When I arrived at Steven’s apartment on Saturday, I felt nervous in a way I hadn’t before. For one thing, I had a fantasy build-up of this jazz night, to the point where I almost wished we’d scrap it and do something else. For nearly two weeks, the imaginings of it had been playing on a loop in my head—soft lights, entwined fingers, the air charged and swirling with heady promises fueled by music and alcohol and physical awareness. I was afraid I had too much invested in this night playing out exactly that way.
That Steven opened the door and surveyed me with an open appreciation and hunger he’d never shown before, helped to strengthen those expectations and fantasies. His bold assessment of me and languid movements were seductive. It drove home just how off-key we’d been before now. He’d never communicated attraction so blatantly, so invitingly to me. Seeing what I’d been missing, what he was like when everything was open and possible, cemented to me that I’d been too guarded in my communications as well.
No wonder he hadn’t a clue I was into him. Had I ever looked at him and said what was passing through my mind? You look sexy. I want to kiss you. Or, Let’s hold hands for the movie. Had I ever given him brazen, lustful looks of appreciation all the times I noticed how well his clothes fit or at how disarrayed his hair was, or even how his sarcastic quips fired me up? No. I’d stupidly been too guarded and worried about being judged.
Well, that was over. Starting now, I was going to make my intentions crystal clear.
“Damn, you look so hot, I can’t wait to peel you out of those pants.”
Or I could be a creepy perv. Nice move, asshat.
Without missing a beat or acting at all shocked, he chided, “Now, now, you promised you’d buy me dinner first.”
I felt a blush heat my cheeks and he laughed. “You’re too fun.” He grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me in for a quick kiss. As he retreated, he said, “You look nice, too.”
Steven was wearing snug, dark-wash jeans, a belt, and a gray, fitted button-up. The color highlighted his eyes, and his long, lean frame was accentuated by the cut and fit of the outfit. It was an understated pairing that did its job to perfection.
Seeing how simple and effortless his attire was, I rethought my choice of tie and blazer. I was trying too hard and it showed. The tie had to go.
“I’m going to take this off,” I announced. I shoved the tie in my jacket pocket and undid the first two buttons of my shirt.
“Either way, you look gorgeous,” he said with a wink. “Should we go?”
Though Club Tremolo didn’t require reservations for dinner, I hadn’t wanted to risk loitering in the bar for an hour waiting to be seated. So, after I left Steven’s the night before, I called to request a table away from the stage. I wanted to make sure we could converse and enjoy our company without too much interference from the music.
When we arrived, the hostess led us to a small table a good distance from the stage. Ambient light shone down, and the scheduled quintet was playing an upbeat number. I watched Steven as he took in the atmosphere of the club.
I wondered if his scanning of the room was purely out of appreciation for the club, or if he were trying to spot this ‘King’ douchebag in the crowd. I hoped it was the former, because I wanted him to enjoy himself tonight and, if just for a few hours, leave his enormous stress load behind. But there was a part of me that wanted to know he was concerned and using some vigilance. The conversation we’d had the night before about it had been him warning me of dangers, while simultaneously trying to convince me there was no threat.
He’d shown me texts from three different numbers—one of which was a picture of a dick—and some out-of-focus pictures of Steven when we’d gone to dinner together.
So, see, it’s just been some texts and pictures. No threats.
I didn’t feel nearly as calm or optimistic about this as he appeared to be. I was scared for him, honestly. Someone in their right mind, and with good intentions didn’t change their number or switch out phones to keep contact with someone who blocked them. Sending pictures to prove he was following, wasn’t benign. These were fear tactics. Fixation and intimidation.
When I asked what had happened when they went out, he told me that when he’d brought him to his apartment, the man wasted no time in being rough and impatient. Steven tried to slow him down, get him to ease up, but that only resulted in going from rough to violent. Apparently, his building’s conspicuous security gave the man pause and was enough to deter him from taking his plans further.
Steven’s building was obviously secure, even to someone who wasn’t paying much attention. The doorman allowed entry via thumbprint, the lobby had several guards stationed at various points, and the concierge was anything but lax in his own duties. Upon leaving last night, I’d made it a point to scan for cameras. There’d been dozens of domed fixtures that could have been concealing cameras. Knowing that Steven was falling asleep in such a well-protected place, made it easier for me to leave him.
I just wished I’d been able to convince him to alert his boss about it or go to the police. But he’d adamantly refused, saying there was nothing anyone could or would do at this point, so there was no reason he needed to spill his private business to anyone, least of all, his employer.
He’ll murder me and toss me in the lake himself! No thanks.
I didn’t like it. I didn’t agree that there was no danger. I’d seen firsthand what could happen when fixation turned violent—how someone could shut out the entire world and just give over to a focused, intense rage. I’d yelled, I’d fired—neither of those had penetrated her mind. She wanted to hurt, she wanted to kill, she wanted to release all her psychosis and hurt and jealousy and hatred right on to Elizabeth. And nothing was going to stop her.
I had to shoot her.
Thinking of Steven in the same position, imagining him at the mercy of anyone who was as single-minded in their destructive rampage as Menayda Kazlauskas was, terrified me.
