Chapter 8 Seth
EIGHT
Seth
The moment I turned the corner, the world seemed to slow down.
Damon was already there, leaning against the wall outside the restaurant, one hand in his pocket, the other catching the soft, amber light spilling from the windows.
The evening wrapped around him like it had been staged for this exact moment, gold and honeyed, striking an image that made strangers turn their heads.
His hair caught a shimmer from the streetlamp, and his white shirt looked almost unreal against his tan skin.
For a second, I just stood there, half-hidden behind a parked car, wondering how someone could look so careless and deliberate at the same time, like he hadn’t just shown up for dinner but stepped out of a dream I had no business dreaming.
His gaze dropped from where it was wandering through the galaxy and landed right on me, as if he could always find me in this vast universe. Those sweet lips of his curled into a smile, making me lightheaded.
Yeah, this was a terrible idea. As if it weren’t bad enough that I’d nearly knocked over a Petri dish today at the lab because I’d lost myself to daydreaming about Damon and tonight’s date, he just had to take my breath away.
“Hello, Damon,” I said curtly, keeping my voice low and clipped so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing how dizzy he had made me.
My knees were weak when I came near him.
It struck me as odd that this was more difficult than letting him into my room and playing Go Fish until we were naked.
Maybe because stripping led us down one certain path, while going on a date branched the paths before us into infinity.
“Hello, Seth,” he said, mimicking my tone. “You’re right on time.”
“And you’re early,” I said. “Smells like desperation.”
“Dream on, boyo,” he said, thrusting his elbow for me to hold.
I shook my head. “Don’t think so. Let’s see how the date goes first.”
He laughed and put a hand on the small of my back, ushering me in and turning my legs to jelly. I swallowed a moan that came from the sheer intimacy of that touch, then entered the restaurant.
It wasn’t the one I’d proposed, but it was still a vegan place.
Much more expensive, by the look of it, but styled in a casually classy way.
The interior was all amber lamplight, candles in reused wine bottles, wooden tables and chairs, brick walls, and lush plants.
Vines crawled up the walls and along the wooden beams, threaded with string lights for a madly romantic effect.
A greeter led us to our table in the corner in the back of the restaurant, window looking out to the inner courtyard, away from prying eyes, yet still offering a view.
Most tables were occupied by couples, bottles of wine open between them, hands held on top of the tables, pupils wide and gazes locked onto one another’s faces.
Some glanced at us as we passed, holding their gazes on Damon.
It was unsurprising, considering Damon had a hundred thousand followers online after the success of their hockey reality show.
His profile was cluttered with a combination of game announcements and shirtless gym selfies.
I knew why I visited it, and I had a strong suspicion I knew why all these people looking at him did, too.
But the attention slid off Damon like he was immune to it.
A few months ago, he would have savored every moment of it, used it to start conversations, I would bet my butt on it.
But he didn’t even look around, following the greeter and pulling a chair for me so smoothly that I didn’t even realize I was being pampered.
I only felt it in the pit of my stomach, this melting sensation that disarmed me so thoroughly that I knew I would lose myself in his eyes the moment he sat down across from me.
And I did. His big, brown eyes looked at me with undivided interest. “So glad you agreed to go out with me,” he said, trying a typical first-date line. As if we hadn’t done all the unholy things to each other’s bodies already.
A waitress came around and greeted us, giving us menus and recommending dishes. When she asked if we knew what we wanted to drink, Damon ordered a bottle of wine by name and vintage. As the waitress walked away, a chuckle escaped me. “No way you know wines by their year,” I said.
Damon shot me a wounded look, then grinned. “No, but I read up on the selection they have.”
A few moments later, the waitress returned with the bottle of wine and an elegant crystal vase with a single red rose in it.
She placed the rose on the table and unscrewed the cork, then poured a splash for Damon to try.
He did, pretending like he knew something about wine, then nodded for the waitress to pour us a glass each.
She left the bottle on the table when she left with our food orders.
“A rose? Nobody else has it,” I said, glancing around the restaurant. It was a custom order.
“Is it a date if there isn’t something pretty to look at?” Damon asked. He was so at ease doing this, so relaxed and confident and over-the-top romantic that it messed with me.
