Chapter 22
RIGGS
Between appointments on Saturday afternoon, I coordinated a date with Smith.
He sent me his address, and I promised to pick him up at eight.
I finished my last appointment at seven, which barely gave me enough time to run upstairs, shower, and change.
I didn’t love the idea of showing up with still-damp hair, but I didn’t have much of a choice.
I also didn’t know whether I should wear it down or up, in the end opting to tie it half up.
Smith lived in an industrial style townhouse in Larchmont, and it was the most surprising thing about him.
Considering his love of historical architecture, I hadn’t expected to find him in a place so modern.
But after he opened the door and ran back to put his shoes on, I changed my mind and decided it was the most Smith townhouse that could exist. He was a sharp contrast to everything inside, bits and pieces of his interests poking through in the accents without being overbearing.
The place was bold in its design but understated.
Just like him.
“Ready?” he asked, coming back to find me in the entryway. He had on a pair of dark denim jeans, white sneakers, and a floral short sleeve button-up. He tugged the bottom of the shirt, cheeks turning pink. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”
I gestured to my own outfit, jeans and a t-shirt. “I’m not a dress up kind of guy, in most cases. I hope that’s not a problem.”
Smith smiled shyly at me. “Haven’t found a problem with you yet.”
The double meaning of his statement wasn’t lost on me, but the only response I could offer him was a jerky nod.
“How was dinner with your brothers last night?” I asked.
He made a dismissive noise. “Dinner was fine, if not a good reminder to the whole bunch of them that I’m not a teenager anymore.”
I beckoned him closer, pressing my fingertips against the purple hickey on the side of his neck. “I am sorry about that.”
“You shouldn’t be.” He held my wrist. “I liked it, and as much as it pains them sometimes, I’m my own man.”
I stared hard at him, some unfamiliar emotion burning in the center of my chest. He let go of my wrist, and I let go of him.
“You certainly are,” I rasped.
After locking up, Smith followed me downstairs. I opened the passenger door to my car and let him in, and once I was in the driver’s seat, he glanced over at me and laughed under his breath.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“I have a confession.”
I chuckled. “Let’s hear it.”
“I saw you before I came in for the appointment,” he said. “I was wandering. I do that sometimes, to look at architecture. I saw your shop, saw you on your bike.”
I dropped my head against the headrest and turned to the side, studying his profile as he spoke. God, Smith was young, but he was handsome. So nervous about his confidence.
“Were you expecting a ride tonight?” I asked, another double entendre hovering in the air between us.
“No!” he almost shouted, eyes going wide. “No, I mean…not like…no.”
He was even more good looking when he was out of sorts, I decided.
But it was cruel to leave him in such a state, so I reached across the console and brushed my thumb against his cheek.
At the first touch, Smith went still, a quiet whimper building in the back of his throat that would have taken another man out at the knees.
“I’ll take you for a ride after dinner,” I promised.
Smith swallowed hard and nodded.
“Okay,” I said, letting my hand fall away from his face with some reluctance. I needed to focus.
Turning the car on, I threw it into drive and headed back toward my side of town.
There was a new Italian place that had opened a few months earlier, but I hadn’t been there yet.
Damon swore it was the best sauce he’d ever had, and I was interested to find out for myself.
When I parked a block down from the restaurant and walked around to help Smith out of the car, he narrowed his eyes at the buildings behind me, pressing his hand against the center of my chest.
“I could have come to your place,” he murmured. “There was no point in you driving all the way to Hollywood to just bring me back here.”
“There’s plenty of point in it,” I assured him, trailing my hand down the side of his arm before tickling my fingers against his palm. “Let’s eat.”
A short while later, we found ourselves at a small two-top table in the back corner of the restaurant, nestled beneath twinkling lights like the ones around my headboard.
There was a single rose in a vase in the middle of the table, and I shoved the whole thing to the side so I could watch Smith without petals or thorns in the way.
He smiled at the gesture, and I knew I had to tell him about Ev.
“I hate to do this,” I said, biting my cheek. “But I have another confession.”
His mouth pulled into a smile. “Seems to be the way of it with us.”
And as quickly as he’d said the words, his lips fell into a tight line.
“I’m not married or anything, it’s nothing like that,” I promised. “And it’s not worse than the ace thing.”
“I trust you,” he murmured, brow knitting together. “And also, being asexual isn’t bad. I’m sorry if anyone has ever made you feel otherwise.”
Whatever I’d wanted to say to Smith died on my tongue at the simple words he’d given me.
Over the years, there had been lots of opinions about my sexual identity, but rarely had any of them been so forwardly accepting as Smith seemed to be.
Damon didn’t care because we’d only ever been friends, and Ev…
the way of things between us had worked for us both.
There’d been an adjustment period, but the love had been more than enough to smooth over any bumps.
“I appreciate that,” I said. “And that’s why I want to be honest with you. Being with me probably feels like a lot—”
“It doesn’t,” he interrupted.
