As soon as Steven came back into the living room, I perceived a radical shift in mood.
I’d screwed up.
My intention with Ernesto hadn’t been to come across jealous or worse, racist. I was sure Steven would have understood the reference to Manuel the plane and laughingly given me the story of whether he and Ernesto had history. They did laugh and did assuage my curiosity, but not before they both issued sharp looks, alerting me to the fact that my intentions were perceived as suspect.
But even after the laugh and apologies, Steven looked pinched. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me as he settled himself back on the couch. He left the overhead light on and sat a full cushion away from me.
“Let’s finish this movie, okay?” He restarted the movie and crossed his leg away from me. His body language told me there was no going back to where we were a few minutes ago.
I had been so close to kissing him. Poised above, ready to lean in. My hand had felt the clenching of his abdominals and the uptick in his breathing in that brief moment. Then it all had been shattered by the knocking.
Frustration didn’t begin to describe what I was feeling.
I allowed myself to focus on the film, hoping that by the end Steven’s demeanor would change. But when the credits started to roll, I scooted closer to him and he seemed startled, like he’d been deep in thought.
“How were you getting home tonight?” His brows were drawn, voice sharp.
I felt my face betray my perplexity, but I caught myself and let my expression go slack. “I hadn’t decided. I usually take the bus from Michigan and Washington on Sunday mornings, but at this time of night, I’ll probably call for a cab.”
“I don’t like that,” he muttered softly, as if speaking to himself. Then, louder for my benefit, he said, “Hang on a second.”
He looked at his watch, grabbed his cell phone from the coffee table and rose from the couch. Dialing a number, he left the room with purposeful strides.
I tried to hear the conversation over the movie score, but all I could make out was “Damon.”
When Steven returned, he said, “Damon, one of the guards, will be here in a minute. He’s going to give you a ride home.”
I was dumbfounded and embarrassed. I slid on my blazer and said tightly, “That’s not necessary, I’ll leave now and request an Uber.”
“No! Don’t do that.” His words were rushed. “This will be easier. You’ll get home faster. The car will leave from the underground parking garage and it has tinted windows…”
How nice, I thought. I’m being thrown out by security, but at least it’ll be in luxury. I couldn’t help my derisive snort.
My snort didn’t seem to register with Steven. He was looking at his watch again and chewing on his lip, so I shook my head and walked to the door, determined to leave immediately.
“What are you doing?” he asked in alarm as I started to open the door. “Damon’s coming.”
“I don’t need a ride,” I said as I pulled the door open.
Poised to knock was a tall, beefy man in a black suit. He smiled at Steven and said, “Good evening. This the guy?” He gestured to me with a slight tilt of his head and a twist of his lips. “He doesn’t look like a clown.”
Steven bared his gritted teeth and opened his eyes wide. “Not. Now. I know I’m asking you for a favor, but that doesn’t mean you get to mess with me.”
So, I’m a fucking clown now, huh?
Damon laughed, clearly enjoying Steven’s reaction. “Fine, fine,” he said, sobering. “But, seriously, I do have to fill out a VCO form for the rig, just so you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “Fill it out however you need to. If Dan or Stan need to know why, send them to me.”
I was angry at this point and didn’t appreciate being talked around like I was some inconvenience that needed to be dealt with. “I’m leaving,” I announced. “No forms or cars necessary. Good night, Steven.”
I made a move to pass Damon when Steven grabbed my forearm. “Please just go with him. It will be much safer if you do and I’ll worry if you don’t.”
His gray eyes were beseeching, pleading. I didn’t understand what was happening.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know, I know,” he nodded. “But just do this for me, please. And call me as soon as you get back to your place.”
His face and tone softened me some, but I still bristled at his treatment. Ungraciously, I capitulated. “Fine.”
When Damon and I left Steven’s apartment, he led me down to a subterranean garage where a fleet of shiny, black Mercedes SUVs sat in an orderly row, each having been backed into their spaces with precision.
As we approached the first vehicle in the line, he unlocked the door with the fob in his hand, preceded me to the back passenger-side door, and gestured for me to get inside. I situated myself in the seat, gave him my address on West Taylor and spent the next ten minutes alternating between anger and hurt.
Entering my apartment, I was currently in the anger phase, and in a childish pique, I closed the door harder than I should. It made a slam that was both satisfying and regrettable. I sighed.
