13. LARRY
13
LARRY
I check myself in the mirror for the third time in the last five minutes. Nothing has changed. I’m still wearing the same sky-blue shirt, the same chinos, the same brown shoes. My hair is about as good as it’s going to get, and if I maybe ignore the fact that this shirt is a little bit tighter on my chest than I’d like then I’m going to be fine.
I’ve shaved for the occasion, my face all clean and fresh—burning a little bit from the slap of cologne but it’s okay, everything will be okay.
I look like I’m trying too hard, and in a lot of ways I am. Because it’s Kyle.
I take a breath in… it comes out on a shudder.
I’m going on a date with Kyle.
Rosemary has made it very clear that she thinks this is both a great idea and a terrible idea, so her opinions on it are as clear as mud. When I told her about it, she was straight round with a bottle of wine to debrief exactly how we’d gone from gym hookup to actual sit-down date, and I had to fill her in on what had been a week of lunches and near constant flirting.
“In the copy room?” she’d said. “Can’t you just hook up in a bedroom like normal people?”
“We didn’t hook up,” I replied. “It was a kiss and… I don’t know, we kind of decided to leave it and then suddenly… we didn’t.”
“Jesus.”
“I know,” I replied. “I’m in big trouble.”
We talked for hours, dissecting every last look, every last touch, and she flip-flopped about whether or not this was a good or bad idea like a wet fish on a dock.
It doesn’t feel real.
Since he asked, nothing has really changed. We spent the week together as normal—going and getting a sandwich, bringing it back to the refectory, sitting and chatting until we had to get back to work, usually him before me because there was always some call to pick up. He encourages me to take my full lunch hour even if he can’t, but I hate when he goes. It’s just less fun.
Everything has stayed professional. Sure, I catch him looking at me sometimes, but only because I’m trying to look at him. It’s stupid. We’re like school kids, except we have jobs and I feel like we’re dodging other people’s notice at every turn. Peter has probably caught on. He’s perceptive like that.
My phone buzzes on the counter and I half expect it to be Kyle cancelling the date—because why on earth would he want to go on a date with me?—but then I see an all too familiar name.
Wesley.
I hesitate before opening the message.
WESLEY
Hey. Been thinking about you. Hope you’re doing okay.
I stare at the words, feeling a mix of anger and frustration and… How dare he get in touch with me right now. He broke up with me. He left me. Why is he messaging me out of the blue?
And I can’t help but feel that stir of something familiar in my chest—the way things used to be with him before the breakup, how good we were together. Surely he’s not messaging to get back together. But then, what other reason would there be to message? Maybe things with Andrew have already gone south. Serves him right.
Do I really think that?
I don’t know.
Do I want him to be miserable?
Maybe.
I’m about to type a message back when I think of Kyle. I think of the way he looks at me, the way he makes me laugh, the big arms and big barrel chest straining to get out of that shirt.
Calm down. It’s just dinner.
I delete the message without replying and grab my jacket. Wesley is a part of my past. Kyle is, maybe, a part of my future. I need to keep looking forward.
When I get to the restaurant Kyle is already there, waiting by the host stand. I spot him from outside, standing up straight like a meerkat, trying to catch sight of me walking by on the street. He’s totally missed me, and there’s something quite fun about getting to see him without him seeing me. There’s no pretence, there’s no wall, there’s just Kyle, and bloody hell does he look handsome tonight.
I step in and act surprised as I see him. He smiles the most dazzling smile and my breath catches. I swear I hear a little “ding” sound effect as he flashes his pearly whites.
He’s wearing a dark-green shirt that’s a little too open, showing off a smattering of hair, and my god, I’d forgotten about the hair. Like, it’s not enough that he’s built like a bloody Adonis, he’s got a rug under that shirt I just want to run my fingers through. The colour of the shirt brings out his eyes, making them impossibly bright and sparkly. He looks confident, but I can see his nerves in the way he’s shifting from foot to foot as he waits for me to approach.
