The restaurant was a cozy gastropub. All dark wood, and dim lights courtesy of Edison style bulbs. I'd never eaten there. In fact I hardly ever ate out since it was always cheaper to cook my own meals. But I was always curious about this place and had heard their food was good.

The hostess led us to a quiet corner table. I kept my jacket on and took my seat, rubbing my hands together to try to warm them up.

Kyle hung his jacket on the back of his chair, then sat across from me, facing the front door. He scanned the room quickly, much like he did at my apartment. Then he turned his attention to me.

"Do you find it hard living with so many roommates?" he asked.

It was an interesting first date question. Not that I'd been on many first dates to compare against. Still, his opener surprised me.

"Not really," I said.

"Oh? Grow up in a big family?"

"No. Not exactly..." I sighed.

Kyle cocked an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.

"No family actually. I grew up in foster care. Lots of different placements. Group homes, foster families..."

He didn't say anything to my revelation. He simply nodded, which was... odd.

Through the years I'd had lots of reactions to this personal information. Mostly apologies, platitudes, or curious questions. People generally liked to fill that conversational space between me and them - which was truly a chasm between a typical dysfunctional childhood and my supremely messed up one - with words. I suppose they were trying to make the moment less awkward. It didn't bother me. Their chatter I mean. I had a tendency for nervous chatter myself. Which was probably why my brain was rambling to itself, much like this, right then. Of course growing up the way I did was something that bothered me. For as long as I could remember, I'd been working incredibly hard to overcome every obstacle in my path. My need to try make things better had become a desire to help other kids like me. Which was how I decided on my career goal of counseling and social work.

The silence between us stretched on while my brain spun thinking of how to guide our interaction. Letting someone else talk while I listened was usually pretty easy work for me. Most people liked to talk about themself. But clearly Kyle was going to make me do some heavy lifting tonight.

My stomach growled audibly. We both pretended not to hear it. The people at the table beside ours glanced over at us. I was fairly sure they could tell we were on a first date, which was not going well and likely to be our last date.

The waitress came over to our table. "Hi. I'm Regina. Can I start you out with some drinks tonight?" She poured some water for us then handed the pitcher to the bus-person behind her.

Kyle said, "Just the water. I'm driving." He didn't bother to look up, let alone smile, at the woman. Then he stifled a yawn.

The skin prickled along my hairline. Hopefully I wasn't on a date with a guy who was rude to servers.

"I'll have a margarita on the rocks, no salt." I wasn't a big drinker, what with my Mom's history of addiction. Plus I liked to keep my wits about me when I was around a guy I didn't really know. It is obviously maladaptive behavior to use alcohol to self-medicate, but I needed something in that moment to steel myself. Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that jazz.

Regina nodded. "I'll give you a moment with the menus while I get that drink."

Once she walked away I turned back to Kyle. Jangled nerves made my questions come out in rapid succession. "What about you? Live alone? Dislike roommates? Have a bad experience with one?"

He shook his head with a slight chuckle. "I've dealt with more than roommates. I've had bunk mates. Even lived in a fire hole for about a week with one guy." Then Kyle leaned back in his chair and a tiny wistful look flitted across his face. I'd never seen such an expression from him before.

"Do you miss being a Marine?"

"Yes." He looked down at his hand on the table and stifled another yawn with the other one.

"Why'd you leave it then?" I spread my napkin on my lap. It added an extra layer of warmth that I was grateful for.

"I got hurt, and had to be medically separated from my unit before they deployed again, and..." He looked up and directly into my eyes. His face had that same wolffish quality I'd seen the other day in the break room.

"It's too hard to explain." He straightened his fork and knife beside his plate.

"Try me." I'd never realized how sexual that phrase sounded until I'd said it to Kyle in a tone far huskier than I had meant to use. I cleared my throat and took a sip of my water.

He smirked. "That's what she said."

I rolled my eyes over the edge of my glass. His hand clenched and unclenched on the table top. My eyes shifted toward the movement. He removed it from the table, hiding it behind the tablecloth, on his lap.