Well, I was 0 for 2 in that building. Last time, I’d been ditched by Elizabeth, and this time I’d been thrown out by Steven. Both were humiliating, but this one hurt more. Not only did it hurt, but I bore some responsibility. With Elizabeth, there was nothing in my power I could have done to change the outcome, but tonight, I’d clearly blown it. We’d been in semi-darkness, whispering, and inches away from kissing. If his friend hadn’t shown up, I’d probably be rolling around naked on that giant, shaggy throw rug, touching every inch of his skin.
I scrubbed my hand over my face and growled. With embarrassment, I replayed my words in my head.
I’m Ken, Wally’s a dog. What a moron.
Are you Spanish? Who asks someone if they’re Spanish?
Gah!
Steven was done with me, I could feel it. He tried to pretend like he was concerned for my safety or something but that felt like bullshit to me. Why would he worry about me? I planned on exiting his building, getting into a cab, and going home. I was a grown-ass man who took trains, busses, and cabs all over the city all the time. It didn’t make sense.
But when he’d finally made eye contact on my way out…he genuinely seemed distressed. I couldn’t understand what his game was. I would have preferred if he’d been honest with me instead of putting on a show of fake concern.
Call me as soon as you get to your place.
That had been a nice touch, but I was sure if I dialed right now, he’d let it go to voicemail.
The more I thought about the night, the more I wondered if what I said to Ernesto was even the problem. Maybe I’d misread him, maybe my come-ons weren’t doing it for him. Yeah, I thought I detected a flash of something, but up until then, nothing had been working. He wouldn’t relax into me even though I’d tried to get close. And the dog-sitting had clearly been real, not an excuse to get me to Netflix and chill.
I had to face facts. Steven was just not that into me.
But the thing was… I really liked him. He was generous and easy going and so damn cute. I got him to open up a bit about his family and allowed him to turn the conversation when he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Pushing wasn’t what I wanted to do, but I had felt relief that he shared.
I’d learned quite a bit about him tonight. The apartment decor was a big tell. If I had to come up with adjectives for his style it would be elegant and eclectic. The color palette of the apartment was neutral with its starkly white couch, heather gray rug, and glass tables. At first, it would seem like it was designed to allow the view from the large windows to be the focal point, but one look at the walls told me it was all to showcase the art.
It ranged from charcoal sketches to bright pop art. Abstract to realism, prints and originals, photography and sculpture. Each was beautiful, eye-catching, and placed in such a way that seemed fluid and harmonious despite the mix.
The reaction Ernesto’s picture elicited on Steven’s face had been pure thrall. He’d been utterly absorbed in it for a moment, appreciating all that it had to offer, and it cemented what I’d suspected earlier when we talked about movies. Steven loved having his mind stimulated.
His film choices were ones that were thought-provoking, confusing, and of such quality that he wanted to delve into them again and again.
Looking around at my apartment, seeing the lack of consideration I’d given to my surroundings, I felt boring and listless compared to Steven. Unvaried and bland. Maybe I was too boring for him. Maybe I couldn’t stimulate his mind enough.
Maybe if I’d just kissed the hell out of him and run my hand down to his dick like I’d wanted to, I could have proven that I could at least have given him one hell of a genital stimulation.
I groaned and flopped down on my couch. I shouldn’t have been this upset about a guy not liking me. We’d only been on two dates, but I’d already started fantasizing about lazy Saturdays in bed, runs in the park, and bringing him to Kari’s wedding. He was so magnetic and had a deceptive openness to him that invited taking him into confidence. He broached topics like money and Elizabeth—which felt slightly taboo to me at such an early juncture—with such an easy candor that I wondered why I’d ever thought it was taboo.
But I say deceptive because I’d seen, in his conversation about his brother-in-law, that his openness wasn’t total, nor was it enthusiastically given. He’d been honest, hadn’t dramatically or harshly shut me down, but his voice had gone lower, the words pulled reluctantly.
And I wanted to know him.
Still.
God, but this chasing thing sucked. Dusting myself off after setbacks was hard. I wasn’t used to working this hard or putting so much hope into someone. Calling him now, after the insane way we’d ended the night, felt like an act of desperation, and I wasn’t going to do it. I wasn’t a glutton for punishment, nor was I a desperate man.
But…maybe I could text him. I mean, I did promise him I’d let him know I was safe. I needed to keep my promise, right?
