Chapter Nine
Ocean
Was I the type of man who fell into bed on a first date? Not usually, but with Duncan last night, I couldn’t see myself doing anything else. There was just something about him. Was it too soon? Possibly. Did I care at the time? Not even close.
I still wasn’t ready to leave him after we both came, which was ideal, to skip out when one jumped into bed too soon. Only it didn’t feel too soon with Duncan. It felt just right.
Instead of saying good night and thanking him for an amazing date, I prolonged it and spent the night nestled in his arms, exactly where I wanted to be.
When I woke up in the morning, still wrapped in those same strong arms, having had the best sleep I’d had in months, I didn’t want to leave the warmth of his embrace. And so I didn’t.
Trying to will myself back to sleep and failing miserably, I knew I needed to get up, at least for a few minutes. As I started to move, his arm tightened around me. He wanted me to stay there with him, and that physical sign that he didn’t feel regrets over last night was exactly what I needed.
“I’ll be back, Duncan.” I picked up his hand, kissed the back, laid it to the side, and hurried into the bathroom. True to my word, I was right back, climbing into bed, resting my head on his chest, throwing my arm over his middle, and snuggling in close.
“Is this okay?”
He kissed the top of my head. “This is perfect. Do you have any place to be this morning?”
I rubbed my cheek against his chest. “Right here with you.” I closed my eyes, and this time, I did fall asleep.
The next time I woke up, I was in bed alone, and I could hear the shower running in the distance.
I wanted to get up, head in there, and join him.
But as intimate as we had been last night, and as forward as I’d been since we met, that seemed like a step a little too far—not without him offering, or at least accepting my offer.
Instead, I grabbed his pillow and hugged it to me, breathing in his scent and staying in that sweet spot between being asleep and awake, recounting the events of the night before, from dinner to coming here to falling asleep in his arms.
“You’re awake.” He stepped through the bathroom door, a towel low on his hips, his hair still damp. “I tried to be quiet.”
“You didn’t wake me,” I assured him. “I almost joined you but wasn’t sure if that would be a little too pushy first thing in the morning.”
“You’re adorable.” He came over and put his hand on my cheek. “I appreciate the desire to be there with me, as well as the respect you showed. Why don’t you go take a quick shower, and I’ll make us some breakfast?”
I grabbed a quick shower, anticipating coming out to some scrambled eggs and toast, maybe a bowl of cereal. Instead, he’d cut up a melon, had a waffle in the waffle iron, and bacon on the skillet.
“You’re gonna make me want to come back,” I said, wrapping my arms around him from behind as he flipped the bacon, not wanting to get spattered or cause him to get spattered either.
“That’s kind of the point, Ocean. That’s kind of the point.”
Breakfast was delicious. The butter melted into the little crevices of the waffle, the bacon was nice and crispy the way I liked it, and the melon was very ripe and juicy.
He told me what kind it was, something in the honeydew family, but I’d been too busy watching his lips move to hear it fully.
I’d ask him again when I was able to concentrate because it was delicious.
But, all too soon, it was time to leave, time to go home and take care of all the random things I needed to on a Sunday to get ready for the new week.
I hated it. I’d rather stay there with Duncan and spend the day, but if I didn’t pick up my dry cleaning and get my groceries done, as well as the bit of laundry I had, I was going to regret it all week long.
So, when all the dishes were cleaned and put away, I told him it was time for me to leave.
“What kind of a date would I be not to walk you back to your place?” he asked. “Unless you don’t want me to.”
I intertwined our fingers.
“No, no, that would be sweet.” And it would, but it was also a little bit terrifying.
His brother’s apartment was a home. My place, with the exception of one room, felt like a hotel—a fancy hotel suite that cost far too much money, but a hotel all the same.
After a quick goodbye to his brother’s adorable snail, off we went.
“My place isn’t like yours.” I told him in the elevator.
“I know. It’s much bigger. I can tell by the floor you are on.”
“I mean, yes, it is,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze, “but that’s not what I meant. Your brother’s place is a home. Well, you’ll see. Mine is decidedly not.”
As we got off the elevator and went into my place, I froze. They claimed a person’s home said a lot about them, and this one said, “I’m cold and boring and unwelcoming.”
“I see what you mean,” Duncan said. “But it’s not awful. It just needs a few personal touches.”
“There’s one room I made my own.”
“Your bedroom?”
“Not my bedroom. I have a room where I like to be little. Did you want to see it? I mean, just to show you, not to play or anything.” Was I being pushy? I hadn’t meant to even mention the room, but now that I had, I could hardly suck the words back in.
“It means a lot to me that you would trust me with this already.”
It was interesting to me that we lived in a way where showing him my room with my toys and my clothes and videos and books was considered more intimate than what we’d done the night before. But he was right. It was, because it was so much more vulnerable.
“It’s over here.” I took him over, opened the door, and turned the light on. “This is it.”
He stepped inside and slowly looked around. “This feels so much more like you, Ocean. So much more.”
“Do you like it, Duncan?”
“I do. And do you know why?”
I shook my head.
“Because it’s a place where you feel comfortable to be yourself.”
For someone who barely knew me, he sure saw me more clearly than people I’d known my entire life. A man could get used to this.