Read Now or Never: A Last Chance Romance (Part 1) for Free Online Page A

J
                I cannot believe he’s texting me.
                I smile and type back, That is way past my bedtime.  I’m not being coy.  I can’t remember the last time I went out at that hour.
    Exactly how u got into this predicament.  Nothing on the list will happen before midnight .
                He can’t be serious about that list.

Chapter 7
    On the way home from work I do something impulsive.  I stop at Pet Valu on Lancaster Avenue, and buy a litter box, litter, a plastic food bowl set, and a bag of IAMS cat food.
    The cat is waiting for me on the front stoop again.
    “I told you to stay in back,” I scold, juggling the bags of supplies as I put my key in the front door lock.  Her tail is held high.
    Here we go.
    I open the door for her. The cat looks at me, her green eyes bright and almost quizzical.  Or am I imagining it?
    And then she strolls right in.  Like she belongs here.
    “Okay then.  I guess that’s that.”
    I set up the litter box in the first floor bathroom, and her food and water bowls in the kitchen.  I scoop her up, and place her in the litter box.  I read somewhere that all you have to do is show a cat once and they’ll get the whole litter box thing.  But her feet barely hit the gravel before she shakes off and walks out of it.
    “Okay, you do your thing for now.  But I’m not leaving here until we have an understanding about this litter box situation.”
    She wanders away, sniffing my furniture, exploring.
    That’s when the panic sets in.  What if she has fleas?  What if she starts clawing up my upholstery?  I have to tell Justin I can’t go out tonight.  This situation needs on-site management.
    My phone is in my bag, and I find his last text and write back, Sorry can’t make it tonight. I just got a new cat and can’t leave her.
    As soon as I hit send, I feel relief.
    Then realize what I’ve done.
    I got a cat — a live animal that will be with me for possibly the next fifteen years — just to avoid whatever awaits me tonight with Justin.  And what was I thinking last night — spilling all my personal crap?  Maybe focusing on my non-existent sex life is my way of avoiding the real problem.  It’s more fun to think about sex than breast cancer, right?
    But deep down, I don’t believe that’s it.  Hearing those stories at the reading salon stirred something in me — and it wasn’t lust.
    Regret.
    I look at my phone, a sinking feeling in my stomach.  Is there a way to take back a text?  My phone vibrates.
    Ah, the old cat ate my homework excuse. Romi, don’t be a pussy. See you at 10:30 .
     
    *** ***
     
    Red Ruby’s is a world away from the bars I occasionally frequent with Patti.  We always stay local, Bryn Mawr or Conshohocken.  Certainly nothing fancy like this place in Center City with its low lighting, leather furniture, and fifteen foot high ceilings.     The crowd is young and professional. I don’t belong here.
    Justin is already at the bar.  He smiles at me as I make my way across the room.  For the first time in a long time, I feel attractive.  I feel like I’m out for the night. I feel like I’m a woman — although a woman with a coach that will turn into a pumpkin in eight weeks.
    I slide onto the seat next to him.  He is wearing a suit, no tie.  His hair curls around his shirt collar.  If there is a better looking guy in the place, I don’t see him.
    “You look hot,” he says.
    “Thanks,” I say, wryly.  I’m wearing a black Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress that I bought during Employee Discount Day last fall.  For my great-aunt’s funeral.
    “I mean it.  Glad to see you came ready to play ball.”  He gets the bartenders attention.
    “Just, ah, a glass of Chardonnay.  Thanks,” I say.
    “You want a shot?” Justin asks me.
    “No.  Why?  Is that a prerequisite for The List?”
    “Doesn’t hurt,” he says.
    “Are you serious about this?  Don’t get me wrong — this is