Chapter 2

2

DES

A t the smoky mirrored entrance to the bar, my reflection shows a guy with luminous skin and blond messy curls and I grin. I've gone all out metrosexual tonight: tight embroidered shirt, messed-up hair, glossed-up cheeks. I smile at the host taking names at the door. He does a little double take and gives me a flirtatious lip curl, inclining his head.

"For one?" he says, voice hopeful.

"Actually, I'm meeting someone."

Pouting, he tracks down his list. "Of course you are. Shame," he mutters under his breath.

He's cute, too. Maybe if this date doesn't work out, this is another option right here. I step up to stand beside him, folding my arms on his lectern as we both gaze at the table allocation. His eyes flutter toward mine, just inches away. My grin gets wider.

"If he stands me up …" I start.

He shakes his head. "No one is standing you up, sweetie." And he grabs the cocktail menu and swings around, waving his hand at me to follow.

His neat backside flexes as he struts into the gloom of the bar: all thick carpets, dim mood lighting, and velvet booths. Nice. Adrenaline thumps through my veins. I'm like a junkie about to have his first fix of the day: I've missed everything about the New York hookup scene.

The ass of the guy from reception is so engrossing that I nearly crash into him when he stops. And someone is already sitting at the table, and …

Oh. My .

Cuter than his Grindr picture. Dark, loosely tousled curls, a long thin nose, and full lips, and oh man, sharp wire-frame glasses, too. I swallow as he grins at me. And something about that cute smile, the perfect white teeth … Oh, Des , good going. I press my hand to my chest. Hello, Mr. Sunday.

The host from the front desk gestures to the empty seat opposite him and mutters something before heading off. I turn to watch him go.

"Do you always eye up guys like that?" Mr. Sunday's voice says to the back of my head.

Damn, he clocked the ass ogling. I cock my head at him. He'd better not be one of those puritanical types, but yeah, it was a bit rude when I'm here for a date. Giving him a wide, guileless smile, I hold out my hand.

"Des Collins. And yes, I do." I grab his hand when he reaches out to shake mine, pulling him forward like I'm about to share a secret. "I think it would be a sin not to admire a good-looking guy, don't you? All that work sweating it out in the gym. I spend hours on my ass."

Fortunately, he laughs, bites his lip, and leans further in. "I think he was quite disappointed."

Shrugging, I carry on holding his hand with a smile. Is he going to tell me his name?

"Alex Blackman," he says like he's read my mind.

He's so close now . I stretch over the table and kiss him on the cheek.

"Oh! Okay," he mumbles as my lips connect with his skin and the slight rasp of his ruthlessly shaved jaw buzzes from my mouth to my crotch and down my legs, making my toes curl. Damn, I am getting laid tonight. When I pull back to grin at him, heat climbs in his cheeks. Better and better. I could invite him back to my place right now and jump the whole build-up bullshit.

Des. Patience. You have all night, and the banter will be fun.

Alex sinks back in his seat and takes a sip of his cocktail, and I like that, too. He went ahead and chose what he wanted and didn't wait for me to be fashionably late: a trick I learned from my ex-boyfriend George. I hope he wants me, too.

"What do you do?" he asks.

"I work for a tech startup. Software. Operations. You?"

"Finance."

"Trading?"

I've met a few traders before: They're often hyped up on coke. One memorable time a guy passed out on my bathroom floor with the stuff still up his nose, and I had to sort him out. He begged me not to take him to the ER. That's not the kind of night I want to repeat in a hurry.

When he shakes his head, I breathe a sigh of relief. "Research," he says.

"A data guy!"

As he twirls his stirrer in his glass, the server appears.

"I'll have an espresso martini," I say, gesturing at Alex's drink. "Do you want another one?"

He blinks at me and then at the menu. "I'll have the same as you."

"Two martinis coming right up," the server says, whisking the menus away.

"So … statistics?"

"Yeah, I guess. Algorithms, writing reports, finance, accountancy." Making a face, he pushes his glasses up his nose. "Desperately dull, if I'm being honest."

I laugh, shaking my head. "I don't believe that for a minute."

"You did read the description of my Sunday morning, didn't you?"

