Your Song by Gina Elle Read Free Book Online

was his special way of telling you he was with you in every way.
    I blink away an impending tear. The irony is not lost on me that the two people whose presence I need more than anything in my physical world inhabit my digital world, pages apart. For a pretty nostalgic and old school kind of guy like me, here I am able to connect with each of them through a glass screen. The ultimate paradox if ever there was one.
    I’ve lost them both.
    No 1970s song could take the pain of that away.

4 “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy”
     
    Amy is my ex-girlfriend. My very hot and young ex-girlfriend.  Amy and I started dating last September after we met one night in a jazz bar downtown Toronto. My friend Ro and I dropped in for after-work drinks one night at this bar and as soon as we got there, Ro immediately recognized Amy and one of her friends from his high school days. As we approached the women standing at the bar, sparks flew between Amy and me.
    She was sexy , standing there in her very mini, open-backed black dress and high stiletto heels. She was looking at me through her exotic eyes. A modern day Cleopatra, I thought, as soon as I looked at her wide set eyes thickly lined in dark kohl, sparsely placed fake eyelashes highlighting her very large almond shape eyes, and then, a mouth outlined in an glamorous shade of crimson. She extended her hand to me even before Ro had the chance to introduce us. And when she placed her hand in mine and held it there, she didn’t take her eyes off me. Deadly confident girl, I thought. Interesting.
                  The rest of that night Amy and I were in our own little world, flirting with one another, oblivious to the activity around us. She was a twenty-three year old Masters student at the University of Toronto, in her final year of studying French literature.  She spoke passionately about her studies but I remember not really paying much attention to her academic talk, I was too distracted by her suggestive mannerisms and her rather sexy voice. For most of that night, the two of us sat at an intimate table in the corner of the bar, sipping cranberry and vodkas while soaking each other in. I remember, at one point, while Amy was talking about Victor Hugo, her favorite French writer, she seductively crossed her legs under the table rubbing up against my leg. But instead of moving her leg away from mine, she kept it there and that’s when I knew it was a matter of time before we’d go at each other. And we did. 
    “So, Eric. What brings us to this neck of the woods?” is how she greets me as I take my seat across from her at the table. After our phone call on Monday while I was still at O’Hare, Amy texted me as she said she would. And, now here we are, on Friday night, in a dark, quaint restaurant in Bloor West Village, definitely not one of our usual neighborhood haunts.
    Wearing dark jeans, a black dress shirt and a black leather jacket, my usual effortless style, I glance around at the other diners and f eel appropriately dressed.  While we were dating, Amy and I went out to dinner often but usually to restaurants in the downtown core. Asking her to meet me here in Bloor West Village has probably thrown her off. Amy and I have been broken up now for about three months but we remain friends. I think it was a pretty amicable break up, no hard feelings, nothing too dramatic after only seven months of dating. Amy was looking for a good time, and a good time I believe she had during our time together. But then her young, adventurous spirit resurfaced and she told me she “wanted to travel and see the world and not be shackled down” (her words, not mine) by a relationship. I couldn’t disagree with her, she was young and needed to live and be free before settling in a long-term relationship. Besides, her coming from a traditional Indian family, if her much older siblings and aged parents had their way, Amy has explained to me, she’d have been married off and having babies by