The One That I Want(3)
“C’mon, I’ll buy us a drink at the bar next door,” Paul said, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the theater. His hand was warm in mine and I didn’t want to let go, but knew I should.
“Um, thanks anyway. But I gotta get home to Dave.” We came to a standstill on the street, and Paul’s expression was a stony blank.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. I wouldn’t have asked you out...” Paul’s tone was sad and resigned.
“I don’t have a boyfriend. Dave’s my cat, and if I don’t feed him before a certain time he’ll pee in my work shoes.” Paul’s grin was wide again and he chuckled, the smile lighting his hazel eyes. “Hey, don’t laugh. Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of cat pee out of leather?”
“No, I don’t, but I imagine you do.” Paul chuckled, and keeping hold of my hand, he ran his thumb across my knuckles. “See you Monday morning? I feel like taking the stairs.”
CHAPTER TWO
I MADE it home that night early enough for my shoes to remain cat pee free, but when Paul scared me to death in the stairwell on Monday morning I almost did Dave’s job for him.
“Jesus. Again? You sure you’re not psychotic?” I attempted to slow my heart rate but I wasn’t sure it was racing because he’d scared me.
“Ask my secretary, she’ll tell you.” His brow furrowed. “Better you don’t ask her, actually.”
“Scared she’ll tell me the truth?”
“Yes.”
I climbed the stairs, and it wasn’t until we reached the second landing that Paul spoke again. “Jason?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you have lunch with me today?”
“Umm...” Wasn’t he bored enough on Saturday night?
“We can go to the café across the street if you’d like, they do a mean BLT.” His puppy-dog eyes gleamed with hope.
“Okay, I have lunch at twelve-thirty.”
He grinned wide, giving me a view of those perfect teeth. “Great. I’ll meet you there. I’ll get a table. Come and join me when you’re ready.”
WE HAD lunch every day that week and a date planned for Saturday night. We talked a lot during our lunch breaks, and Paul was full of questions. I told him that it was just me, no family to speak of; my parents had kicked me out when I opened my closet door and I hadn’t seen or spoken to them since. It had taken me a long time to accept that my parents were homophobic bigots that couldn’t love me enough to see past my sexuality. Paul came from a nice middle-class family with open and loving parents, and a sister who lived in Connecticut. He went to an Ivy League college and had a degree in marketing. He’d been working at Connor and Markham ever since. I put myself through community college, taking classes when I could fit them around my job as a waiter, and when I’d saved enough money, I moved to the city. We were similar in age, he had three years on my twenty-eight, and we were both huge fans of the Rangers.
“So who do you think played the better lead role, Olivia Newton-John or Michelle Pfeiffer?” Paul asked around his chicken sandwich.
“Oh no, you’re talking movies now. Better stick with the stage productions.” Our date tomorrow night was Grease.
“Okay, fine, Maryanne Peters or Georgina Sommerfeld?”
“Duh, Maryanne. Georgina is a brunette, and she has to wear a wig for the production. You can’t have a brunette Sandy.”
Paul swallowed, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob. My mouth was dry so I took a sip of my soda, hoping it would distract me. It didn’t.
“True, a brunette Sandy wouldn’t work. Georgina has a great voice though, but I’m still gonna be perving on Danny Zuko regardless of who plays the lead. The man makes me hot.”
I laughed. Seeing Paul relax after a hectic morning was kinda cool. He always came to lunch looking a little frazzled, complaining about difficult clients, but halfway through lunch he’d be relaxed and easygoing.
He laughed again at my expression. “What, you don’t think Danny’s hot?”
“I prefer Kenickie. He can pin me against a wall anytime.”
Paul’s eyes darkened. He licked his lips and shifted a little in his seat. I shifted in mine as well, my erection pressing hard against my zipper.
“So, what time is the show tomorrow night?” I needed a change of subject; the thought of Paul pushing me up against the wall was making my head spin. Apart from the odd finger grazing and brief hand-holding, we hadn’t touched or kissed. Were we just friends? Some of the looks he gave me had me thinking he wanted more, but why hadn’t he kissed me yet? I was used to guys wanting sex on the first date, then promising to call on their way out. They never did. Would Paul want to have sex with me tomorrow night after the show? Would I let him? Yeah, I would. I’d be stupid not to—it’d be the only time I’d ever be with someone of his caliber. I bet he f*cked like a god. Jesus, I needed to get my head on straight.
“The show starts quite late, I was hoping we could get some dinner first?”
“On one condition. I pay for the meal.”
“But... why?”
“Because you’ve bought the tickets, and I have a feeling they’re expensive seats. The least I can do is buy dinner.” I didn’t want him to think I’d use him as a meal ticket. Whenever I had a date, which wasn’t that often, I’d always insisted on going Dutch. I wanted to at least try and be equal with Paul. I couldn’t afford a classy place but I hoped he liked the restaurant I picked.