10
That evening, I waved goodbye to Nick as he left through the door. His lips were red and swollen. I’d bitten them while we’d made out. Maybe Gemstone Girl had been right: maybe I was aggressive.
After the door swung shut behind Nick, I stared at it for a long moment, my eyes unfocused.
Kissing him had made me so hard my balls ached. It wasn’t just boys I liked. I liked him .
I wanted to have sex with him. If I brought it up, he might say yes. To him, it might just be another lesson. But I didn’t want it to be a lesson. I wanted to be intimate with him for real. I wanted him to kiss and touch me, not just because he was doing me a favour, but because he wanted to.
He implied he was into guys as well, right? And sure, there were several times he got annoyed with me or laughed at me. But he’d stuck around, hadn’t he? There’d been moments when his eyes softened, like we were actually friends.
I had a chance, right?
I stewed over the dilemma for the next hour as I showered, changed into my pyjamas, and tidied up my room. I had to remake my bed because the blankets and pillows had gotten wrinkled and tangled while we were making out.
How did I tell Nick that I was interested in him? I couldn’t just say it straight to his face. Hi, I think you’re cute. Wanna fuck?
No, that’s not how it was supposed to go—at least, not according to all the movies and TV shows I’d seen.
If you wanted to sleep with someone, you had to court them. Take them out on a date. Make them feel special.
“I’m back,” Elena called from the living room at around nine. I went out to greet her. “Has that suspiciously handsome guy left?”
“His name is Nick, and yes, he has,” I said. “Elena, how do you court someone you like?”
She set her backpack on the kitchen island. “According to the regency novels I’ve read, you call on them, dance with them at balls, and go on walks with them.”
“I mean in the modern day. Oh wait—I forgot that you’ve never been on a date.”
Elena narrowed her eyes at me. “I’ve been on a double date, thank you very much. We went to hot pot and then had bingsu. Anyway, why are you asking me? You took Sophie on dates, didn’t you?”
“I took her to Professors Lane Caf é for our first date,” I said. “It was meant to be low pressure because we were meeting each other for the first time. But I want to do something more special.”
Elena shrugged. “How about dinner? That’s more serious than a coffee.”
“But where?” I asked. “Should I do hot pot, like you did?”
“As long as you’re both okay with spicy food,” she said, setting down her backpack on the kitchen island. “Anywhere should be fine, as long as it’s not McDonalds. The nicer the restaurant, the more you care, y’know?” She disappeared into her bedroom.
That made sense. I returned to my own bedroom and did what I did best: research. After perusing a few Reddit forums and watching YouTube videos, I decided that a nice dinner was indeed the way to go.
The following morning, I texted Nick.
Hayden: Hey, are you free this Saturday? Do you want to have dinner with me?
He replied a few minutes later.
Nick: I’m free, but what’s dinner for?
Hayden: There’s some stuff I want to talk to you about.
Nick: Ok…
Hayden: Great, let’s meet at 6 at mine!!
He gave the message a thumbs-up reaction.
The following few days passed by quickly. I attended lectures and tutorials, worked on various assignments, and researched the top-rated restaurants in Melbourne. Nothing would ruin my confession more than mediocre food.
I settled on a place called Kiss and Tell , which had great reviews, an appropriately amorous-sounding name, and availability for Saturday night. After making a reservation, I spent the rest of the week feeling high with excitement.
On Saturday evening, the excitement immediately turned into dread. I stared at the clothes hanging up in my closet, feeling completely and utterly lost. In my everyday life, I’d always worn whatever, but this wasn’t an everyday occasion.
I had to look good. Good enough to make Nick want me.
I was about to seriously panic when I remembered I had the best resource possible: Lisa.
I grabbed my phone and video-called her, and she picked up within a few rings. “Hayden,” she said in her sing-song voice.
Even strangers could see that Lisa wasn’t my birth mother. She was Sri Lankan, with brown skin and straight black hair. Besides, she was young, and her regular facials and trendy haircut made her look even younger, like she was in her early thirties. I knew she and Dad sometimes got looks when they were out in public. The older rich man and his young, pretty second wife. But they made each other happy, and that’s all that mattered.
“I haven’t heard from you in forever,” Lisa said. “How are you? How’s university? Are you making lots of friends?”
“I am,” I said. “What are you doing?”
She held up a glass of red wine. “Relaxing and watching some TV. Your dad’s in the kitchen, making a cheese platter. Colin, Hayden’s on the phone,” she called.
“Hi, Hayden,” Dad said, his voice distant.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, then flipped my phone camera around, pointing it at my closet. “Lisa, I’m going to a nice restaurant tonight. What should I wear?”