“Hey,” he says as I reach him, leaning forward and placing a hand on my side as he kisses me on the cheek. A gentleman. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” I say. “So do you.” How my voice isn’t vibrating as I talk to him is beyond me, but here we are.
“If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to your table.” The host gives us both a knowing look, like she’s already clocked this is a date, and somehow that makes me more nervous, like I’m not just trying to impress Kyle but also this host.
She leads us to a quiet corner, the lights a little dimmer here than they were in the main restaurant area. She hands us menus and tells us our server will be with us shortly before she walks away. And silence falls. We sit opposite one another, neither one sure what we’re going to say.
“This restaurant is nice,” I say. “Intimate.”
“They did a relaunch party a few weeks ago,” he says. “Taylor was at the party, but I couldn’t make it. I’ve been meaning to come back.”
“Working too hard?”
“You know me too well,” he says with a chuckle. “Christ, I’m sorry.”
I blink. “What?”
“This all just feels a bit… high pressure, doesn’t it?”
“Just a bit, yes.”
“Okay,” he says. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise, it’s lovely,” I say. “I… I don’t think… I can’t remember the last time I went on a date.”
He blinks at me. “You’ve never been on a date?”
“It’s just been a while,” I say, trying to push Wesley’s face out of my head. He would have been the last person I went on a date with, though I can’t remember when that was. We’d stopped doing things like that by the time we came to the end of our relationship.
He reaches across and takes my hand, giving it a quick squeeze. I look up to see him smiling softly, and I feel a wave of calm wash over me. Here he is, rescuing me from my own head again. What did I do to deserve him?
“If it helps, I’m nervous too,” he says, letting go of my hand. “This isn’t normally my style.”
“It’s not?” I ask.
“No.”
“More of a ‘hook up in the steam room of the gym’ type of guy?” I say.
He chokes on air, pulling the focus of the other patrons in the restaurant. I can’t help but laugh. Knowing I’ve wrong-footed him is some kind of heaven I’ve not experienced before.
“That was one time.”
“Sure, Kyle, sure,” I say.
The waitress arrives and takes our order—a bottle of wine for the table, water so we don’t blink and become suddenly plastered, and fries to share so I don’t end up stealing his.
“You have wandering hands.”
“You’re complaining about my wandering hands?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Depends where they’re wandering.” He growls like a rumble of thunder and I feel it travel through my chest and ripple through my body. My cock twitches. The hold this man has on me is like nothing else I’ve experienced.
The conversation starts to flow a little better after that, and it’s just like we’re at lunch together, only this time there’s wine and loud laughter, so we don’t feel like we’re disturbing other people. There are casual touches that send sparks between us, and the more wine that’s poured the more lingering those touches become, until we’re holding hands across the table, fingers dancing circles around each other.
And by the time the bill comes, he’s looking into my eyes like I’m the only person left on earth, like the world has ended and we’re all that’s left. And maybe that’s okay, or maybe that’s the wine talking.
We split the bill, because I refuse to let him pay, and make our way out into the cool night air hand in hand. He looks down at me with this soft expression that makes my heart ache. I can’t get enough of him. I don’t think I ever will.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he says, his voice low, warm. I want to wrap myself up in it.
“Me too.”
There’s a pause as we stop on the street just outside the restaurant, standing underneath a streetlight that’s casting us both in a yellowish glow. Kyle steps closer, his eyes searching mine, and I know what’s about to happen before it does. And I am so, so glad that it does.
He leans down and kisses me, softly, gently testing the waters, wanting to know that I want this too, as much as he does. Maybe even more so. I wrap my hands around his neck and find myself leaning into the kiss, inhaling him, pressing myself to him in a way I’ve wanted to for so long.
We pull apart, breathless, and he’s looking at me like I’m everything, like I’m this precious gift that he’s lucky to have. How long has it been since someone has looked at me like that?
“Do you maybe want to… come back to mine?” he asks, his voice tentative but hopeful.
“Yes,” I say, without hesitation, because I’m so sure I want this. I’ve never felt more sure of anything in my life.