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His question set me aback. I guess it was something a first date should ask, just not the ones I’d been on.
“I also go to school,” I eventually added. “Gage Academy of Art.”
Axel made a face indicating he was impressed before leaning back with his beer. “Ah, so you’re an artist!”
“Sure.”
“Sure?”
“I guess I’m as much an artist as anyone is, until they’re actually paid to be one.”
It was all so silly, really. Axel knew me better than ninety-nine percent of my closed little world. He’d been to the coffee shop a hundred times, and he’d seen just about everything I’d ever drawn, sketched, sculpted or painted. Even the crazy foam art designs I’d always create when he ordered a latte.
And yet here he was sitting across from me, still asking questions, trying to gauge how easily I might open up to a total stranger. The only problem was a simple one: Axel was as far from a stranger as anyone could get.
“I grew up here in Seattle,” I continued needlessly. “My parents lived out in Somerset. Eventually they sold the house and moved down to California, but I’m still renting there.”
“That’s gotta be lonely,” he said.
“You know it is.”
Axel nodded consolingly, then squeezed my hands with a strong but gentle grasp. The only thing between us on the little cafe table was a flickering electronic candle and the smeared remnants of the chocolate lava cake we’d so savagely divided between us.
“Aren’t you supposed to talk about yourself on this date?” I finally asked.
So far there really hadn’t been much talking. We’d gone out for drinks, shot some 8-ball at an old billiards hall, and ended up here. There’s been laughing, hand-holding, even flirting — as much as you can flirt with your best friend, anyway. And while the casual flirting had mostly been initiated by Axel, he’d eventually coaxed me into flirting back. We’d shared all the light touches and subtle caresses of a successful first date, or at least I thought so.
But then something else had happened.
Axel had been behind me, showing me how to properly line up a difficult shot as his strapping body easily molded itself over mine. His hands took over my hands. Our heads were side by side, his face right alongside my own.
At that point all I could smell was his sweet, musky scent. I could feel the stubble of his warm cheek pressed against mine as we focused on breathing and steadying the cue stick.
And it was right there, with his hard body spooning against me, that I’d felt… well…
I’d felt him.
For a few long seconds all I could focus on was the thick, warm knot pressed into the small of my back. Axel wasn’t exactly hard, but he wasn’t soft either. He was somewhere in the middle. Someplace dangerous, between platonic friendship and full-blown arousal.
And he felt absolutely enormous.
I was too afraid to move, too shy to speak. Part of me wanted to laugh it off, maybe even make a casual joke about it. But another, more sinister part of me — a deeper, greedier part — wanted it to go on forever.
In the end we’d made the shot together, and the game had gone on like nothing had happened. I risked a few quick glances to the crotch of Axel’s jeans, which were more than tight enough to show I’d felt exactly what I thought I did.
Had that really happened though?
I chalked it up to a physiological anomaly more than a romantic or sexual one. After all, we were dealing with a red-blooded American male body pressed tightly against a warm, female ass. What the hell did I think would happen?
“So you really wanna know about me?” Axel mused, interrupting my thoughts.
I shrugged off the billiard hall memory. It wasn’t easy.
“Sure.”
“Well, I just so happened to grow up in Somerset also.”
“Wow,” I chuckled. “Small world.”
