He doesn't know anything about me. He hasn't even seen me.
Which, in turn, makesmevery interested in him. If the circumstances were better, this could be like a date version of the blind auditions onThe Voice.
"I don't know how old he is," I finally answer. "But I think he's in his fifties. I'm forty-three."
"Right."
Testing the waters to see whether or not my hunch is correct, I supply, "I also believe he's married. And I'm not."
He coughs. "Right."
I can't help but smile. "What about you? Age and relationship status please?"
"Twenty-seven. And single."
"I see."
"Just need to clarify one thing real quick."
"Sure."
"When I said I liked older guys, I didn't mean daddies. That's not what I'm into. I'm happy for people who are, but that isn't my thing, and it's usually the first thing people think of."
I didn't think that. "What is your thing, then? If you don't mind me asking."
He doesn't reply, and I'm worried I may have overstepped.
"I want to be with an older man," he finally says. "But I want the relationship dynamic to be fifty-fifty. I'm attracted to older guys because of their experience and obviously their appearance, but I don't want to be someone's boy. Or toyboy. Or boytoy. Or anything that's lower than. I want to be equal in all ways. Well…" He chuckles to himself. "I'm prepared to give up some control in the bedroom."
I catch the distinct sound of a palm striking flesh.
"Did you just slap yourself?" I ask.
"Ugh, yes."
"Why did you do that?"
"Because normally I have a filter and know what is and isn't socially acceptable to say to a stranger. Something about being locked in here has messed with my abilities in that department. I swear I'm not usually like this."
"Well, that's disappointing. I'm finding you to be quite charming and intriguing and funny."
Nothing.
"You are?" Darby asks.
"I sure am. One of the reasons I get along so well with Sky is because he's a no-bullshit type of guy. I get the impression you're the same. I like that. So no more slapping." I chew on my lip before adding, "You should let someone else do that."
More nothing.
Okay,thatwas too much.
"I'm sorry," I say at the same time he asks, "Are you flirting with me?"
I tug at the ends of my hair and scream on the inside. You'd think at forty-three I'd be better versed at this than I am. When it comes to fending off unwanted advances, I'm a pro. But a little innocent flirting? I'm like a penguin trying to climb a tree. This is so far outside my wheelhouse it's not even funny.
"Yes," I admit. "And it's really fucking hard when all I see is a door, and I amsorelyout of practice. I'll stop now."
"Well, that's disappointing," he says, and somehow I can tell he's smiling. In fact, I'd bet my bungalow he's smiling. "I'm finding you to be quite interesting and smart and sexy."
