Thr3e

by Ted Dekker

She closed her eyes and swallowed. God forbid, Jennifer. And when was the last time you dated a man, anyway? Two years ago? That hillbilly from Arkansas who came from good stock, so says Mom? She’d never known the full meaning of boring until then. She would prefer a man with a goatee who rode a Harley and winked frequently. Jennifer opened her eyes. Kevin was seated on the concrete, cross-legged, head in his hands. The man never ceased to surprise her. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure where all that came from,” she said. He lifted his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Please, don’t be sorry. That was the nicest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” His eyes fluttered open, as if he’d just heard himself. “Maybe nicest is the wrong word choice. It was . . . I think you’re right. He’s trying to pull me back, isn’t he? That’s his objective. So who is he? Balinda?”