"You don't want to hear about all that," he said.

"Actually, I do. I'm a very good listener."

"Well in that case," he said with a sigh, "I just don't want to talk about it."

Regina appeared beside us. She set my drink down in front of me. "Would you like to hear the specials?" she asked.

Kyle and I spoke on top of each other.

"No," he said brusquely

"Sure," I said brightly.

Regina looked between the two of us, evidently confused with how to proceed.

"I know what I want," Kyle said. Again with that clipped tone.

I was beginning to think that he also knew what he didn't want, and I suspected that he didn't want to be on a date with me. The feeling was becoming mutual.

"I... I... I don't," I stuttered while frantically scanning the menu. The least expensive entree was my aim. It didn't even matter what it was. I'd lost my appetite anyway.

"Then let's hear the specials," he said.

"Never mind. I'll just have this." I pointed at the name on the menu.

The waitress nodded before turning to Kyle. "And for you?"

"New York strip. Rare. Baked potato. Butter and sour cream."

Then Regina left, and we sat in awkward silence for a what felt like an eternity. Time flies when you're having fun. This was not fun.

I gulped some of my drink and contemplated ordering a second one. My eyes searched the shadowy dining room for Regina, so I could tell her I'd need a refill.

Kyle cleared his throat, calling my attention back to him. "How long have you worked at Homey-O-Station?"

"Too long. This is my fifth year. I started working there freshman year of college, and I'm still there because I'm trying to save money for grad school now," I said.

Which, come to think of it, was why I wouldn't order a second drink.

"What do you want to get your Masters in?"

"Social Work. Guess you could say it's a calling. The money isn't great though."

He nodded, but a small frown appeared on his face. "What do you like to do in your spare time?"

I huffed. "Don't really have much free time. I volunteer at a community center most days."

"Doing?"

Another sip of my drink helped the words come a bit easier. "Oh anything they need me to really."

Kyle mumbled something just as I was finishing my margarita. It sounded like he he used the word "Gumby" so I assumed I must have been drunk already.

"I'm sorry, what?" I coughed.

"Semper Gumby. Like Semper Fidelis. Always faithful. But with Gumby. Always Flexible." He arched a brow at me.

Something about Kyle calling me flexible made me flush. The alcohol probably helped too. I pressed my still icy cold rocks glass between my wrists. Kyle's eyes flit down to them and the corners of his mouth twitched up.

It was time to turn the attention away from me. "What about you? Any hobbies?"

"Running."

"Running to things, or from things?" I asked, mostly joking.

"Depends on what's ahead or behind me. Semper Gumby." He lifted his water glass in salute.

Somehow he didn't strike me as the flexible type. More like the rock hard type. And here I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Regina appeared again, this time with our plates in hand. She set them down while the bus-person topped off our water glasses. She removed my empty margarita from the table, and looked at me with a hint of concern in her eyes. "You okay dear? Need another?"

My face must have looked troubled. I rearranged it into a smile that I hoped conveyed my appreciation. "No thank you. I'm good."

"Okay. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask." She turned toward Kyle who was already cutting into his steak. "And you sir? Freshly ground pepper? Steak sauce?"

He looked at her and said, "No. Thank you," before placing the first piece into his mouth.

Regina went off to help other patrons and I trimmed a delicate piece from my chicken. I said, "Tell me about your family," before placing it into my mouth.

Kyle swallowed. "My parents are divorced. I don't have a relationship with my biological Dad. My Mom's great. Things with my Stepdad are... a bit... complicated. Two sisters. One older, one younger."

"I understand complicated relationships. Or at least I try to. I've quite a bit of practice."

Our eyes met for a minute. Kyle's tongue swiped at his bottom lip for a split second, and my stomach swooped as I realized that maybe he thought I was talking about romantic or sexual relationships.

"Because I bounced through a lot of different households as a kid. Saw a lot of different families... as an outsider," I added.

