But what would it feel like when my arms pressed against his abs? Would they be taut, tight, and muscular? Would they be flat? Or would they feel kind of blocky?
We made our way to the bike, my mind going into sexual overdrive.Calm down.If we didn’t make it out of this parking lot...
“Hop on,” he said with a voice deeper than normal.
When I did, the first thing I noticed was how wide his back was. It was like trying to wrap my arms around an upside-down triangle, and the tightness and size of those muscles provided a lot of promise.
Sure enough, when I held my hands around him and squeezed, I could feel the individual abs, their ridges in between a sign that he was indeed packing at least a six-pack, maybe even an eight-pack. They tightened and braced as Phoenix revved the engine.
“Hold on!”
I don’t think you have to ask me to do that,I thought as he pulled out of the parking lot, leaving my car—and my caution—behind.
* * *
Phoenix held his hand out to help me off the bike. It was such a cliché move, but I had to say, it was amazing how such moves suddenly felt romantic. He could have spoken dialogue straight out of any famous romantic movie, I could have recognized it, and I still would have swooned for him.
But one question was bugging me, one that had started to enter my mind as I realized what I might literally be walking into.
Did he keep his place clean?
I tried not to have unrealistic hopes. I knew that a man who worked as a mechanic by day and hung around guys who drank beer most high schoolers found disgusting was probably not going to be the model of perfection, but I figured that since he was in his late twenties, he’d at least have some semblance of organization.
But as someone who was so clean, I knew I’d probably have to recalibrate my expectations for his place.
“Welcome,” he said as he pushed open the door.
The first thing I felt was enormous relief at the fact that there were not beer bottles everywhere, pizza boxes strewn about, or trash overflowing from the containers. It wasn’t perfect; there were a few dishes in the sink that hadn’t been put away. But all things considered, it was an actual, well-organized place, certainly above what I would have expected for Phoenix.
“Wow,” I said.
“Hah!” Phoenix said. “Can’t say I’ve ever gotten that reaction before.”
“Well, no, it’s just...”
“Didn’t expect it to look like this?”
I nodded.
“When you bartend, you know things are going to get messy, but then that means everywhere else, you seek cleanliness. Given that, and, well, my chaotic life otherwise, I’m something of a neat freak. Guess someone smarter than me would say it’s my way of trying to maintain control or something.”
“Makes sense,” Phoenix said as he headed to the fridge and pulled out... two Blue Moons.
“Well, you’re predictable at least,” I said with a smirk.
Phoenix chuckled.
“Sure could use a little more of that in my life,” he said as he put his arm around me and led me to the couch.
He’d said that with some humor and lightness in his voice, but it was the kind of joke in which it was painfully obvious to see there was a cry for help. Someone better than me might have empathized and asked what was wrong. Unfortunately, for me, instead of seeing it as a chance to make him feel better or to get closer, it felt like a knife to the gut.
Whatever he thought this was, it sure seemed like it was heading to a path of instability. It wasn’t going to be pretty when he found out I was not long for this part of the country. What, was he really going to change my mind and convince me to stay in Southern California?
Yes?
Why not?
No, he wasn’t. Probably not. Most likely not. In most cases...
