6. Graham
What do you wear to your boss’s house when they maybe, kind of, invited you over for an at-home date?
If he’s expecting sex, he’s shit out of luck. Yesterday may have been a fluke when my desire for him made itself clear. Today…not so much. Yes, I can admit he’s attractive and the things he makes me feel are…intense. But sex? I’m not sure that’s the path I want to go down.
Pulling on a pair of black skinny jeans, I don’t think too hard when I put on a dark purple shirt that helps highlight my green eyes.
There’s not much I can do with my hair. It’s a nice shade of blond, but it’s pin straight and just sort of lies there.
I pull on my black Vans, grab my backpack and jacket, and head upstairs to wait for my Uber. I hate spending money on transportation, but there’s no way can I ask Megan to drive me, and it’s too dark and too far to walk. I looked up the bus route and it would take over an hour that way—no thanks.
Megan is in the kitchen, feeding her gremlins, when I step out of the basement. “Where are you going?” she asks.
“A friend’s house.”
“You don’t have any friends,” she replies.
“You look nice, Uncle Graham,” Danny, Megan’s oldest, says.
“Thank you.” I turn back to my sister. “Clearly I do, or I wouldn’t be going to their house.”
She rolls her eyes. “No need to be so snippy.”
My phone vibrates and I check it, relief coursing through me that it’s my ride. “I gotta go.” I wave to the kids. “See you guys tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget both Mama and I are working tomorrow night and?—”
“And I’m watching the kids, I know,” I respond on my way to the door, as if that hasn’t been the routine since she moved back home, kids in tow, two years ago.
When the front door closes behind me, I blow out a sigh and the tension eases from me. Dealing with my sister is not my idea of a good time. Don’t get me wrong, I love my niece and nephews, but my sister has been, and always will be, a bitch.
Since her divorce two years ago, she’s steadily gotten worse. And I get it, no one wants to move back into their parent’s house, not at twenty-seven and with three kids. But you’d think she’d be a little bit more appreciative of all the help both our mother and I have given her. Especially since I moved down to the basement so the kids could have my bedroom.
* * *
“Thanks,”I say over my shoulder, as I climb out of the Uber. Pulling my phone out, I leave a tip and then stuff it back into my pocket.
Taking a deep breath, I start up the walkway to Eric’s house. My stomach twists itself into knots the closer I get to the front door.
The size is a bit intimidating. It’s not obscenely large, but bigger than one person needs. Unless he doesn’t live alone? I didn’t think about that. I know he has two partners, who have their own relationships outside of him, but he never said they didn’t all live together. The thought almost has me shaking with nerves.
As I step up to the door, I want nothing more than to run away. Don’t be stupid, it’s just dinner. Steeling my nerves, I press the bell.
It doesn’t take long for Eric to answer. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug his thighs and a shirt that shows off his broad shoulders. His feet are bare, and that shouldn’t be attractive but dammit, it is.
“Hey, come in.”
I make it a point not to look at his face, knowing I’ll fail at not feeling more things if I see his smile again.
“Thanks for having me,” I say, as I kick off my shoes and set them on the rack off to the side.
“I’m glad you actually came. Here, let me hang your jacket up.”
I set my backpack down and shrug out of the jacket. Our fingers brush as Eric takes it from me, and I suck in a quiet breath.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he says softly, after he hangs the jacket on a hook.
Following Eric deeper into the house, I try to get myself under control. I don’t understand why this man drives me so crazy, but it’s getting annoying.
“Sit.” He gestures to the island when we enter the kitchen.
“You need help?”
Eric shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’ve got it. I wasn’t sure what you liked, aside from pancakes, so I went with something safe.”
I take a seat and place my backpack on the stool next to me. “What do you consider safe?”
He smiles, and my traitorous heart melts. “Spaghetti, with salad and french bread. Is that okay?”
“Who doesn’t like spaghetti?”
“You’d be surprised. I once dated this guy who didn’t like any pasta at all.”
I gasp dramatically before I can help myself. “I hope you didn’t see him for much longer after that.”
His smile turns softer. “No. He was against polyamory—vehemently.”
“I’m sorry. Is that something you have to deal with often?”
Eric sighs and walks to the fridge as he answers. “Not me, because I haven’t been actively dating, but Vincent and his partner have experienced it fairly recently.” He sets a bag of salad on the counter and opens a cabinet. “It is why I tell people upfront about being poly, so no wires get crossed. I can’t, and won’t, change who I am to fit someone else’s version of what a relationship should look like. People come in all shapes and sizes, so why shouldn’t relationships?” Eric brings a bowl over to the counter and dumps the salad in it. “I’m sorry, it’s just…frustrating to think about. I didn’t mean to dump it on you like that.”
“No, no, I get it. It’s kind of like being ace. People hear the word and make assumptions. I like sex, but my attraction and desire fluctuate. And just because one day or moment is different from the next doesn’t mean I’m lying, or a prude, or any of that other shit I’ve had thrown at me.” I can’t help but let a little bitterness drip into my tone. “My sexual attraction, or desire, for a person doesn’t mean I don’t find them good-looking or…datable. But so many people equate sex to everything and don’t care to learn the nuances of how the fucking spectrum works.”
Eric smiles. “Lucky I’m not an idiot then. Do you mind if we eat here? I have a dining room but that seems…excessive.”
“Here is fine. Are you sure I can’t do anything?”
“Positive.”
I watch as he mixes the spaghetti in with the sauce and dumps that into a bowl as well. As he sets it on the counter he asks, “What do you want to drink? You didn’t drive, did you? I have some wine that will pair nicely”
“I don’t drive, and I’m underage, remember?”
He smiles. “I won’t tell if you want some wine with dinner.”
“Just water, please. I’ve never had wine before.”
He turns to another cabinet and pulls two glasses down, then opens the one next to it and grabs a wine glass. “You can try some, if you want. It’s a merlot.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
Eric laughs. “It’s a red wine. Goes great with the sauce.”
He finishes getting everything set for dinner and then takes a seat next to me at the island.
Eric’s arm brushes against mine every so often as he serves himself, and I’m torn between leaning into him or moving away.
I don’t do this. I don’t trust anyone enough to have dinner with them at their house…yet, here I am. With a man thirteen years older than me, who holds my employment status in his hands. But he also…listens to me.
Eric listened to my ideas for the coffee shop last night, and he listened tonight about my sexuality. And he got it. Really, truly got it. Our situations might be different, but neither one of us is what society considers normal.
I’m in trouble.
In less than twenty-four hours, Eric has shown me what an actual relationship with a person could be like—and I should be doing everything in my power not to want that with him.