Jensen wasn’t sure that was possible. He was almost painfully aware of Daniel’s presence at the table, but the anxiety at breaking social convention had him reading through each item on the menu and making a conscious effort to come to a decision.
“We should take a walk,” Daniel said as they stepped out on the street. “Work off dinner.”
The evening was made of softening sunlight, vainly mimicking the color of Daniel’s hair, and a blanket of warmth that hugged the moderately populated streets. It was the kind of night people would deem perfect for a stroll, and Jensen, for once, agreed with the average person. He was certainly agreeable to spending more time with Daniel. Besides, he had no other obligations. Only floor plans and computer models awaited him back at his hotel room, and he’d prefer to put that off as long as possible.
“You appear to be very fit. I doubt you have to work off grilled chicken and quinoa.”
Daniel tucked the small bouquet that he’d carted around with them into his back pocket and pressed close, wrapping his hands around Jensen’s upper arm. “You’re very good for my ego. What are you looking to get with your flattery?”
What did he want from Daniel? For the first time in perhaps his entire life, Jensen had to reflect on his own motives. He was used to dissecting the actions and words of other peopleto predict and meet their needs. It was how he controlled interactions and mitigated the churning in his gut whenever someone approached him. He supposed that was usually his motivation for everything he did: get conversations over with as quickly as possible to reduce the risk of developing ulcers or embarrassing himself. That wasn’t what he was doing with Daniel.
Instead of making excuses to leave his company, Jensen had agreed to spend more aimless time with him. He’d even sought him out that afternoon. Sure, it was to apologize for his follies the night before, but he could have left a card with his sentiments. He could have rushed Daniel out of his room and rejected his invitation to dinner. Now he was walking next to him, enjoying the feeling of him on his arm.
“I’m not sure,” Jensen admitted. “I find that I enjoy your company quite a bit, which is strange for me. I can usually only handle people in small doses.”
“And there you go again with the flattery.”
He frowned. “I’m just stating the truth.”
“Tell me about your book before you have me swooning so hard my knees give out and you find your pants around your ankles.”
Jensen stumbled. His feet tangled so impossibly that Daniel’s grip was the only thing that kept him from kissing the time-stained pavement. He couldn’t even begin to process the meaning of Daniel’s words without heat overtaking his body and making him stupid. It took an embarrassing minute for him to get his body to cooperate and start walking like a normal person again. When he was sure he wasn’t going to expire, he cleared his throat. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s not every day you meet a person that wrote a book.”
“It didn’t sell well.” Jensen knew he should stop pointing that out, but he didn’t want Daniel to get any grandiose ideasabout him. At best, he was a fanatic that decided to shove all the research and ideas he’d gathered over a decade of obsession onto glossy pages. More likely, he was the butt of many jokes from his peers.
“Try to sell me on it and I might buy a copy,” Daniel said with a tug on his arm.
“Are you sure? I find it hard to believe you are interested in a long-passed trend, and I tend to ramble.” Ramble was the nice way to describe the verbose mania that took over whenever he was given free rein to talk about something he actually cared for.
“I’m sure. Maybe I want to know about the building I work in.”
Jensen took a deep breath and decided to take Daniel at this word. He rarely turned down an opportunity to talk about his interests, regardless of the other party’s enthusiasm. Also, he figured Daniel had already seen him through some deeply embarrassing moments, and he couldn’t really make a worse impression. “First you have to understand the socioeconomic climate preceding the late eighteen hundreds, specifically the level of optimism and the shift from segmented arts to encompassing arts,” Jensen started.
He tried to hold back. God as his witness, he really did. But each time he started to wrap up one important detail, he’d find himself off on a tangent. Daniel had probably only asked to be polite and wasn’t expecting a deep dive into Jensen’s life work. And he told himself that multiple times as they wandered around the city blocks, weaving closer, then further away from the hotel with each long-winded explanation Jensen couldn’t hold back. What should have been a quick overview turned into a seminar that could have filled a three-hour lecture spot, not refuting Daniel’s assumption that he was a professor. By the time he was finally talking about the Lillian, the sun was threatening to descend, and his throat ached from speakingmuch more than he was used to. The time he’d stolen from Daniel yesterday paled in comparison to the highway robbery he’d just committed.
As the large front window of the hotel came into view, he stopped moving his feet. “I’m sorry,” Jensen said, cringing.
Daniel looked up at him. “Why?”
“Why? Are you kidding? I just talked at you for nearly two hours.” His mother had warned him countless times throughout the years that his tendency to monopolize conversations wouldn’t be appreciated with other people. Of course, she didn’t mind and let him and his father talk for hours about their respective obsessions. But Daniel wasn’t used to his brand of awkward.
Shame curdled in Jensen’s stomach, spreading through his chest and gripping his heart. Daniel was beautiful and interesting. He had a unique profession and possibly exotic hobbies. There was no doubt he spent time with impressive individuals, people that could afford his company for over a hundred dollars an hour. If Daniel had talked for two hours, it would have been filled with engaging anecdotes and humor. Jensen had just subjected him to the dullest one-way conversation he’d likely ever witnessed. God, it was probably worse than those pushy time-share presentations.
“I thought it was fascinating.”
Jensen took a step away, Daniel’s hand slipping from his arm, and covered his eyes with a hand. “Oh God. No, it wasn’t. You don’t have to lie to me.”
“Hey,” Daniel said, his tone sharp enough it had Jensen dropping his arm. “Just because I get paid to fuck people doesn’t mean I don’t also enjoy learning things.”
The feeling swamping Jensen’s heart twisted deeper. He was making everything worse, which was a monumental feat. This night would live in infamy in his brain and plague him while hetried to sleep for years to come; he was sure of it. “Of course not. I don’t think that at all. But come on”—a self-deprecating smile lifted his lips—“that’s not what you were expecting when you asked about my book.”
“I’ll give you that.” Daniel turned to look up at the three-story hotel, gaze gliding over the curving lines and organic motifs. “But I don’t regret asking. I have a new appreciation for this old woman. I might even think twice before cursing the water pressure and faulty electrical.”
“Yes, well …” Jensen trailed off as he dragged the toe of his shoe on the concrete. “I should get back to work.” It was more of an excuse for Daniel to run than an actual need, since he was technically excused from working until Monday. Jensen just didn’t want to take any more of his time.
“I should get going too. I have a date with my bathtub and a three-wick candle that I can’t reschedule. Thanks for dinner though, I had fun.”
