Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Then
September 23, 2017
Jess
I pull up the one and only picture I have on my phone of Alex. It’s a bit grainy. Phone cameras weren’t as amazing then as they are now. But there he is, squatting down, baseball hat worried between his hands, focus intense. My heart. This man has my heart and I haven’t even kissed him. I haven’t even been on a date with him yet!
It’s so crazy. The feelings I have for him are tenfold anything I’ve ever felt before and all we’ve done is talk. It started out after he texted me about the job opening. At first, it was little things. Like things I should see or do or eat once I move to DC.
Alex
Pandas, gotta go see the pandas.
That text was followed by a photo of a panda lazing about.
The best view of the city is from the Old Post Office, don’t let anyone try to tell you differently.
I know everyone says you have to eat at Ben’s Chili Bowl…and I’ll tell you the same. It’s practically mandatory to get a DC driver's license. Or so I’ve heard.
And then it shifted.
Alex
What are you doing?
Jess
With my life? Right now? Tomorrow?
Right now.
Right, of course. I’m watching a movie.
Which one?
Don’t laugh.
???
The Parent Trap.
Like the Lindsay Lohan one?
…yeah.
Why?
It’s my comfort movie.
What’s yours?
Top Gun
Ha!
Wait srsly?
And you told me not to laugh…
And then there were hundreds. And it was books, and things we saw throughout the day. And what we were eating until I realized I hadn’t gone out once the entire month of July, and I’d never been happier. I had unconsciously made myself exclusive to this man. A man I wasn’t entirely sure was feeling the same way about me as I was about him, but I figured you don’t text someone upwards of fifty times a day without being interested.
And then September came, and I applied for the job when he sent me the rec. I might not have had all the qualifications, but I had enough, and I could fake the funk if needed. But I was still surprised when I got a call to schedule an interview. September 25th. In a sick way, I was glad because I knew Alex would be in town for Amy and Tally.
Jess
My interview is the 25th. Was wondering if you’d want to meet up the weekend before?
Alex
Sure .
The response was maybe lukewarm, but I think he was just playing it cool. Because he then proceeded to text me a list of bars and restaurants we could potentially meet at. All the locations were near my hotel and the office where I’d be interviewing. It was cute.
And then he called me for the first time on September 16th. At first I thought he butt dialed me. So when I answered, I didn’t say anything for the first couple of moments.
“Jess?”
“Oh, yeah. Hi.”
He laughed. “Just checking that I haven’t been messaging with some rando for the last month or so.” Then I laughed.
“Nope, it’s me.” Though I’m probably still a rando.
“Haha, alright. So…what are you doing?”
It lasted 39 minutes. And then he was calling me every night. We talked about childhoods. (Mostly me talking about that bit.) We talked about our favorite everythings. Favorite season, favorite vacation. We talked big and small. And I’d never shared as many things with anyone as I did with him.
So standing in my hotel room tonight, getting ready to go on a first date with the person I think might be my person , I can’t sit still. I’m up, I’m down. I’m changing my shoes. Loafers. That seems like a DC thing. But I’m not a DC girl. Prada pumps are the right call. But what if I over exaggerated his height in my mind and I tower over him? You will not tower over Alexander Palomino. Probably ever.
The inner monologue goes on for far too long when I finally allow myself to look at the clock and realize I’m going to be late. Fuck! I purposefully wouldn’t let myself look because time was ticking by so slowly. Until it wasn’t. Prada heels it is because I’ m grabbing my clutch and walking out the door like this is the moment that starts the rest of my life.
It feels like one of those nights when the stars align. When everything feels transcendent. And when I step into the loud and crowded bar, even though I’m nervous, I feel…sublime. Otherworldly. I’m about to have my real-life meet cute. Just like in Serendipity .
I spot him easily, standing at a high-top table. He’s definitely just as big as I remember, if not bigger. And he’s even sexier without the beard. (Don’t get me wrong — Alex plus facial hair is fucking delectable) But now I can see his face. Love that face.