Having talked myself into it, I dug my phone out of my pants and typed out a text.
ME: I’m home. Thank you for dinner.
I threw my phone down on the cushion next to me and stood up to undress, stripping off my jacket and shirt. I felt tired; in need of a hot shower and some solid sleep. Just as I unbuttoned my pants, my phone rang. It was Steven.
My heart kicked up and I took a deep breath, annoyed with myself for being so nervous. Calm down.
“Hello,” I answered coolly, as if I weren’t on the verge of tachycardia.
“You said you’d call,” he said, sounding peeved.
His peevishness ticked me off, and without thinking—because if I had given even a fraction of thought beforehand, I surely would not have said this—I said, “Being thrown off the premises by a thug didn’t exactly fill me with joy, Steven. If you were pissed, I wish you would have just said so instead of calling security on me like a criminal.”
I rolled my eyes at myself. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment.
Steven let out a sigh that sounded more like a growl and said with force, “That’s not what that was.”
“Then what was it?”
“It was a chauffeured ride home,” he said softly, a note of defeat lacing the words.
“Talk to me, please.” Not only did I want to know everything about Steven and encourage trust, I also had little patience for grown people deflecting and dodging important and difficult conversations.
The silence stretched so long, I worried we’d been disconnected. “Steven?”
“I’m here,” he said, but didn’t continue.
“You can tell me anything. I’m a doctor, you know,” I cajoled, trying to sound cute. “I’ve heard it all.”
“I bet you have, McPretty MD,” he replied, and I could tell he was smiling. He paused before continuing. “I’m…exhausted.”
His words were an admission, a confession, said with reluctance rather than offered as an excuse.
I opened my mouth to ask if he was under a lot of stress, when he spoke up. “Did you ever make a decision that was so hasty and stupid that when you close your eyes to sleep, you could only lie there and castigate yourself?”
His question surprised me. It was much more revealing than I’d expected, and I felt sympathy for him. I knew those feelings. I hated those feelings.
“Yes,” I answered. “When I think of shooting that woman, even now, years later, I still feel sick to my stomach, like a pit of fear and regret has lodged itself in me and wants to drain all the blood from my head.”
“Damn, Ken,” he laughed softly. “That’s exactly how it feels.”
“What’s keeping you up?”
He paused again. “Did I tell you that I had a guy steal my wallet earlier this year?”
“No.”
“And another guy threatened avian mass murder.”
“Um, what?”
Instead of clarifying, he continued. “Then, there was that guy I told you about at the restaurant,” his pitch altered, as if he were going to continue, but instead he huffed a curse. “Shit. At some point, I have to examine the possibility that it’s not bad luck and these things aren’t just happening to me, but that I’m subconsciously making poor decisions that put me in these terrible situations.”
My feeling was that he was being too hard on himself. I loved Steven’s usual confidence and ease, and the regret I heard in his voice spurred me to reassure him.
“Hey, we all make mistakes. We don’t get through life without them. But sometimes, being averse to risk, is a mistake itself.” I deliberated for a moment about whether to admit this about myself. No risk, no reward, Ken. “As someone who hates risk and loves overthinking everything, I have to say, life can be lonely when you don’t take chances on people.”
“Hmm.” He seemed to think about it for a moment before turning the conversation. “DKM, I just realized something,” he said with exaggerated surprise. “You hoodwinked me tonight!”
Amused, I asked, “Hoodwinked, huh? How’d I do that?”
“You tricked me, and I’m ashamed that it took me the whole night to figure it out.” Then, softly, with mock disgust—almost as if he were speaking to himself, he said, “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”
This set off a round of laughter for me. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but his reaction was hilarious.
“How could I have tricked you?”
“I chose the movie! Again!”
It had been an intentional choice to watch a movie he said he liked to re-watch. I didn’t feel like I was there to enjoy a film, I was there to learn about Steven. I wanted to know his likes and dislikes, wanted to know what made him who he was.
“I chose both of the movies we’ve seen,” I pointed out.
“Well, next time, I’m not saying a word. You are on your own. I’ll have my poker face on, and my body language will reveal nothing!”
Next time. He wanted a next time. I still didn’t grasp what happened at his apartment tonight, but he’d opened up and seemed to want to continue dating me. I wanted the next time to be as soon as possible and I wanted to help him feel better.
A plan hatched, so I asked, “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”