“Let’s say this was our second date…” I start, feeling the liquid courage in my veins. “What date do you normally…you know?”
My question is met with blank stares.
“You know…stay over. Take things to the next level. Jesus, sex. I mean what date do you normally have sex?”
My cheeks are on fire with embarrassment as they both fight their smiles.
“Oh, I knew what you meant,” Archer replies, placing his hand on mine. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”
“You jerk,” I argue, tossing my napkin at his head.
“To answer your question,” he says, “I don’t really have a rule. Sometimes it was the first date. On occasions, it was the third or fourth.”
“Oh my God, Archer Wilde. Are you…a gentleman?” I tease.
He feigns offense, placing a hand on his chest. “Excuse you. Of course I am.”
“And what about you?” I ask, looking at Julian. “Are you a gentleman too?”
Sitting at the opposite end of the table with a menacing sort of look on his face, he licks his bottom lip and maintains that deadly expression. After a few moments without responding, I wonder if this question somehow offended him.
Finally, he runs his finger along the rim of his glass as he quietly mumbles, “I’ve never been on a date.”
The room grows quiet. The Nina Simone record has come to an end, and both Archer and I stare at Julian, trying to gauge why on earth this is so heartbreaking.
“Never?” I ask.
There’s an edge of something bitter and acidic in his ministrations that leads me to believe Julian wants to lash out. Maybe in any other circumstance, he would. But with us…he holds back.
“Dating is for people who want to be in relationships. I’ve never wanted one. So I never dated.”
His answer is plain and straightforward enough that it actually makes sense. But I still have so many questions.
“And what about…sex?”
Thanks, wine.
“The wall, remember?” he says, touching his wineglass to mine.
“That’s it? There must be other times.”
On a heavy sigh, Julian shrugs. “I have hooked up with people before. People I’ve…paid, from time to time.” He glances at our faces to gauge our reaction this, as if we’d ever judge him. When neither of us react, he continues. “But for the most part, I prefer as little commitment as possible.”
“No intimacy,” I add, touching my fingers to my lips.
His brow furrows as he leans closer. “There’s so much intimacy.”
“How?” I ask.
He gestures between us. “Do you think what we’re doing right now is intimate?”
“A little, I guess.”
“Getting to know someone is great and all, but the real intimacy is in that moment when everything else in the room just fades away. When you both accept that you want the same things, no formalities. No meaningless banter. Just bodies and trust and pleasure. It’s what true connection feels like.”
I swallow the lump building in my throat. “And do you?” I ask, my words just above a whisper. “Do you feel connected to them?”
Julian leans back, looking slightly unsettled. “More than I feel connected to anyone else.”