I did not just think that.
I start moving towards him and it feels like it’s all in slow motion. I watch as some other guy joins him at his table and they start talking. They’re obviously familiar with one another, the way the other guy places a hand on Alex’s shoulder. Their backs are towards me, but the other guy is just a hair shorter, and with shoulders that aren’t nearly wide enough to be considered linebacker status like Alex’s.
They’re still talking when I finally get close, so I wait for the server carrying a large tray of drinks to walk between the tight tables in the crowded oyster bar so that I can pass around to be in front of them. And while I’m waiting, I hear…
“It’s not like that. She’s a nobody. Just need to check the box so I can leave. She’s just a fucking bump in the road. Fucking hate distractions like this.” Alex pauses to audibly scoff, “And she’s late.”
Wow . I actually take a step back. And then another. Honestly, it’s miraculous that I didn’t keel over and die because that’s exactly how I feel. Like I’m dying. This is worse than being catfish ed. He’s fucking amazing and gorgeous and funny, but he’s not actually interested? Fucking wasting my time, stringing me along? I turn and head back towards one of the other bars on the other side of the restaurant.
(Why does a restaurant have four different bars? Because when you live in DC, apparently it’s necessary to be drunk. Message received. Plus this place is fucking ancient. Literally the word “old” is in the name.)
“Excuse me!” I lean forward on the bar to get the bartender’s attention. When they notice me, I ask, “Shot of Don Julio?” Por favor. Rápido. I say that part in my head.
I can’t remember the last time my soul has been crushed like this. Not when Donny got Nicole pregnant (while we were together). Not when my mom died even. I want to cry so bad, but like fuck am I ruining how good I look for that man.
The bartender brings me the shot and a check, and I drop a couple twenties down. I slam back the shot, no lime or salt needed here. I throw my hair back over my shoulders and strut back to the oyster bar to make him regret making a fool out of me.
This time, the world doesn’t move in slow motion when I approach. This time he sees me coming, but there’s no glimmer in his eye, there’s hardly even an ounce of recognition. It’s not like the movies at all. It’s like meeting your distant cousin twice removed because your mom made you or something.
I give a sort of sickly sweet, fake smile (probably the same one I’ll use at my interview on Monday) and the fucker doesn’t even smile back. But his friend does. Well, okay then. I flash the friend a gen uine smile and my cheeks heat because I want to cry that Alex wasn’t real.
“Hey!” Too much, tone it down. “Glad we could catch up.” I extend a hand to Alex. Business like. When he takes it, I make sure to firm up my grip. No limp hands here. Back straight, head high, nose up.
“Hey.” His tone is monotonous. Like this is just very much a generic acquaintanceship and not like I’ve spent more quality time connecting with him than I have with any other human being. Ever.
I turn my attention to the friend instead. “Hi, I’m Jess.” I extend my hand to him and he takes it, returning my genuine smile.
“I’m Damian, nice to meet you.” I notice a dimple pops when his smile finally breaks. That’s cute.
He’s cute. (The friend.) He has sort of moppish, reddish hair. I wouldn’t call it red, and I definitely wouldn’t call it orange, but also wouldn’t call it brown. And he’s tall, with a charming smile and a nice body. Wearing a suit that probably costs more than most people’s first car.
I walk around to stand on the side of the table closest to Damian, and set my clutch between Alex and myself. A physical barrier of sorts.
“First night in DC and I’m already meeting a cute local?” I lay it on thick. I can see Alex’s eye twitch out of the corner of my eye, but he says nothing.
“Nah, I wouldn’t call myself a local. I live across the border in Virginia. But cute, yes, I will accept that,” he says with a bit of a bashful chuckle.
As soon as Alex goes to interject, his phone starts ringing. Damian and I both look at him. There’s some sort of internal debate going on. Because he’s looking at his phone and looking at us, then the phone.