“We hooked up at a BDSM club and now we’re on a date. I’ve already told you sex with me is not going to be what you’re used to—”
“I’m not used to it at all,” he blurted, eyes going wide at the confession. “You know I don’t have a lot of experience, but I also don’t have any complaints.”
“You’re being so easy about this.”
“Nothing you’ve given me is hard,” he said.
The waiter arrived after that, leaving a bottle of wine Smith had ordered and two glasses. He poured for us both and lifted his in the air, clinking the rims together with a lilting chime.
“I’m not married now,” I told him before I lost the nerve. Smith’s lips wrapped around his glass and he tipped some of the dark purple drink into his mouth. “But I used to be.”
Smith swallowed, traced his tongue across the front of his teeth, and set down his glass. He nodded, slowly at first, barely noticeable, and then a bigger gesture.
“That makes sense,” he finally said.
“Does it?”
He hummed. “The light on the nightstand. You’ve never turned it off.”
“Maybe I’m afraid of the dark.”
“It doesn’t match the rest of the house,” he said.
I pulled my lips between my teeth and tucked my chin against my chest. I’d been caught.
Found out. Smith didn’t say anything else; instead he sat quietly and waited.
I imagined that was the patience of being the youngest child in a house full of older and louder men.
He had to choose his words carefully because it was so much work to be heard over the roar, but I never wanted him to have to wait to speak with me.
“He didn’t leave me, it wasn’t…well, he did leave.”
“He died,” Smith guessed, reaching for my hand across the table.
I gave it freely, smiling softly down at the way my tattooed skin looked so dark and ruined against the golden glow of his smooth fingers and uncalloused knuckles. I wondered what he saw when he looked down at our hands, because he was certainly looking, just like I was.
“He died,” I confirmed. “Heart failure. It was…we didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry.” Smith squeezed my hand, and I glanced up to find his eyes focused on me, searching my face.
“His life insurance bought the building,” I said. “It’s all him.”
“It’s you,” he corrected, “because of him.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“It doesn’t bother me that you loved someone before me,” he said next.
“I never thought it would. That’s not what I…
” I stopped myself from saying more, needing to better understand my own motivation.
What even was the point of dumping my past onto Smith when we were meant to be having a nice dinner and getting to know each other?
But then again, how could he get to know me without understanding what Ev had meant to my life?
Clearing my throat, I tried again, “He’s not a specter. It’s not like I’m haunted by him.”
“But he’s in all things,” Smith said. “That’s expected.”
“Is it?”
“For other people, maybe not. For you?” He arched a brow, reached for his wine with his free hand. We were still holding hands.
“Why me?” I asked.
“Your passion is in everything you do,” he said simply. “Your shop, your art, your body. The rest of it…”
I cocked my head to the side.
“You’re an open book,” he said. “At least, your heart is. Thank you for letting me know, and if you ever want to talk about him, I’m happy to listen.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
Smith leveled me with an unimpressed look that confirmed no, it didn’t bother him.
“I don’t know what kind of men you normally date—”
“I don’t,” I told him, because it felt important. “I don’t normally date.”
“No?”
I shook my head.
“What then?” he asked.
“Sometimes I’ll play at the club.” I leaned in closer so I could lower my voice, and Smith matched my energy, coming in close enough that I could have kissed him if I wanted to. “I like to watch, and sometimes that’s enough. If I ever do more…I don’t bring people home, and I certainly…”
“Don’t let them spend the night,” he guessed.
“And I don’t take them to dinner,” I said.
Smith huffed a breath out his nose. “Should I feel special?”
“Very.”
Something in my face must have translated my seriousness because Smith’s expression sobered. He leaned back and nodded, flexing his fingers around the side of my hand. We were still holding hands.
“I do,” he said.
Smith studied me like I was something to be learned, and it wasn’t a stretch to picture him bent over a drafting table, pencil hanging out of his mouth while his fingers traced over thin blue lines that told the story of buildings older than him.
He was not without his demons, but he was an old soul in a young body, and all anyone had to do to see him was stop and look.
The way Smith had come apart for me in the bathroom, in the shower, in my bed, he was begging for someone to simply take the time to understand him beyond his name and his job and the role he played in his family.
I was grateful to have met him the way I had, in my chair and later on that couch with his cock in his hand. Every version of Smith I’d met in our short acquaintance were the real parts of him, the pieces not judged by anyone, not found wanting. He was raw and he was honest, and he was a gift.
Every moment with him was a gift.
I pulled my hand away from his until I got my fingers around his wrist. His tattoo was practically healed, and I promised him an entirely different kind of play once that happened. Excitement unfurled down my spine at the prospect of it, but I bit it back down, wanting to save it for another time.
At this small table in this trendy little restaurant, Smith was more naked to me than he’d been when he was bound to my bed and covered in sweat. The duality of him, of me, of us, wasn’t lost on me. The gravity of the future on offer, for the first time in years, wasn’t terrifying.
In fact, I welcomed it.