kind woman. And I bet you can empathize with that."

She nodded her head. Who the hell could be mean to this guy? He was a puppy dog in a human costume.

"So maybe a few times a week, it'd be nice to hang out. Get a coffee, go for a run, other things...."

"Other things," Samantha said, letting her foot touch his leg under the table. Her initial fear and concerns were easing up a lot. Maybe she was being stupid, but she was feeling flirty again.

"So does that sound ok?"

"My life is weird now. I hope it'll be less weird soon, but I can't say when. So there will be times when I'm a mess or can't see you. My lawyer is terrifying, but she's smart. So if she tells me I need to ease up on seeing you, I need you to understand that."

"How about I try to be someone who makes you happy and doesn't complicate your life? I'm ok with that," he said.

Erin took that moment to arrive with the food. Samantha half expected her to slap the plates down, but she placed them gently on the table. She had to admit that the food looked good, and the portions were enormous.

"Mom told me to stop being such a bitch," she told Seth. Then she looked at Samantha. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she said.

"University stressing you out?" Seth asked. She nodded.

"Working my shifts here, classes, mom," she said, rolling her eyes toward the kitchen. "I've been in a mood."

"How's that person you were dating, Alex?"

"Got tired of me never being around for them, so that's that."

"Sorry, Erin," Seth said.

"Yes, but one day this empire will all be mine," she said, expanding her arms and spinning around.

"Not if you don't stop yakking and go serve your other tables, it won't," a woman yelled from a door by the kitchen. She was a redhead who appeared to be a vision of what Erin would look like in 30 years.

"The slave driver calls. I must go," Erin said, and did another twirl of the skirt and headed towards the kitchen. "Coming, Mother."

"Christ, I'm having a flashback to when I was 19," Samantha said. "Does she have a crush on you? Is that why she dislikes me?"

"Nah, she likes you fine. Unlike the last woman I brought here, she hasn't spilled anything on you."

"Really?"

"Didn't like how she was talking to me. Felt my honour needed protecting," he said, smiling at the memory. "I'm sure she had a crush on me at some point, but I've given her tips on being a better waiter and stepped in when tables were being jackasses.

"Besides, I'm 10 years older than her. It'd be weird. She's like a kid sister to me."

Samantha took a bite of her sandwich as he said this and choked.

"So she's 19?"

"Yes."

"Which makes you about 29?"

"Yes."

Samantha hung her head down.

"Seth, how old do you think I am?"

"No good has ever come from a man answering that question, Samantha," he said.

She looked back up at him. "No, I won't get mad. But seriously, how old do you think I am."

He sighed and put the sandwich on the plate. "My gut says 39."

Samantha winced. Spot on. Jesus...