Free The One That I Want by R. J. Jones Page B

viewing, thanks to a huge pillar in my way, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen the show before. I spent nearly every Saturday night going to shows on Broadway, and sometimes I was lucky enough to catch two in one night.
    “Can I sing?”
    “Umm, sing?”
    “Yes, I won’t be able to stop myself. If this is something that will embarrass you then it’s okay, I’ll go back to my own seat.” Paul might as well know what he was in for if I sat with him. It wasn’t like he was asking for a relationship, God forbid, so if he couldn’t handle me singing along, I’d be happier back in my cheap seat by myself.
    I was at the head of the line so I placed my order while Paul thought about whether or not he still wanted me to sit with him. I ordered a wine, and he ordered a beer. He insisted on paying for both.
    “Thank you,” I said, once we’d stepped out of the way of the other theater-goers.
    “You’re welcome. Follow me, I’m down this way.”
    “Umm, okay.” I wasn’t sure I would be able sing along now, knowing he’d be sitting beside me and would hear my caterwauling.
    He was right, though, the seats were amazing. I could see the entire stage and all the detail of the performers’ costumes that I couldn’t see from my original seat in the next neighborhood. I could never have afforded these seats.
    The performance was almost over, my wine was long gone, and I was buzzed by how much better the show was when you sat closer to the action. I sang along, maybe not at the top of my lungs, but I still sang, but when I looked at Paul, he was fast asleep. How could he sleep through that? The orchestra was on fire and the singing was fantastic, and he slept through it? Had he had a big day or was he bored with my company? He wouldn’t come to a musical if he thought they were boring so I was hoping he’d had a big day, and it wasn’t me.
    But it probably was me. I mean, Paul was the perfect male specimen. Tall and handsome with perfect teeth. He was a corporate high flyer with enough money to spend on premium Broadway tickets and designer suits.
    I was the too-skinny, average-height, nondescript-looking accountant who spent his day in a gray office cubicle next to a hundred other cubicles. I didn’t even have my own office. Paul’s office would have a great view of the entire city
and
the park. I bet he even lived in a penthouse. With a butler. Okay, maybe a butler was pushing it.
    I stopped singing and tried to enjoy the rest of the show, but my enthusiasm for the great seats had worn off. Now all I wanted to do was go home to Dave.
    The final scene played out and everybody stood and clapped their hearts out. Including me. Paul stood and clapped enthusiastically next to me, giving me a wide grin. I tried to grin back but I think it came out more of a grimace.
    “C’mon, I’ll buy us a drink at the bar next door,” Paul said, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the theater. His hand was warm in mine and I didn’t want to let go, but knew I should.
    “Um, thanks anyway. But I gotta get home to Dave.” We came to a standstill on the street, and Paul’s expression was a stony blank.
    “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. I wouldn’t have asked you out...” Paul’s tone was sad and resigned.
    “I don’t have a boyfriend. Dave’s my cat, and if I don’t feed him before a certain time he’ll pee in my work shoes.” Paul’s grin was wide again and he chuckled, the smile lighting his hazel eyes. “Hey, don’t laugh. Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of cat pee out of leather?”
    “No, I don’t, but I imagine you do.” Paul chuckled, and keeping hold of my hand, he ran his thumb across my knuckles. “See you Monday morning? I feel like taking the stairs.”

C HAPTER T WO
    I MADE it home that night early enough for my shoes to remain cat pee free, but when Paul scared me to death in the stairwell on Monday morning I almost did Dave’s job for him.
    “Jesus. Again? You