I’d do it again.
Looking at his face, watching his eyes dart around the room, I felt a peace about the shooting. I grabbed his hand resting on the table and held it, causing him to direct his attention back to me.
“Have you ever been here before?” I asked.
“No, have you?”
“Once, probably two years ago. I liked the food and the trio that was playing was sensational. I told myself I’d come back again, but never managed to. I’m glad I could be here with you.”
He flashed me a genuinely happy smile. “Me too.” He opened his mouth to say something, but then looked over my shoulder and pulled his hand away.
A waitress stopped alongside the table and greeted us. She took our drink orders and stepped away. We smiled at each other across the table and I prompted, “What were you—”
I was going to ask what he’d started to say before the waitress appeared, but she whirled around and stepped back to the table, interrupting again.
“I forgot to get your starter order. Would you like an appetizer?”
We hadn’t looked at a menu or barely had a chance to say a handful of words to each other, let alone decide on a starter.
She was looking at Steven, so he said, “What do you rec—” but I didn’t appreciate the rush so I put the brakes on.
“We just sat down and haven’t looked at the menu. We need more time to look over the selection.” What I said wasn’t rude, but by Steven’s arched eyebrows, I could tell my tone was less than pleasant. I quickly checked my manners and said, “Please.”
“Sure, I’ll get your drinks and give you a few.”
When she left, Steven said, “Grumpy Ken returns, huh? I’d wondered where he’d gone to.”
“Sorry, I didn’t intend for that to come across as rude, but I didn’t want us to be rushed. I’d like to draw the night out if I can,” I explained, leaning in on my forearms. “I’ve been thinking about this date with you and, well, when I get something built up in my mind, I can be a prick when it doesn’t work out like I planned.”
He laughed sharply, as if he were surprised by my admission.
“It’s a defect that runs in my family,” I continued. “My sister is the absolute worst.” I rolled my eyes, then smiled in a way I hoped was inviting and charming. “Feel free to give me a reality check whenever I get too unbearable.”
“Ooh, I look forward to it.” He rubbed his palms together in exaggerated anticipation. He then rested his forearms on the table and mimicked my forward posture. “So, do you just have the one sister?”
“Yeah, Kari,” I replied. “She’s thirty-five.”
“Hey, our parents all love alliteration, it seems. Ken-Kari, Steven-Sophie,” he pointed out. “Sophie is older than I am, too. But just by a year. I’m thirty-three. How old are you? I know you can’t be as old as thirty-five.”
“Thirty-one.”
Our server came back with our drinks and Steven picked her brain for recommendations, being extra nice and animated with her, most likely trying to make up for my earlier snappishness. We ended up ordering a bacon and brie starter and when she left, I decided to sow some seeds for later down the road since we were on the topic of siblings.
“My sister is getting married the last weekend of October.”
“Here in Chicago? Are you from Chicago? I can’t believe I haven’t asked you that yet.”
“No, we’re from Cleveland, but she’s getting married on Mackinac Island up in Michigan.”
“In the Hotel?” he asked excitedly. I nodded. “Before you go, we’ll have to watch Somewhere in Time with Christopher Reeve. You’ll hate it.”
Ignoring the movie comment, I said, “Maybe by then, you’d like to be my date?” I inwardly chastised myself for the unintentional inflection I put on the words. They weren’t meant to be a question, but rather, something for him to consider later. I didn’t want to put any pressure on him or make plans for us so far into the future that I could get hung up on or build outrageous expectations around. The truth was, I had a lot of hope that three months from now, we’d still be seeing each other. And if we were, it would be weird not to bring him. If I felt this way after a month of knowing him. I could just imagine what I’d feel after four.
“You’re really a go-getter, aren’t you, DKM?” He sounded a bit bewildered.
“When it comes to dating, no, not really. But for other things, yes,” I explained. “The wedding is going to happen. I have to be there. I thought I’d present the possibility to you so you could think about it.”
“Oh, I’m going to think about it, alright,” he muttered.
“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything,” I quickly added, sensing I’d crossed a line.
He raised one hand to stop me. “It’s fine. I knew you were an intense guy. I just didn’t realize what it would feel like to have that intensity focused on me.”
His heated gaze locked with mine in unspoken awareness, revealing his own simmering ardor. It was a look rife with earnest intent and eager reciprocation. I could almost hear him thinking, Bring it on, Dr. Miles. Bring it on.
I was definitely going to bring it.
Okay, what am I bringing, exactly?
Climbing into the cab broke the spell of the club and dissipated a lot of the easy confidence I’d been luxuriating in throughout the night.
We’d enjoyed the jazz as background music through dinner, so engrossed as we were in the fluid conversation. It wasn’t until our plates had been cleared away, that we lapsed into a natural lull to focus on the entertainment. The night had so far been all that I’d hoped it would be and more.
But, with the coolness of the outdoors and abrupt cessation of our soundtrack and rhythm—the absence of murmuring diners, clinking dishes, cymbals and trilling saxophone—I was hyper-aware that next was now.
