Free The Same Deep Water by Lisa Swallow Page B

tonight?”
    “Yes. No. I mean, crap.”
    The half-smile tipping his mouth at one corner suggests he’s used to girls blabbering around him. I’m not used to blabbering around men. “Yes or no?”
    “Today’s Monday.”
    “Sure is. Restaurant? Bar? Movies? All?”
    “Um.” My mind cycles through the options. Movies, no chance to talk; what if he only likes car chases and gunfights. Pub, I’ll only get drunk. Restaurant, I’m fussy; what if he takes me to somewhere I don’t like?
    “A meal?” I suggest.
    “Restaurant it is then. Your choice.”
    “Yes.”
    “Which is?”
    “Pardon?”
    “Your choice.”
    “Oh. Um.” Maybe the movies would have been the best choice because the chances of us having a conversation seem slim if this continues. “There’re a few nice places in Subi.”
    “Okay, cool. Want me to pick you up?”
    “I’m fine. I’ll text you with my choice later.”
    Ross’s eyes shine. He pulls my receipt from the edge of the coffee cup and scrawls a phone number on. “Sounds good.” Then he stands and inclines his head to the door. “I’d best prepare for my date. Eight?”
    I nod, hanging onto the word ‘date’ as I watch his tall figure leave the cafe, taking my breath with him.
    As I finish my coffee, my mind wanders back to the few times I met Guy. Weird, we grew closer to each other; and even though I fought against the attraction I have to him, I didn’t think my rejection would end things between us so readily. Tangling with Guy made no sense, and now I’m doubly pleased I didn’t kiss him. Ross would be a much more suitable, normal date.
     
    ****
     
    I dump the short dress onto the growing pile of clothes on my bed. Half a dozen changes and I’m no closer to choosing. White capri pants and fitted pink top. No. Three variations of summer dress. No. Bugger it. I pull on black skinny jeans and a loose fitting white top that scoops low against my neck. The tattoos catch my eye in the bathroom mirror as I put lipstick on. They still take me by surprise when I see the birds; but I love them, and I’m now considering my next tattoo.
    Scouting around the lounge for my low-heeled boots, my phone beeps and my stomach lurches. What if Ross is cancelling? I grab the phone from the table.
    
    Guy. After three weeks of ignoring me, he sends a text as if we only spoke yesterday?
    
    I place the phone down and it beeps again
    
    
    
    This time I switch off the phone and shove it in my bag. Guy contacted me; but after ignoring me for weeks, I’m not dropping everything for him.
    I can’t switch my phone off. What if Ross calls? I click the on button and within a minute, the phone beeps again.
    
    
    
    Right, sick for three weeks . On the verge of texting those words back, I pause. I bet he doesn’t mean flu.
    
    
    
    
    
    
    I glance at the clock on the DVD player. 7.00pm.
    
    Guy has never asked to see me. Not in such strong terms. How sick is he?
    
    
    I chew my lip, torn over what to do. He helped me when I needed, and in a roundabout way is asking for my help too.
    But I want to see Ross. He’s not my Prince Charming, but he’s the object of lustful fantasies; the man who could distract me from my pull toward a dying man I also fantasise about, but who I’m certain will break my heart.
     I text.
    
    
    
    Do I call Ross or text him? Am I blowing my only chance here?
    One awkward conversation with Ross later, I head to the cafe where I often meet Guy.
    Guy sits in his