“It’s fine. We’ll run them under water or something when we return to the hotel.” His brow furrows as he considers that plan, then he shakes his head. “On second thought, with my luck, the ring would go straight down the drain.”
“Maybe we can pick something up on the way back.”
“Yeah, once it’s lubed up it should—” A flush heats his cheeks as he cuts himself up.
Right on time, because the hostess is walking toward us with menus and a smile. “Right this way, gentlemen.”
We sit and she leaves us to review the menu. Since our last conversation ended awkwardly, I drop it and focus on food instead. “So, what do you suggest?”
Panic widens his eyes as he looks between me and the menu. “Oh, um, I don’t …”
I’m reminded of his distress last night that first caught my attention, how he couldn’t pick which drink to choose. I also remember several stories of his ex-girlfriend’s expectations and disappointments, how much pressure she put on him to be the perfect, mind-reading boyfriend. “What do you usually order?” I ask, hoping that’s an easier question to answer.
“Well, they have a lot of rotating specials.” He picks up a paper menu different from the others. “It looks like they’ve got a lavender chai or a spicy mocha.”
“That sounds interesting. The mocha,” I add, “I don’t want to drink flowers.”
His shoulders relax at the easy answer, and he nods. “Yeah, I might get it too.” As he reviews the menu, he fusses idly with his curls. They’re tamer now than when he first woke up, though there’s still a wildness to them that inspires the urge to plunge my hands into his hair and become so entangled I can never escape.
I clutch the menu to suppress those desires. It’s odd, how he keeps inspiring the weirdest impulses so soon after the fiasco with Nick. Maybe because it was only an online long-distance relationship? I’ve heard plenty of successful stories that started thousands of miles apart, but I’m a tactile person. Every time I video chatted with Nick, I wanted to reach through the screen and rub my hands all over him. Sometimes it was sexual, the urge to replace his hands as he tweaked his nipples or grasped his cock. Other times, it was simply the undeniable desire tofeel. The scruff on his cheek. The warmth of his skin. The sparse hairs covering his arms.
A waitress comes and collects our drink orders, asks if we know what food we want. I order a breakfast sandwich andAlex gets the same. I can’t tell if it’s his usual order, or if he’s still too tired to waste energy deciding on what to eat.
Once we’re alone again, Alex leans forward and asks, “So, how do we figure out if the marriage is real or a scam?”
“Researching the company, first. See if they’re legitimate.”
Alex nods and pulls his phone out. The table is set up to seat four, so he moves to the chair next to me and scoots it closer to show me his screen. He types into the search bar ‘is online marriage legal’. The first result explains how it works and which states its legal in.
“Dammit,” he mutters. Then types in ‘Virtual Vows’. The first thing that pops up is an ad for the online marriage site. When he clicks on it, the website looks sleek and professional. The first page explains all the processes and legalities of online marriage. Alex gives an adorable, disgruntled grumble as he scrolls through the page. Then he spots something and brightens. “They have a live chat!”
Sitting this close to him, I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from his face. There’s a black spot, darker than his other freckles, under his left eye. I want to press my thumb against it to see if it’s raised or smooth.
Oblivious to my thoughts, Alex opens the chat box, but then his thumbs pause over the keyboard. “What do I say? I can’t just be like ‘hey, are you a scam’ because they’d never admit to it.”
The waitress drops off our spicy mochas. She doesn’t bat an eye at our changed position, just smiles and spouts the usual customer service script before continuing to her next table.
“Tell them there was a mistake with the order,” I suggest.
Alex nods and types it in, his fingers fast and nimble. Three little dots bounce at the bottom of the chat before the representative asks for our confirmation number.
I pull my own phone out and open the email, holding it out for Alex to read.
Representative
What seems to be the problem?
There’s a mistake in the participant names.
I’m sorry to hear that! One moment.
Both names match the documentation provided to us.
Alex and I exchange a confused look.
Documentation?
The government ID’s you both provided during the application process.
