I nod.
“What about you?” he asks. “Is Green team your dream job?”
“Are you the guy to talk to if it’s not?”
He laughs. “Maybe I’d rather talk about something else.”
I guess I asked for that.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
“Here,” I say. “Well, Albany. You?”
“Tacoma. Originally, but we moved here when I was six. Monterrey.”
“Ah.”
Too quickly, there’s a lull, breaking the rhythm of the conversation. I scour my brain for topics and keep coming back to the one other thing I know we have in common. Evan.
That’s where I get stuck because I’m not bringing him up. I’m attracted to Isaac. I’d argue that most people who are attracted to men, would be. He’s the whole package even if he’s way out of my league if we’re grading on power and wealth. If we were in a club, and I were high, I’d invite him into the men’s room, no question, but out here in the civilized world, I’m clueless as to how to bridge our obvious gap.
His drink is served. He takes a sip and asks, “Have you been here before?”
“No.”
He adjusts in his seat, and our knees bump. He startles at the contact like I’m an electric fence. Without thinking, I put my hand on his thigh and press. “You can bail. Don’t worry about it.”
He looks from my hand on his leg to my face. “I—I don’t want to bail,” he says. “But if you do…”
I shake my head. Now that I’ve got my hand on his leg and can feel the tense hunk of muscle beneath his pants, I’m willing to give this a shot.
“So this is okay?” he asks.
“It’s…” I shrug and look around. “It’s awkward. Not you, but—the whole date thing. I don’t normally do this.”
“What do you normally do?”
“What I’ve been doing isn’t really working for me anymore. Thought I’d change it up.”
“Same,” he says. “And look at how that went.”
I let out a soft laugh. “What doyounormally do?”
“Want shit I can’t have.”
“That’s your kink?”
He huffs, but his eyes sparkle. “Apparently.”
Swallowing hard and gratified that the kink question was met with a laugh and not a look of horror, I go for it. “What do you do with a sure thing?”
He holds my gaze, and I fight to keep mine steady when everything in me wants to shy away from the storms I see in his. “Take it for granted. Probably.”
“What would that look like?”
He grins and drops his gaze in a gesture that almost reads as shy. “Your dimples…”
My dimples are the only thing I’m willing to thank my mother for. The dimples. “You like them?”