“You should take it. I’d hate to keep you from anything important!” I’m overselling it.
Alex just clears his throat, “I’ll be right back.” And as he walks away, I admire his ass in his jeans. Stop it.
“So…” I laugh awkwardly turning to face Damian. “Sorry I just got dumped on you.”
“Ha, no, I wasn’t thinking that at all, Jess.” There’s something about the way he just said my name. Like he remembered it, like I’m not forgettable. Like I’m not a nobody. I give him a wan smile.
“It does sort of feel like we just got set up on some weird blind date, though, doesn’t it?”
Damian chokes on his beer in response, then eventually starts laughing.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, “the, uh, setup,” then shakes his head, “it was all wrong. Alex wasn’t smooth about it. At all.”
“Is he usually so emotionally stunted, your friend?” I ask him.
“Yes, actually. But it’s what endears him to me.” I laugh at that. Right, maybe that’s what I need. A friend.
“Okay. Are you suggesting I go out and find a friend who’s a bigger mess than myself to make me feel better?” Damian raises both eyebrows and sort of nods like I couldn’t have hit the nail on the head any harder.
“That’s not what I was saying exactly , but don’t think it could hurt,” he answers with a cheeky smile that makes me take a second look at him.
“Okay, great. Are you a mess? If yes, would you like to be friends?” I ask him, completely straight faced. He laughs this big warm laugh. For a se cond, when he laughs, it snuffs out the pain of earlier.
“Check yes or no? Huh?” I shrug at his question. “What happens if I check yes?” He asks with a smile. I think — yes, definitely — he’s flirting with me.
“If you check yes, we’re going to have an amazing night. If you check no, we’ll stand here and blindly watch this UFC fight playing in this fine establishment until someone gets knocked unconscious.” I wonder if some of our country’s greatest politicians ever stood in this exact spot and had money on our society devolving to watching people get pummeled nearly to death on tv.
“And also, do you like this?” I motion to the tv.
“No, but I like the distraction,” he says a bit solemnly. Okay, I can agree with that.
He stealthily pulls a pen out of his jacket pocket and draws a square on his cocktail napkin. He writes yes beside it, then checks the box. He slides the napkin over to me and I give him a smile.
“Alright then, drink up. Big night ahead of us.” He downs what’s left of his beer and then I take his hand and lead him out to an atrium that leads to the other side of the building. Fuck you, Alex. And goodbye.
“I haven’t eaten, so if there’s any chance of me lasting till 2:00 A.M. for dancing, this girl has gotta eat. So Jumbo Slice or Ben's? Your choice.”
Damian stares at me like he might be in love before eventually saying, “Jumbo Slice.” That’s what I was thinking, too .
“Great!” After the shot at the other place and the three beers we drank playing pool and skee ball at a very seedy establishment, I’m feeling warm and nice and not at all like an epic failure for putting all my hopes and dreams into a man who turned out to be a farce.
Damian leans forward and tells our cab driver where to go while I quickly kick my heels off and stretch my toes before sliding them back on. I notice Damian watching me as I do, a sort of heat in his eyes.
“I mean, foot fetishes aren’t really my thing…but I could be open.” I say it semi-jokingly and he starts laughing his ass off. When he settles back in his seat, heaving a deep breath, I slip a hand on his leg and whisper, “Really this is a judgment-free zone here, D.” His cheeks turn bright pink. And he blinks a couple times, looking down at my hand and then back at me.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” I laugh at his corny fucking line . But honestly, for as corny as it is, not that many people have when I actually think about it. People always say “pretty.” Or “hot.” The word “beautiful” doesn’t get tossed around nearly enough.
“Yeah, I think a gay guy at the subway once said it in passing, but I think he also said it to the 90-year-old woman standing beside me. Not that she’s not beautiful, too! Because beauty comes in a lot of different?—”
His mouth over mine shuts me up. My stomach sinks. Not Alex. But then my heart soars because this man has been a fucking pleasure to be with. All night.