The heat pooled in my stomach, making it very hard to remember that we were each other’s fun without the strings attached.
Damon threaded his fingers together and put his elbows on the table, leaning in, eyes only looking at me. “Tell me about yourself. What’s Seth Kane like?”
I laughed. “You know me, Damon.”
“You’d be surprised how little I pay attention,” he teased.
After another laugh, I decided to play along. “Very well. I’m a, uh, what you’d call a nerd.”
His eyebrows danced playfully. “Anakin Skywalker was my sexual awakening.”
“No way he was,” I said.
Damon nodded. “Sure was. When he says he hates sand, says it’s rough and coarse and gets everywhere. It was like, ‘This guy gets it.’”
I laughed so loudly that heads turned to our table. That he could even quote it was a miracle. “We don’t discuss the quality of dialogue, Damon.”
“Wonder why,” he said. “It’s like poetry on crack.”
“But it’s fun,” I said.
“And I’m not kidding. There was a promo poster with Anakin wearing that hood that just made something click in my head. Well, I say head, but…” He glanced down in the direction of his lap, and I laughed again, hiding my face behind the wine glass.
“Seems like I wasn’t paying attention either,” I said. “I never knew that about you.”
“I bet you thought I was just a performative gym rat with a body to die for,” he said.
“Eh. To die for?” I shrugged.
He pretended to be wounded, grabbing his heart and caressing his pec for a moment or two until I smiled again.
“I’ve seen your Instagram,” I said. “You don’t do a lot to shake off that image.”
“What were you doing browsing my profile, you naughty little thing?” he said.
It was a tease, but it did something ridiculous to me.
It made me soften a little in my chair, made me lean in closer.
He still hadn’t looked away from my eyes.
How was he doing that? The weight was almost unbearable, yet without it, I would be lost.
“You crossed my mind a time or two,” I said. “This whole year since we last saw each other…a lot has happened. Sometimes, it was nice to remind myself of simpler times.”
“Was it simpler?” Damon asked, folding his arms on the table, gaze dropping to my lips as I bit them. He looked up into my eyes again. “Sneaking around seems so complicated now that I think about it.”
“It’s still the best option,” I said, drawing the line there. Why risk Nick’s anger and disappointment for something as inconsequential as a little hookup?
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not arguing against that. There’s something very hot about tonight, Seth. Planning a place, coming separately, meeting in your room after…” He left those words hanging in the air, a grin playing across his face.
“We’ll see about that,” I said, pretending I hadn’t decided to invite him over the moment I’d turned the corner and saw him in that tight, white shirt. “Are you always this nice on dates, or am I just the lucky fifty-seven?”
“Let’s see about that after the dessert arrives. You might be sick of me by then,” he said. “It’s not like us not to wish a plague upon each other after five minutes together.”
“Death threats are my love language,” I said, taking another sip of my wine while he laughed, his cheeks turning a touch pinker than I’d ever seen them before.
“It’s a pleasure to be the target of all your voodoo attempts to be rid of me,” he said. “It’s nice seeing you relaxed like this.”
“You sound like a therapist,” I said.
“Do you have a habit of looking at your therapist’s lips, wanting to kiss them?” he asked.
“If he’s cute enough.” And charming. And chivalrous. And gentle. And so, so focused on me that the world seemed to have fallen off the edge, and we were the last two boys sitting here.
Damon’s teeth moved over his lips, and he lifted his glass. “To first dates. And all that will follow.”
I toasted that, taking a long sip and looking into his warm eyes, attention burning in them. “We’re not really dating, though.”
“You keep bringing that up like it changes what tonight feels like,” Damon said.
I would have let him have me right here and now if it weren’t for our food arriving. No, we were not dating. That was a disastrous idea. But I could get used to being treated like this.
See, I’d dated in Chicago. I’d done all the things you’re supposed to do when you’re a student with spare time and an undying wish to be someone’s boyfriend.
I’d signed up for dating apps, gone to social events, joined parties I was invited to, and even ended up at a few post-game hockey parties when the Steel Saints lost to the Arctic Titans in their home rink.
I could have sworn that I’d seen Damon from a distance, lost to the devotion of the followers and the attention of the camera crews, moving like a blur of flashlights and disappearing before I could be sure it was him.