My heart pounds. It’s easier to control my feelings when we keep everything else tucked away, too. Secret and discreet.
Being with Clay in public is going to test my resolve, but I’m not about to turn him down. He’s trying to have fun and treat me right, and it’s sweet that he wants to celebrate with me. I know putting himself out there like this isn’t easy for him.
“I haven’t been here since I was a teenager,” I confess.
“Let’s start with dinner,” Clay says. “I’m hungry. I looked up a couple places online earlier today. There’s a Japanese restaurant with good vegetarian food. How does that sound?”
“Delicious.”
“Good.”
He looked up vegetarian restaurants for me ahead of time. Being considered by Clay like that feels good, the same tingle I felt when he bossily told me to get in his car.
It’s a weeknight, but it’s still summer, so the traffic thickens as we pull into town. Clay follows directions to the restaurant, and we’re lucky enough to find parking just down the block.
Everywhere we look, there seems to be happy couples, gazing at each other and holding hands, kissing and laughing. But Clay keeps his eyes on me as we stroll down the sidewalk, like nothing else matters.
“How does it feel to be on a date with a man in public?” I ask him.
“Everyone thought we were on a date when you first walked me around the gayborhood,” he points out.
“True. Although I probably should insist you hold my hand this time. For experimentation reasons.”
Clay half-smiles at me. Without another word, he steps by my side and casually slides his hand into the back pocket of my jeans, hitching me close as we walk.
When I suck in a surprised breath, he gives me a soft squeeze. “How’s this?”
Lava oozes through my body. I can feel blood rushing to my crotch, and I have to steady my breathing to fight off an obvious erection as I lean against him, falling into pace.
“You’re trouble tonight,” I tell him, and Clay laughs.
The restaurant is dimly lit with wooden interiors and plants along the walls. Clay insists that he’s paying and that he won’t feel comfortable splurging on himself unless I do the same. I decide not to argue. It’s a treat to see this side of him, so I’m not about to discourage the behavior.
He mumbles when he talks to the host and has to repeat himself, and Clay accidentally bangs his chair against the table when he sits down. As soon as we’re comfortable, though, the rest of the restaurant fades away, and his attention is right back on me.
We get drinks and soy-glazed eggplant to start, which I pick. Clay obviously expects to hate it but puts on a brave face and ends up loving it, scarfing them down and ordering a second round.
He leans forward when he’s done, and I can feel his presence across the table. He’s not particularly affectionate, but the strength of his gaze, the brush of his hand over mine, and the draw of his energy are enough to make me feel like I’m his, and everyone knows it.
I hold his eye, enjoying the building anticipation.
“I bet you’re the kind of guy who always insists on paying,” I tell him. “Every time.”
Clay scoffs.
“Not true?”
“There’s just not much of an always. But when I have taken a woman out for dinner or drinks, you’re damn right that I pay.” He eases back, but his energy stays wrapped around me. “How do you work it out, anyway? With two guys, I mean.” He frowns. “I will always pay when you’re with me,” he clarifies sharply.
I grin. “It’s like everything else. It depends on the people and the situation. For me, I always like to pay when I ask someone out. That way money doesn’t have to be a consideration for someone joining me in something fun. But also, I’ve dated guys before who like to always split, which is also fine. And sometimes there are other cultural considerations. It really depends.”
“There’s never an easy answer.”
“I think the easy answer is to just communicate and listen to each other. Same as with straight relationships.”
He snorts. “Super easy.”
I wink. “You’re getting pretty good at it.”
