Armand’s Adam’s apple jumped. “Oh, heh, I was busy being thrown out of someone’s bed.” Then his eyes shot wide open in a visible panic. “No! Not because— Rrrg, his wife was coming home, n-not that Iknewhe had a wife before. I-I wasdrunk, which, not that I do that often! G-go home with people, at least, not anymore. It—” He put his face in his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Just ... let’s just say it wasn’t a good night for either of us.”
There was such awkward vulnerability in the way he stuttered through the explanation. Did he think I was going to judgehim? And the idea that anyone would throw this man out of bed, or out of anywhere, made me absolutely indignant on his behalf. “Well, clearly it was his loss, and he sounds like a raging asshole.”
Armand’s lips pulled into an embarrassed smile past the hair hanging in his face, and then he smoothed it back. “Actually, it’s even worse than that. He’s the utter toss-pot who wrote Finch’s play.”
“I read the reviews.” I shook my head at him in disbelief.Thiswas the drama I missed out on by staying at the ranch with a dying Milkshake? “Yousleptwith ‘Neverland-is-a-metaphor-for-middle-aged-mediocrity’ guy? Gross.”
“I only saw half the play myself. And then I went outside and Neverland-is-a-metaphor-for-middle-aged-mediocrity guy tried to pull meagain.”
“Oh my god—did it work?”
“I am pathetically proud to say that it did not.”
So we both shot down our exes to be here today.This tidbit quickly turned into a mass of warm nerves the longer we smiled at each other. I struggled for breath and for a coherent sentence. “You know, even though you’re not what I expected, I’m pleasantly surprised. Turtleneck and all.”
Armand sighed helplessly. “You do enjoy making me blush.”
“Well,” I teased with a quirk of my lips, “you make it pretty easy.”
He leaned forward a little, and now our entire forearms were brushing. “I know.”
Despite the restaurant’s air conditioning, my skin felt flushed. I took a sip of water and didn’t realize until after I’d set the glass down that Armand’s eyes had moved from mine and had fixated instead on where—without knowing I’d been doing it—my finger was tracing the rim of the glass.
The opportunity was too good to pass up. With extreme slowness, I dipped the finger into the water and brought it to my lips to linger there.
Armand looked like he would spontaneously combust. Which was when I returned my finger to the water and flicked it at his face.
He had no sooner squeaked in surprise when our waiter approached with our platters of food.
We continued to sneak glances at each other throughout the meal. I had loosened my tie, unbuttoned my collar, and rolled up my sleeves ages ago. Which meant that Armand had also rolled up the sleeves of his ridiculous turtleneck, putting me entirely—despite my best efforts—at risk of a premature heart attack.
We chatted between bites and discovered that we both lovedSpace Trip, and Discworld, and it was so easy. Every time I made him laugh or blush, or said something that made him cock his head thoughtfully and bite his lip, his eyes bright and interested and with an intensity that lit my skin on fire, my heart flipped over. The way the hanging lights caught in his endless dark eyes ...
I’m going too fast.
But he’s leaving. Is it now or never?
My heart pounded. I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Hey, so. I guess it’s best to get this out in the open sooner rather than later, but ...” I took a deep breath, cursing the fact that outside of Darren—becauseof him—I had no idea how to do any of this. “If it’s not too presumptuous, I feel like I’m not the only one feeling like there’s ... chemistry here?”
Armand coughed in a way that sounded like maybe he’d swallowed his tongue. “Er. Um. Yes. You’re ... you’re ... nope. Not the only one.”
“Right.” I forced the words out while I still had the nerve. “I like you a lot. And you’re really fun to talk to, and I’ll be real, I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time. But we barely have any time left, and I know part of it’s because neither of us got our shit together sooner, but if you’re leaving on Sunday—” I swallowed, terrified to try and put this into words. “I want to see where this goes. I’m just not sure what I’m ready for, and I don’t want this to be something rushed, or a one-night thing, or ...” My nerves got the best of me.
“Me neither!” Armand’s voice was a squeak. He rubbed the back of his neck. “The last thing I want is a one-night stand.”
“So you understand why I want to wait?”
He cleared his throat and sat back, his body hunching in on itself. “Of course. I understand. OfcourseI understand. Obviously. Naturally. Er. Yes. Quite. I understand completely.”
He was so flustered that I couldn’t help my smile widening into a grin, barely containing a laugh. “So you understand, then?”
Armand bit his lip and nodded. “Not to be glib, but it won’t be the end of the world if we don’t ... ehrrm. And I know I’m rubbish at writing, or texting, but ... we could still talk.”
Awkwardness aside, talking about this so directly—to be able to discuss what I wanted with clear boundaries and intentions—was unfamiliar but more comfortable than I’d any right to expect. “Right—I’m sure it’ll be just as hard to get ahold of you on a regular schedule in England as it was here,” I teased, fighting the urge to reach out for him again while he was here, in front of me, within touching distance.
Armand chuckled, sending a warm ripple through me. “I’ll just need to figure out how to draw on your mirror from a continent away.”
I laughed, and he was so charming and devastating, I wondered how the hell I was supposed to make it out of this alive.