I slip my tongue into his mouth and he groans, sending a sort of pride and need pulsing through my veins. He bites my lip, and I fucking love it. And yeah, maybe I’m just throwing my problems at this situ ation. Maybe I’m throwing caution to the wind. My question here is: Why? The fuck? Not?
He finally releases my face when the cab comes to a stop, but not before gazing down on me first. There’s something he leaves unsaid, but I have the strangest feeling. I want to know what he’s thinking…
“Ahem”...and the cab driver is less than enthused with the wait for us to vacate.
We both sort of stumble onto the sidewalk laughing, and yeah, this is nice, too. Damian might not know everything about me. He doesn’t know my favorite movie or song, but he doesn’t have to. We can still have a good time. This still gives me hope that my person is out there. And maybe, just maybe, they won’t know a single thing about me, and they’ll still want me, regardless.
When I refuse to share a slice of pizza with the man, he actually pulls me into his side and wraps a hand around my hip.
And I like it.
He promptly orders two slices. Then, like a gentleman, says nothing when I only eat half of mine. But he does smile aggressively when he watches me try and sneak it into the trash can.
“Okay, where to now?” I dust my hands off as Damian throws his greasy, very empty plate away. “Look! See,” I point to the empty plate, “this is why we didn’t share. You wanted a whole slice!” He laughs, and we start walking.
“Well, just for that, we’re walking instead of cabbing.” Fuck . I gently push him in fake annoyance, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back. Then he just holds my hand. And it feels fine. Normal even. Maybe even more than fine.
“So, you know where we’re going then?” I ask.
“Yup. You said dancing. This place does dancing.”
So this place is really good for dancing. There are four floors and a rooftop. Each floor is a dance floor and is playing a specific kind of music.
First floor is for smooth jams. It’s an older crowd. Very cool, but not tonight. Second floor: hard rock. Very goth. Love it, but also not tonight. Third floor is a mixture and I immediately recognize the song playing. It’s Mac Miller, but also this indie song that’s hot right now.
“Ahh, I love this song!” I exclaim loudly to Damian, pulling on his suit coat to get him to stop walking toward the stairs.
“Really?” he shouts back. I nod enthusiastically, then dance the two of us over to the main floor.
I take a deep breath, looking at Damian’s blue eyes, and then I just let loose. I let the music guide me, take us , and it feels good. The rest of the world sort of just…fades away around us. And it’s just him, and me, and I’m not thinking of what was, I’m just here. Right now. And it feels better than good that he has a hand on my hip and he’s dancing with me .
At one point he even breaks away and dances on his own, and there’s just something so disarming about watching this man. Clearly a serious businessman, who is a fucking joy to be around, get down in this bar and let loose. He’s a mess, clearly, but then so am I.
“Hey,” I walk up to him and grab his chin with my hand. He smiles back at the touch, pulling my body into his. “Let's be messy together, yeah? ” I ask and he nods, threading his hands around my waist and pulling us together flush.
And with that, he sinks his mouth onto mine and we get lost, this time together. We’re swaying and moving and then we’re moving away.
We’re in the hall, my back against the wall, his tongue on my neck when I whisper out, “I want you.”
He gives me a look in return that does something to me. “I needed you,” he whispers back.
That simple admission has me throwing in the towel. I’m done fighting. I’m done pretending. Maybe casual sex is all there is for me in this world. This man needs me. I want him. Fuck it. I drag him to the bathroom, shut the door, lock it, and hop on the sink.
The man doesn’t need any instructions. He’s between my legs, sliding my dress up with a hand gripping my thigh. His mouth is on mine in a way that makes me feel fucking worshiped. And then my hands are pushing his suit jacket down.
When he releases my mouth to trail down my chest to where my nipples are taught through the thin slip dress, I tell him again, “I want you.”
He nods against me preparing to go to his knees as he says, “No condom, though, Jess.” But I stop him, opening my clutch to pull one out and he stares at it like it’s a precipice.