I wink at him. "Sure did, but I'm hoping that something even duller, like staying in bed all day, might be more your speed."

He purses his lips, then gives me a wolfish grin, and I think my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. I like this guy.

"I'm a nice Jewish boy. Lazing around in bed is frowned upon."

"And being gay isn't?" I deadpan.

He taps a long finger against his lips. "They don't know."

And ohhhhh, I am picking up slightly straitlaced vibes from him. Is that where this is coming from?

"Are you out—I mean to people other than your family?"

Soft curls tumble over his ear and he inclines his head as if he's thinking.

"Selectively," he says.

I wave my hand at him. "Define ‘selectively.'"

"Trusted friends."

I grin at him. "And I so wanted to meet your family."

This gets me a frown, and my stomach sinks. He's a bit reticent, and I get the uncomfortable vibe that he feels like I'm pushing him. But maybe I started that with the response I gave on Grindr? Am I playing this right? Relax, Des.

"When did you first realize you were gay?" I say. I love hearing people's stories. Everyone's got a tale to tell about how they nearly kissed their best friend or got an embarrassing hard-on in a locker room.

"Well, I'm not really sure I am gay."

And I blink at him. Like, what ? My mouth curls up. He's joking, surely?

"I like women, I've had sex with women. I'd probably class myself as bisexual," he adds.

Even the appearance of two cocktails can't stop my heart from sinking. It's not that I have a problem with this exactly, I've just got a poor history with bisexual men. And I don't like that word he used, probably . I'm gay from my fingertips to my toes, and I love men. And I always wonder with bi guys why they'd choose a gay relationship when they can have a straight one and not have to deal with all the prejudice?

"What do you like about women?" I say, even though my spirits are plummeting with this whole conversation.

He opens his mouth and closes it again and pink creeps into his cheeks. Does he really think he's bi or is he in denial?

"When did you last go out with a woman?"

He shrugs, and I duck my head trying to catch his eye, but he stares off to the side. "A few years ago. I took her home to meet my parents … we were together for a year."

"What sort of porn do you watch?"

" What? What kind of question is that?"

Shrugging, I take a sip of my cocktail. Surely, it would indicate his real preference. His long fingers cup the edge of his glass, cradling his drink. Hmm. I'm so clearly gay and out that I don't tend to have relationships with guys where that's not the case. But I have no objection to it, and I do understand. I like women, too. I love working for Jo. But I would never view her sexually. That'd be weird, but that's not to say …

He leans forward. "I want to say right off the bat that I'm not a casual hookup type of person."

Whaaatttt? Why is he on Grindr then? And my response didn't exactly scream relationship material. Goddammit, I've been judged and found wanting. And he's dodged the porn question. Maybe he doesn't watch it? Okay, might as well go for bust.

"If it doesn't sound rude, why are you on Grindr?"

He grins, eyes crinkling. "You were cute. I was browsing."

My stomach sinks. This is kind of na?ve. Grindr is not that place. My plans for this evening are evaporating faster than rain on a hot sidewalk. What a waste—a gorgeous guy like him should be getting laid every night.

"Meet a man, chat, see if we like each other, have a meal. You know, date," he continues.

I swallow. "Exclusively?"

His eyes narrow on me. "Do you do that?"

"Not really."

He shrugs. "Well, ideally it would be exclusive, but if the other guy isn't into that …"

Oh no. No, no, no. That never works. Expectations on one side and not the other. Yuk.

Leaning forward, he tilts his head at me. "I could bend the rules for once, branch out. I like anticipating where things might go, Des."

Hopefully, to a bed. A strained laugh seeps out. "Well, so do I, but I guess an evening's worth of anticipation is enough for me."

"I'm more a couple-of-months kind of guy," he says, pursing his lips. "Nice and slow."

Jesus. Now the idea that he responded to me at all is becoming laughable.

"Why did you agree to meet up with me then? My response doesn't exactly appear to be what you're looking for."

He doesn't seem offended by this at all and smiles at me. "I detected a desire to shock, but I didn't detect any reluctance to pursue a real relationship, just the opposite. You seemed honest and self-deprecating," he grins. "Interesting, too."

God, please can you do something about all na?ve men?