"Happy families are alike; every unhappy family, is unhappy in its own way," he said in an exceptionally good Russian accent.

"Tolstoy?" I asked, even though I knew the quote was from War and Peace. Kyle actually struck me as a bit of a Pierre Bezukhov type. Large-bodied and socially awkward.

"Oorah." His steak was halfway gone.

"I guess you forgot to mention reading as a hobby." My fork pushed the rice around on my plate.

He shrugged, then asked, "Do you enjoy reading?"

"Books were my best friends as a child. I'd spend hours in the library when I could, or escaping inside the pages of one story or another at whatever foster home I was at." I pierced a piece of squash with my fork.

Kyle stifled another yawn, while he worked on mashing up the innards of his potato silently.

"Nice deflection by the way," I said before placing the vegetable in my mouth so he'd hopefully talk while I was chewing.

He ceased mashing. "Are you trying to therapize me?" His tone was neutral, but his shoulders were stiff. "Is that what this date is about?"

"What? No!" Nervous laughter bubbled out of me, which made my denial sound less than truthful.

Kyle sat up straighter, seeming to gain at least another six inches in height. "You can save it for somebody else. I don't need your help."

"Kyle I... I... I was just trying to..." Why couldn't I get words to come out around him? Usually my gift at happy chatter improved almost any encounter. I felt inept and stupid around Kyle. I hated it.

"This was a bad idea," he said. It was almost like he was reading my mind, damn him. He ran a hand through his hair, then brought it down on the table, not unlike a gavel. He had declared his judgment, case closed.

I gritted my teeth. "Yes. I think this was."

He added, "We're on different pages." And I wondered why he felt the need to explain anything when I was agreeing with him.

"Clearly!" I exclaimed, my voice an octave higher than usual.

"Let's just finish up." He caught Regina's attention and indicated we wanted the check.

My meal was barely touched, but there was no way I could take another bite. My stomach felt too full of regret. I pushed the plate away. Normally I'd pack it up to go. But when Regina asked if I needed a takeaway carton, I declined. Eating these leftovers tomorrow would just be a terrible reminder of tonight. I'd rather starve.

I took out my wallet.

"Absolutely not," Kyle snapped while grabbing up the check.

"I asked you out," I said reaching for the paper.

He stretched his arm up into the air. If I truly wanted the bill, I'd have to get out of my seat and probably stand on my tiptoes to get it. Then if he stood too, I'd never get my hands on it anyway.

"You did not ask me out. You made a suggestion. I saw an opportunity..." he trailed off.

When I thought back to the other day in the break room, that's exactly what happened. Our encounter had been suggestive. Now I realized that perhaps I had lead Kyle on. He probably thought this would be some type of wham-bam situation, not a getting-to-know-you one.

I felt like an idiot. "I'm sorry. You're right."

Kyle laughed as he brought down his arm. "While I appreciate hearing you tell me that I'm right. You don't owe me an apology. I'm a grown man and I can handle my shit." He pulled out his wallet.

I opened mine too. "I'll leave the tip."

"Put it away Ray," he ordered, before adding, "I'm a good tipper. My Mom waited tables after my parents first split up. I usually leave around twenty-five percent."

It was at this point that I decided that Kyle was the most confusing and aggravating man I had ever met. I didn't know how I would be able to work with him after tonight. I needed to be away from him. To think clearly. To replay and dissect every moment of this date so I could hopefully figure out what the hell happened. How did it all go so wrong? I needed to therapize myself.

In a fog of muddled thoughts, I followed him up from the table and back through the dining room. Before I realized it, we were at the curb by his motorcycle. If my churning stomach was any indication, getting onto that thing right now was a very bad idea.

I said, "Thank you, but I'm going to walk home."

Kyle said, "That's not happening."

"I'm sorry, but you don't get to tell me what to do." Now my tone was clipped, past irritated and into annoyed. But I was mostly annoyed with myself that I was letting Kyle get to me.

