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By the time lunch rolls around, I’m excited to talk to Tyler again. We leave the courtroom side by side, our shoulders occasionally brushing against each other as we follow the rest of the jury to the cafeteria. Instead of following them into line, though, we head to the seating area and find a two-top in the corner.
I show him the roses Marney included in the bag, but don’t take them out. Tyler agrees with me that it might be a bit over the top for two fellow jurors sharing lunch.
When I pull out the box with the roast beef sandwich, Tyler’s eyes light up, but then he bites his lip when I tell him the other sandwich is ham and cheese, so I suggest we share half and half, with which he immediately agrees.
As much as I feel ridiculous about it, my heart definitely gives a little leap at the fact that we both like the same food. At least when it comes to the sandwiches. Tyler reacts in horror to the barbeque potato chips I love, but I’m grateful Marney played it safe with a bag of plain chips for him. He immediately grabs it out of my hands. I leave the table to get us drinks, and by the time I return, he’s devoured the entire bag.
“This is why I don’t keep potato chips in my house,” he says. “I can’t be trusted with them.”
“But you won’t touch barbeque chips, so it will be safe to have them in your house?” I ask, realizing only after I’ve said the words how they could be construed.
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Tyler says, then glances down at his sandwich, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink.
“Good to know,” I say softly and smile when Tyler looks back at me. There’s heat in those blue eyes now. Heat and enough innocence that I wonder how many men Tyler Grosford has been with in his twenty-four years. Not that it matters. I’ve only got three years on him, and my dance card has been empty for most of my life. I just feel so much more jaded than Tyler seems to be. As his foot touches mine beneath the table, and the butterflies take flight in my stomach again, I wonder if I’ve been meeting men in the wrong places. Though I would never, in a million years, have thought the San Francisco Hall of Justice was a viable dating venue, I can’t imagine I would have met Tyler in a club in the Castro. There’s something about him that tells me flashing lights, loud music, and bathroom hookups aren’t his thing. I also can’t imagine I’d have seen him on Grindr or Scruff.
I put my sandwich down—the butterflies are making it impossible to eat any more of it—and reach out for Tyler’s hand. He hesitates, but then turns his hand over so we’re palm to palm and interlaces our fingers.
“After the trial’s over—” I pause to clear my throat, then start again. “After the trial’s over, will you have dinner with me?”
Tyler’s smile is a glorious thing to behold. It’s broad and generous with a sensuous curve to the right corner that turns his expression slightly feral, especially when his eyes darken with desire. His hand pulses against mine, and his thumb caresses the meat of my palm. Whatever butterflies inhabit my stomach make a beeline for my cock which begins to thicken. I roll my hips, a slight undulation to dissipate the tension in my groin, but all it does is rub my cock against the fabric of my briefs and the rigid line of my zipper.
“Is that a yes?” I ask, the tension between us growing thicker by the second.
“It is,” Tyler says. His voice has deepened, and he clears his throat, then licks his lips before looking back at me with those incredible blue eyes.
We’re eye fucking each other so hard, it’s a wonder I don’t come on the spot. My skin’s on fire, and I feel every beat of my heart in my cock which presses more insistently within its confines. I grip his hand with mine, trying to convey my desire through the press of our palms and the way I practically ache from holding myself back when all I want to do is lean forward and kiss him.
I don’t know how long we stare at each other, or how long we would have continued if one of our fellow jurors hadn’t come over to remind us our lunch break is over.
“You go ahead,” I say, “I’ll clear the table.”
“I was going to offer the same thing,” Tyler says. “Give myself time to, um…”
“Yeah. Time to…” I roll my eyes, and we both laugh. The tension between us may have broken, but the heat still simmers under my skin and in Tyler’s eyes. My cock gives an angry lurch as I shift in my seat, and I let out a frustrated groan. “Okay, you go. I’ll stay.” I start to gather the trash from our meal and realize we were so distracted, we didn’t even get to the brownies. Handing Tyler his, I roll my eyes. “I don’t have any idea how I’m going to sit next to you for the next couple of hours.”
Laughing, Tyler takes the brownie from me. He unwraps it then takes a slow bite, deliberately drawing out the movement of his mouth and making a show of licking his lips.
“You are a troublemaker,” I say and continue cleaning up our table.
Tyler’s still laughing as he walks away, and I have to close my eyes for a moment to get myself under control. This is so unlike me that I’m completely caught off-guard, as if I’ve jumped into a pool expecting to feel the bottom but found I’m in the deep end. Instead of flailing or panicking, though, I’m enjoying the floating feeling and the bursts of energy that comes from not knowing which way is up.
After clearing the table and disposing of our trash, I unwrap my own brownie and eat it as I walk up the stairs to the third floor. Tyler smirks at me as I amble over to the benches in front of our courtroom, but I steer clear of him and lean against one of the pillars that line the center of the room. Even as I scroll through my phone, I’m aware of him watching me like his gaze connects him to me in a physical way. I sneak a look at him, shake my head and pretend to be absorbed in some ridiculous video when really I’m completely aware of every move he makes.
The bailiff opens the doors to the courtroom, and I file in with the other jurors and a couple of people who have been watching the trial. I keep my distance from Tyler as long as I can, but it’s futile since I still have to sit next to him.
As we’re getting settled back in our seats, he leans toward me ever so slightly, and says, “Don’t leave without giving me your phone number.”
I stare at him, but he keeps his focus turned away from me as if he’s waiting for the first glimpse of the judge for the day. I’d believe it if it weren’t for the sly smile curving his lips upward.
Tyler
Should I call? Text? Wait for him to make the first move? Guys. HELP!
My panicked message to my friends in our group chat gets an immediate response. Nick, of course, is the first to respond and suggests I send a dick pic. Dan, Min, and Sash vehemently disagree, but Avy’s the voice of reason and tells me I should call him.
You guys are already having great conversations, Avy writes. And it’s too easy to misconstrue tone in a text.
Min agrees. If you were trying to arrange a date, texting would be fine, but you want to talk to him, right? So talk.