Lisa immediately perked up. “What kind of restaurant?”
“I don’t know, I found it on the internet.”
She made a humming noise. “You can’t go wrong with a nice jumper. It’s still cold in Melbourne, isn’t it?”
It was halfway through September, which was supposed to mean springtime, sun and blooming flowers. Instead, the city was grey and windy and drizzly. I wore layers every day. “Yeah,” I replied. “The weather forecast said it’ll be cold tonight.”
“Go with the cashmere jumper I bought you last year.”
“Which one’s the cashmere one again?” I asked, rifling through the jumpers and checking the tags.
“The navy one with the cable knit. Yes, that’s it. That looks very smart. You can wear that button-up underneath it and pair it with those pants. Put it all together, and you’ll look great.”
Lisa’s certainty calmed my nerves a bit. I flipped the phone camera again. “Should I do anything about this?” I pointed at my face.
Lisa smiled. “There’s nothing you need to do,” she said.
“Be honest,” I said. “I need to look the best I can.”
She tilted her head. “You could style your hair. Push back your fringe like this.” She demonstrated the movements on her own head.
I moved into the bathroom, set the phone down in front of the mirror, and tried to follow her instructions using a comb and some water. “Like this?” I asked.
Lisa gave me a few more tips, and five minutes later, I was looking back at myself.
“You look so handsome!” Lisa cried from my phone.
I smiled. I did look kind of alright. I began to feel hope.
Nick arrived on time like he always did. I met him downstairs in the lobby, and as soon as the elevator doors opened, his gaze fell to my outfit. “You look nice,” he said.
“Oh, this?” I shrugged. “I just threw something on.”
He raised a brow.
“Actually, I asked my stepmum for advice,” I admitted. “She works at a department store, so she knows all about fashion.”
I glanced at Nick’s outfit. He was wearing black sweatpants, a grey sweater, and New Balance sneakers, but he pulled it off. If someone told me he was actually wearing high fashion, I would’ve believed it.
“A department store?” Nick asked as I led us out of the lobby and onto the street. The cold air bit at my cheeks. “I thought you said you were from the country.”
“Yeah, but my hometown’s big enough to have a Myer. A small one, though. It only has two storeys.”
“My hometown doesn’t even have a Woolworths or Coles,” Nick said.
“Let me guess. There’s an IGA?”
“Nope. Foodworks,” he said. “So your stepmum works at Myer?”
“Yeah, her name’s Lisa.”
“Do you often ask her for fashion advice?”
“Not all the time,” I said. “You’ve probably noticed that most days, I don’t really care about how I look. But I wanted to look nice tonight.”
That last sentence was pretty revealing. I expected Nick to raise a brow at me, or look suspicious, but instead he frowned.
It didn’t take us long to arrive at the restaurant. The street was relatively quiet compared to the rest of the CBD, and jazz music drifted from nearby restaurants. To get to Kiss and Tell, we entered a random building and went up an elevator. As soon as we stepped into the restaurant, with its classic mid-century decor and moody lighting, Nick’s frown deepened.
“Reservation under Hayden Miller,” I told the hostess, and we were led to a high-backed booth seat made of emerald-coloured leather. The circular table was deep brown and gleamed like it had been recently polished.
“Is everything okay?” I asked Nick.
Maybe the lighting and flicker of candles around the restaurant were too obvious. Maybe he knew what I wanted to ask, and it made him uncomfortable.
He adjusted his sweater. “I wish you told me we were going somewhere fancy. I would’ve worn something nicer.”
“This place isn’t that fancy,” I said.
His face flickered with irritation.
“I mean,” I added hastily, “I looked online, and there’s no dress code.”
“Yeah, but I thought that by dinner, you meant pizza or something. Now I feel out of place. I look like a hobo.”
“You don’t look like a hobo,” I insisted. “Just pretend you’re wearing designer streetwear. You’re good at that.”
“Pretending to wear overpriced sweats?”
“No. Exuding confidence.”
Nick stared at me, but I was distracted by an approaching waiter who wore a perfectly ironed white shirt and black slacks. He set down two menus, a drinks list, as well as two glasses and a bottle of water.
I picked up the menu as he left. “The online reviews I read recommend the tasting selection.” It consisted of four different plates and one side. It was on the pricy side—$50 per person—but I could afford it. I didn’t spend much day to day beyond groceries and lattes, and the last time I splurged was months ago, on the Fleshlight.
Nick looked over his own menu. “I’m not that hungry. I’ll just get the spring rolls.”
