Three months after our final meeting at the restaurant it was over. I was alone. I wasn't sure about her.The terms of the divorce had Jennifer paying me $500 monthly for the next two years. Not a lot, but it was something. We did sell the house, and each of us got enough for a down payment on a new place which I wasn't ready to lock myself into yet. We split the personal stuff amicably and prepared to get on with our lives.The days after the divorce for me were—well boring. My uninspiring, nothing little digs, a rented apartment at the time, and my "no" job situation left me with a lot of time to think. But, my thinking, such as it was, was disjointed and without direction. I needed to get my miserable, now forty-eight year old, act together and start the long road back toward some kind of normalcy.My first order of business was to get myself a job. I didn't need the money, really, but I needed to be occupied with something; I needed to be up and doing. Without a woman, retirement. I hit the button once more, dipping my head a little so as to be partially hidden by a huge flowerpot. She sat bolt upright, stunned, and grabbed her phone. Luckily I'd thought to set my own to silent."WHERE are YOU?" was her message.I smiled into my glass as I took another sip, watching the bar rapidly fill to over flowing. The lunchtime crowd obviously appreciating the swift service of the snacks and stuff they served. Rosie was tucking in too, so I gave her time to eat. Seeing she had finished, and my own glass was empty, I made my way unseen by her to the bar, my finger touching the precious button just as I squeezed between her and her colleague to order fresh drink, my back to her.I felt her jerk next to me, heard her breathing in sharply. As her hands busied themselves on the keyboard of her phone, my right hand slid onto her knee, squeezed firmly, and began inching up the acres of bare flesh her lovely long legs possessed, whilst my hip rubbed against the outside of her.
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