The Old Man in the Club by Curtis Bunn

know. Your father had the same effect on me when we met. Now don’t take that to mean you should marry this man. I’m just saying embrace him but take it slowly. Let everything play out naturally. Don’t go trying to force anything.”
    â€œNo, that’s not me, Ma,” Tamara said.
    â€œSo when are you going to see him again?” her mother asked.
    â€œI wanted to see him tonight. But he said he has to go to a party.”
    â€œAnd you left it at?” her mother asked. “If you want to see him, you should let him know. Maybe he would pass on the party. Why let him go out to a party and meet someone else when you’re really interested in him? I’m not pushing you to be aggressive. I’m just saying don’t be too lackadaisical.”
    The advice her mom gave ricocheted in Tamara’s head, leading to her text message: “Do you have to go to that party?”
    Elliott received the message as he was about to start shaving. He put down the razor to respond.
    â€œHave to go? No. I want to go. But why?” he responded.
    â€œI was thinking I would come over and hang out with you.”
    Elliott smiled and shook his head upon reading the text. Then he said aloud: “I see. Well, look at this.”
    He wanted to cancel his plans and tell her to come over. But Elliott analyzed women up and down, and he deduced that seeing her on back-to-back nights would convey the wrong message. So he texted her: “That sounds good. But I committed to being there and I don’t want to be a no-show.”
    â€œU can text ur friend now and let them no something came up,” Tamara shot back. The more he refused to give in to her, the more eager she became to get her way.
    On the other end, Elliott was tired of texting. He knew he had to with the generation of women he desired; it was their way. But after about two in succession, he had enough.
    And instead of texting back, he called her.
    â€œHi, Elliott,” she said with excitement in her voice. “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”
    â€œYou want to give me arthritis with all the texting?” he joked. “You just learned something about me. After about three, maybe four texts in a row, I’m done. If it’s going to go beyond that, we need to talk.”
    â€œDon’t you enjoy the anticipation of what the response is going to be when you receive texts?” Tamara asked. “It’s fun. It’s a real important way in how we communicate now.”
    She paused for a second. “I’m sorry,” Tamara said. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was schooling you. I was trying to make a point.”
    â€œIt’s okay; I’m good,” Elliott said. “And I understand your position. I get to the point sometimes where talking is the best way to go.”
    â€œI understand,” Tamara said. “In my texts, I was trying to say that you’d have way more fun with me than you would at any party.”
    She sipped on the glass of Sauvignon Blanc that helped her get more daring. “Don’t you agree?”
    Elliott got her drift, but his near obsession with frequenting the Atlanta nightlife overwhelmed him. He wanted to answer her, “I don’t know.” Instead, he said, “Of course. But I can’t cancel on them at this late point. I’m getting dressed. And why do you want to see me anyway?”
    He threw in that last question not only as a way of gathering information, but also to take her mind off of why he didn’t want her to come over.
    â€œWell, hold on,” she said. Tamara took the remaining half glass of her wine in one gulp. And she even burped after downing it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had to finish my wine before I gave you my answer.”
    â€œWhich is…?
    Tamara blushed.
    â€œMy mother told me to,” she started.
    â€œYour mother?” Elliott said. “You told your mother