This didn't matter. This date. What he thought of me. None of it mattered. I'd survived a lot more than a bad date with someone with a shitty disposition. Life would go on for me tomorrow. I would be totally fine.

"I just meant... it's late," he said.

"So let me guess.. all that yawning was because it's late and you're tired? Not because I was boring you?" I scoffed.

Kyle scowled.

I looked at the time on my phone. "It's not that late. We weren't in there that long."

"It's dark out and... it's dangerous for a woman to walk alone." He glanced up at the sky overhead. It almost looked like he was rolling his eyes at me.

"I'm more than capable of walking alone. Been doing it my whole life. Plus, I've taken some self defense and martial arts classes at the community center. I can take care of myself."

Walking away would emphasize the point. But despite my words, and my best intentions, my legs wouldn't move for some reason. Kyle's hazel eyes were back on me, locking me in place as if by a tractor beam.

"You'd never be able to defend yourself against a guy my size." He took a step closer to me. Towering and glowering in a way that made my pulse quicken. He lowered his voice. "And you won't have to if you just let me bring you home."

"Well, I grew up in plenty of dangerous situations and lived to tell the tale." I finally took a step back.

He took another step forward. "If you won't get on this bike with me right now, then I'll leave it here and walk with you."

This man was persistent. I wondered what would make him stop. "Your bike is more likely to be stolen, than I am to be assaulted," I said.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," he said.

A second step away. "Plus if you walk with me, then you might have to talk to me for another thirty minutes."

He followed. "Another risk I'm willing to take."

I crossed my arms. "You're not going to give up are you?"

He shrugged. "Call me bull-headed..."

"Let's get this over with then. We'll take the damn bike."

At least then this torture will be over quicker.

He began taking off his jacket. "Put this on."

"But what about you?" No matter how annoyed I was with him, I didn't want him to freeze. I'm not a mean person after all.

"I'm fine," he said.

His appearance was more than fine in truth. It was divine. The attitude on the other hand. That needed improvement, to put it mildly.

"You'll freeze," I said.

A brisk breeze started up, tousling his hair and making me shiver. But Kyle seemed immune to it. My eyes scanned his face, searching for any inkling that he might be feeling what I was feeling.

He remained stolid and said, "I did cold-water immersion, and arctic weather training in Norway."

With his jacket entirely off my gaze shifted to his torso. Good God his sweater was form-fitted! Seated at the table inside the restaurant, I hadn't realized how beautifully sculpted he looked in that slim-cut knit. I didn't even think he had a t-shirt on under that thing. I gulped.

He held his jacket out toward me. "Take it."

His voice had a commanding edge that sent another shiver down my spine, which had nothing to do with the cold air. When outfitted in fatigues, and armed with a gun, he must have been terrifying to his enemies.

Still I didn't move, and he frowned. He clenched his jaw and inhaled through his nose. Then he exhaled slowly and his eyes softened.

"Please," he said, the word laced with a hint of pleading.

"Fine." I snatched the jacket from him and threw it across my shoulders before he could help me put it on. The less he touched me, the better.

Even on top of my own blazer, the thing was huge on me. I tried to zip it up, but it was difficult because my hands were swallowed up by the sleeves. I felt as ridiculous as I probably looked fumbling with the zipper.

Kyle stepped closer and began to lean down towards me. If I hadn't just experienced that disastrous date, I'd have thought he was about to kiss me. My body clearly thought he was going to. Time seemed to slow down, yet my pulse sped up. My ears began to burn. A distinctively heavy sensation, of what I could only describe as want, started tingling in my nether regions. It was not a feeling I experienced often at all. When my brain finally put together that Kyle was in fact leaning over to zip the jacket closed for me, the heavy feeling dropped away suddenly, leaving me feeling empty.

I thought, "Maybe my mother doomed me. Maybe I am genetically predisposed to finding jerks attractive."

After he zipped me up, Kyle took each sleeve and rolled the cuffs so my hands weren't covered. He said, "Now you'll be able to hold on."

Damn it.