“I think it’s pretty clear we need each other,” I say at last. And then like a dam breaks, he’s unleashed and it’s the best kind of consuming. He can’t get close enough to me, he can’t get his kiss deep enough. I’ve become his greatest desire and I have his complete focus. Damian is focused on me. Just me.
“God, Jess, you…fuck.” There’s so much desperation, on both sides, words die befo re a coherent thought forms. I’m grasping and unbuckling his belt, and then we’re both pushing his pants down. My underwear is pulled to the side. He pulls me to the edge of the sink and drives his rock-hard cock into me at the same time as he sinks his tongue into my mouth.
I grab at him from behind and grind as he thrusts. It’s messy, but beyond satisfying. The sounds of skin slapping, his smooth shoes squeaking against the dirty tile floor, his groans, my pants; it’s a cacophony of indiscretion and I love it. It’s a symphony of desperation and I fucking love this feeling. This high.
It’s like when the beat drops and you just need . You need to move. To bang your head. To thrust. To ride.
“Jess…I…” Damian stutters. I clench a little harder and ride against him, my back arching, my hands clutching at his ass, and then I’m coming, and so is he.
The explosion that rocks me, starting at my pelvis and expanding, is nothing like what I expected. It’s more. This man is so much more than I expected. And I smile through the fight to catch my breath.
“I needed this so bad,” he practically cries onto my shoulder as he releases into me. We both take a moment to look down at where he’s continuing to thrust against me as I ride out the orgasm I didn’t know I needed either. And suddenly, the casualness of it all fades and this feels like something else…
There’s this kindred intimacy we’re sharing that I haven’t had with anyone else before. The chemistry, the connection feels tangible, like a blanket thrown over your lap on a cool day. Like the first ice cream cone on the first hot day of summer. Like this , all of it just makes sense. It belongs.
I stroke his neck softly as we both start to come down. I run my hands through his hair, appreciating him, thankful that we could give each other something we both needed. I no longer just feel what’s happening right now in my pelvis, now there’s that tightening in my chest. I like him.
And then I realize he actually is crying. “Oh my god, Damian. Are you okay?!” I’m pushing his face up off my shoulder so I can look at him. With his cock still twitching in my body, he kisses me and the pressure in my chest increases. Oh. I like him like him.
He pulls out a second later and looks me in the eyes. “This was an amazing night, and one I’ll never forget. Thank you. For wanting me.” He runs a thumb across my cheek, but there’s something so fucking sad in his words. I want to ask more, but then there’s banging on the door. Shit .
He trashes the condom and I pee, then wash hands expeditiously. I’m still straightening my dress when Damian opens the door and is met with a fist to the face. The fuck?
“What the fuck?!” I yell, then turn around to move to Damian’s side where he’s clutching his nose.
When I look up, there’s Alex. He’s fucking fuming and I’m hit with the overwhelming urge to cry. I never once felt like I was doing anything wrong all night long…except now. He’s looking at me like I’m trash and I want to scream at him, “Well, you didn’t want me, what do you expect me to do!?” But then he’s yelling at Damian.
“You fucking piece of shit! If you don’t tell her , I fucking will,” he yells at Damian with a finger pointed in his face.
He looks at me, and my chest caves inward .
“ You ,” his chilling malice slices me open, “were a mistake. You coming here was a mistake.” And then he’s storming out, pushing through the crowd to get the fuck away from us as quickly as possible.
“Who is her ?” I ask Damian, a bit bewildered.
He looks at me a bit oddly and says, “I’m sorry.” And then security guards are escorting us out, and Damian goes out the back and I get taken out the front where I stand like a fucking idiot for far too long looking around at the rest of the world just taking place. How can the world just keep going when I feel like my soul has been ripped from my body, wrung out, then hung up to be stoned to death while a 12th-century woman yells “Shame!” at me over and over?