The Secret Of Us. Liesel Schmidt

as your story, I’m sure. I work on base with a few of these knuckleheads,” Matt replied with a shrug.

       I watched him closely, unsure of where this conversation could possibly go now.

       “I wonder where that waitress is with your beer,” I said, looking around the bar with a curiosity I didn’t really feel.

       Matt followed my gaze, then shrugged.

       “Maybe she had to fly to Belgium to personally pick it out,” he said with a small smirk. “Either that, or she got lost on her way back to our table. She didn’t seem all that bright.”

       I turned my full attention back to him, raising my eyebrows in surprise. It seemed such a rarity that intelligence trumped looks in the eyes of the male population.

       “You mean you noticed that, what with those boobs staring you in the face and all?” I asked, smiling sweetly.

       “Oh, I see,” Matt laughed, his eyes twinkling.

       “See what?” I narrowed my eyes.

       Matt looked left, then right in mock furtiveness and leaned forward. He motioned me in closer so that I would be able to hear him.

       “Boob envy,” he whispered soberly.

       I frowned at him and punched his forearm. “You’re ridiculous.”

       “And you’re violent,” he teased. “Has anyone ever suggested anger management classes?”

       “Only once or twice,” I laughed. “Right before I introduced them to my mean left hook.” I held up my balled up fist and broke out into a devilish grin.

       “Brains and brawn, huh? Aren’t you the full package.” Matt studied me for a moment, and I felt myself start to flush again.

       “Well, when your cup size sounds like a battery size,” I said, glancing down at the nearly imperceptible bumps that occupied the region of my body required to classify them as breasts. My eyes widened, and I looked back up at Matt in horror.

       “Did I just say that out loud?”

       Fortunately, he was laughing.

       “Wow,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, not every guy out there is concerned with that. At least, not the ones who actually have their priorities straight.”

       Our overly-endowed waitress magically appeared with Matt’s bottle of beer and set it down in front of him with a flourish.

       “There you go,” she declared breathily. She twinkled vacantly at him, ignoring my attempts to get her attention until I tapped her on the shoulder.

       “I’m sorry, I can see that you’re extremely busy and all, but could I get some more seltzer?”

       While my sarcasm wasn’t lost on Matt, it seemed to fly right over the waitress’s head. The smile plastered on her spackled face slipped for a second, then slid back into place. She’d turned off the sparkle, though, since I wasn’t a muscle-bound member of the male species.

       “Sure thing, sweetie,” she said, heading off to get my drink, her hips swaying pendulously in her skin-tight jeans as she moved.

       We watched her progress towards the bar, a steady succession of male heads swiveling to note her passage as she walked by them. I shook my head silently and smiled humorlessly.

       “No one watches me that way when I walk across the room.”

       Matt’s eyes held mine steadily, not a trace of mockery in his reply. “How do you know?”

       Chapter Four

      I never considered myself particularly adventurous – I didn’t itch for adrenaline, I didn’t have a need to trek up the side of a mountain or plummet thousands of feet towards Earth after jumping from the belly of a plane. Some people make lists of things like this, determined to complete every item on their list before they kick the proverbial bucket.

      I, on the other hand, tended towards lists of the more attainable kind – the less adventurous kind. The kind usually classified under the heading of “To Do.” It was safe, it was controllable (at least, to some extent), and it was satisfying enough to stave off any niggling need I had for something more. It kept me distracted, kind of like chewing gum to keep your mind off the cigarette you really want.

      What I really wanted wasn’t adventurous.

      At least, not in most people’s minds.

      What I really wanted was to get married, to wake up every morning and know that someone loved me and wanted to share their life with me. To know that my toothbrush wasn’t the only one in the holder.

      Not exactly a harrowing, exhilarating existence; but it was what I’d been dreaming of, what was on my list.

      It was what seemed so impossibly unattainable, what I tried so hard not to think about.

      Sometimes I stood in line at the checkout of a store, my eyes roving aimlessly over the magazines that flanked either side like paper sentrymen. The bridal magazines mixed in with the tabloids and fashion glossies seemed as irrelevant to me as an issue of Men’s Health or Forbes, touting inapplicable advice. I may have been young for such a jaded perspective, but I’d had enough frustrations with dating, with laying my heart on the line, for the sentiment to seem reasonable. After all, in every situation I’d encountered so far, the guys had all presented themselves in such a way that made them seem far more interested in settling down to start a family than they actually were – especially after a few weeks with me, a girl who left no doubt that my own personal convictions would allow nothing more than a bit of making out. The sentiment of, “Wow, that’s so great, that must take a lot of self-control,” were replaced by attempts to get me to cross my own line, to give in to their particular brand of magic and my own human tendencies. And when I didn’t… the boredom crept in, and they let me see just how immature they could be.

      It was a pattern I had grown to expect, one that made dating lose its allure. Still, it kept me from wasting my time with dead-end relationships, since it seemed to weed out the players; so in its own way, my self-imposed celibacy was insurance. But it definitely left me struggling to see why anyone would truly consider the dating scene “fun”. For me, all it seemed to produce was stress.

      Little wonder, then, that I had basically resigned myself to the idea that I would never have my own chance to walk down the aisle in the frothy white dress towards Happily Ever After. Somewhere along the way, the sharp-edged pain of that realization had become like the dull arthritic ache that warns of impending rainstorms.

      Which was why, when I met Matt, I never seriously considered the possibility of anything more than flirtatious friendship with him. I was so used to my dating life hitting dead ends that I’d lost any hint of the spark of anticipation that usually accompanies a first date. I was more in the “let’s just get this over with” school of thought. Matt seemed to be just another guy I could add to the buddy list – not that I hadn’t ever noticed how handsome or charming or perfect he was.

      Quite the contrary, actually. I noticed with regular frequency, but it wasn’t an observation I allowed to go any farther than that. I was too afraid – too afraid that the feelings I had for such a great friend would catapult me into dangerous territory. I wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability, not after the rough relationships I’d been through in the past. While I’d never done more than date, I’d certainly invested my whole heart in a few guys who had never come to see me as anything more than a friend. Unrequited love that lasted