The spring rolls were the cheapest item on the menu, barring the bowl of coconut rice, and Nick would know it’d look weird to have rice for dinner.
“I should’ve mentioned, I’m paying,” I said.
I hoped he’d look relieved, but instead his brows came together. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Yes, you can,” I said. “I asked you to have dinner with me. I chose the restaurant. I’m paying.”
His lips twisted.
“Don’t argue with me about this,” I said, picking up the drink menu. “Do you want anything to drink?” I placed the menu between both of us and flipped through the pages. Cocktails, mocktails, wine, spirits and beer.
“They don’t even have normal beer,” Nick muttered, and I had to agree with him; I didn’t recognise any of the brand names listed. “I’m okay,” he said after finishing looking through the menu. “I should stay sober to properly appreciate the flavours of this expensive meal.”
I smiled. “Good thinking.” I waved the waiter over and, ordered the tasting selection for two and said we’d stick with water for now. After the waiter whisked away with the menus, I looked at Nick.
He was looking at the other patrons. On nearby tables were couples—middle aged women wearing dresses and pearls, men in button-up shirts. On the far end of the restaurant was a group of five, all sipping red wine. I had to appreciate the way the other guests weren’t rowdy, maintaining the quiet, intimate atmosphere of the restaurant.
“Looks like we’re the youngest here,” Nick murmured. He turned to me. “So, what’s this dinner about?”
I didn’t have anything to hide behind. I poured us a glass of water each, then took a sip from mine. “I wanted to hang out with you,” I hedged.
“We always hang out,” he said.
“I barely know anything about you.”
He didn’t deny it. “I don’t think that affects our lessons.”
“It could be even better if we knew more about each other.”
He picked up his own glass of water. “There’s not much to know about me.”
I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. I expected that this would be a bit difficult, but not this much. Did he really not want to share anything about himself, or was he just shy, in a prickly sort of way?
I decided to appeal to human nature, and most humans loved to correct others.
“Alright. I’ll guess stuff about you. You go to the gym every day.”
“I don’t,” he said immediately, falling right into my trap. “My building’s gym consists of a treadmill and three dumbbells, and the uni gym is always crowded.”
“How do you stay so fit then?”
“I run.”
“Really? How far do you run?”
He shrugged. “It varies day by day. I usually go in the mornings or at sunset.”
“Do you have an app to track it?”
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “When I can afford it, I want to get a sports watch so I can record stuff more accurately.”
“Like heart rate and stuff?”
“Yeah. I aim to get my heart rate high, and then after a run, I need to slow down so my heart rate goes back to normal.”
“I’ve learned about that,” I said. “If your heart rate drops too fast, you can faint.”
Nick nodded, and as he talked about heart rate recovery, he seemed to relax. I fought a smile. Mission accomplished.
“What about you?” he asked. “How do you keep fit?”
“Mostly walking around,” I said. “I know it’s bad, but I hate exercise. I think P.E. in school traumatised me.”
“But you’re so skinny,” Nick said. I was used to hearing that, and it usually wasn’t a compliment, but his gaze slid down my body, and I squirmed with pleasure.
“I walk around a lot.”
“You don’t take the tram?”
“Only in the Free Tram Zone, and most of the time, it’s more convenient to walk anyway,” I said. “One time, I took a tram to university but forgot to tap on, and there were inspectors there, so I almost got a fine. That was pretty scary, so ever since then, I’ve walked to campus.”
“I hate inspectors,” Nick said.
“You don’t tap on either?”
“I would consider it if public transport actually ran on time, the fares weren’t exorbitant, and if the inspectors weren’t constantly targeting broke uni students and international tourists.”
The fire in his eyes made me chuckle.
“What?” he asked. “You don’t agree?”
“No, I do,” I said, hands up in surrender. “I just love how you’re protesting by breaking the law. My little rebel.”
The last three words slipped out before I could think about it, but to my surprise, Nick blushed. It wasn’t obvious—just a tinge of pink on the highs of his cheeks while he grumbled. “Fare evasion isn’t really breaking the law. It’s like jaywalking or drinking alcohol in a park.”
“You’ll be singing a different tune when you get caught.”
“I won’t get caught,” Nick said. “That’s why I jog every day. It’s practise for when I have to run from the police.”
That startled a laugh out of me, loud enough to catch the attention of nearby patrons. I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the noise while Nick looked at me, his eyes crinkled at the edges. I don’t think I’d ever heard him joke like that.
“Your tasting selection,” a waiter said, appearing in front of our table. “We’ll bring out the plates one by one. To start with: steamed barramundi and peking duck baos.”