As the car pulled away from the curb, Steven examined me. “You have that thing going on with your face again.”
“What thing?” I asked.
“The thing where you look like a cyborg or android whose switch is in the off position.”
“That’s…I don’t know what to think of that.”
“Think about this,” he said, and leaned into my ear to whisper. “You. In my bed. All night.”
I felt heat rush to my face and my dick twitched. He pulled back to smile at me. “Yes?”
“Yes,” I rasped. I wanted that. Wanted it so much, but I was afraid to get my hopes up.
Did I want hours and hours to lick and suck and explore? Did I want to know his every bend and bulge, ticklish spots, and erogenous zones? Did I want to spend the evening in orgasmic bliss? Hell yeah, I did. I had a pocket full of flavored condoms at the ready for just such a fortuitous occasion.
But all of that meant I was going to have a discussion with him I was apprehensive about starting. It needed to be done, I just didn’t know what his reaction was going to be. Would he be annoyed or irritated by my lack of experience? It’s not like I couldn’t navigate my way around a penis or anything, but I knew I was in uncharted territory and hoped he had the patience for it.
Steven pulled me from my musings with a soft curse.
“Shit.” He was looking ahead to the front of his building as we approached the circle. Nico and Elizabeth were exiting and walking toward an idling black SUV. “Don’t pull up close, wait until they pull away,” he instructed our driver.
“I’ve got other fares, you know, I don’t have all night to wait around,” he complained, but still stopped the sedan just inside the circle.
Steven dug cash out of his wallet and laid the bill on the man’s shoulder. “Here’s a twenty. It will be two seconds.”
“Steven.” I issued him an incredulous, wide look, momentarily taken aback by his behavior.
As the cars started forward, he explained, “Do you really want to have the night interrupted with awkwardness and glares from Nico? Because I don’t.” The car stopped and he opened the door. “Let’s not make this weird.”
I followed him out but stopped on the curb. Ready to tell him I didn’t give a shit what Nico thought, he stepped to me and brought his mouth to mine. The kiss was hot and brief, ending when I tried to take it deeper. He pulled away and asked, “Can that be the reality check I give you when you get all cranky?” Without waiting for my answer, he said, “I look forward to your bad moods and might deliberately provoke them.”
“I think that’s a good plan,” I agreed, pacified.
We made our way through the lobby and into the elevator and when the doors shut, my earlier concerns rose again. “We need to talk about some things first,” I blurted.
“Of course,” he said readily, unsurprised by my loud declaration. “This talk is what had you suddenly uptight in the cab?”
“Yes.” I rubbed my hair, then my eyes, frustrated with myself already. “I-I just don’t…I’m not great at segueing from ‘I had a great night’ to ‘Let’s get naked.’”
Steven scoffed. “You seemed pretty sure of yourself last night when you were demanding I take my cock out for you.”
I flushed at the memory, heat suffusing my body. “That was different.” And it was different. I’d come to him full of anxiety and urgency then. There had been no real forethought, no planning. Dates were a whole other ball game from spontaneous passion.
“Besides,” I said as the elevator doors opened. “It’s not just the segue that I’m not sure how to navigate, it’s the conversation about…expectations.”
Steven’s brows pulled down in confusion. We didn’t move for a moment, each of us staring into the other’s eyes. Him trying to make sense of my words and me trying to wordlessly communicate. But nothing was getting solved that way, so I walked out of the car and stepped into the hallway of his floor.
“Let’s go inside. I know I’m not making sense, but we can’t talk about it here.”
After we entered the apartment, he flipped on a lamp and said, “Tell me what you meant by expectations.” He crossed to the couch, sat down, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Are you talking about establishing a no-strings thing, or is this about whose penis goes where?”
I joined him on the sofa. “I think you know I want more from you than a hook-up,” I huffed out a rueful laugh. “No, what I meant by expectation is that I know you probably think I have some set rules about what I like or what I was going to do, but my experience with men has been limited.”
His face and body seemed to still, absorbing my meaning. “You haven’t been with a guy before?”
I couldn’t tell if that was a pause of disappointment or surprise or what, but I needed to lay the cards out. “Not…fully,” I ended on an exhale.
Understanding dawned and he relaxed. “Oh. Okay, so you’ve been with men, just not penetrative sex, right?”
“Yes, so, I’m not set on any certain way or anything. I’m open to experiencing all of it with you, but I might need your patience.”
“Holy shit,” he whispered, shaking his head.
“Is that okay? Is that a good holy shit?” I honestly couldn’t tell.
“Oh, the sexy unicorn wants to know if I mind showing him the delights of man-love,” he muttered to himself, staring toward the inky blackness of the windows.
“I take it we’re cool then?” I smiled expectantly, even though he wasn’t looking at me.
“Life is really bizarre,” he continued in a whisper, blinking hard.
“Steven.” I raised my voice a bit, hoping to penetrate his ruminations.
He stood suddenly, grabbed my hand and hauled me up. “We’re going to the bedroom. Now.”
“Oh, good, I was worried I wouldn’t get a chance to Bring It.”
Without looking back at me, he said, “You’re such a weirdo sometimes, DKM.”