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As soon as we walk into the pub, people turn to look at Victor. A couple guys recognize him and congratulate him on his recent stats as we walk towards an open table. Women eye him like a tall, cold drink on a hot day. Instead of feeling like I don’t belong with him, I enjoy it. With my hair and makeup done, I’m a more confident version of myself. I let the excited sensation tingle down my spine, not giving the voice of doubt a chance to ruin it.
Victor helps me remove my coat and puts his palm on the small of my back, looking down at me.
“This place good with you?”
My lips part and I exhale soft and slow, his touch sending a warm sensation throughout my entire body. I nod, still holding his gaze, and he seems to read my mind, pressing his palm a little harder against my back before releasing me and pulling my chair out.
I never knew tension could feel so amazing. There’s something unspoken happening between us right now that’s making me squeeze my legs together beneath the table. How can I get this turned on from just a look?
“Hey guys, what can I get you?” our busty server asks us.
“Alcohol,” I blurt.
She laughs and asks, “Anything specific?”
“A Miller Lite would be great.”
“I’ll have the same,” Victor says.
As she walks away, he says, “I love that you like beer.”
“It’s a rite of passage in my neighborhood. We pretty much have it in our sippy cups.”
“Your dad and his friends are great. I’m glad I got to meet them.”
“Really, though?” I arch my brows in surprise.
“Really. I’m just a down-home boy myself. I grew up in a neighborhood a lot like yours.”
“Did you ever get into any trouble?”
He grins mischievously. “I might’ve.”
The waitress sets down our bottles and I take a drink from mine. “That’s all I get? No details?”
“Ah…” Victor runs a hand through his hair, smiling. “I don’t want you to think less of me.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve got to give me something.”
He takes a long pull on his bottle and says, “Okay. I was a bit of a hustler. Some buddies and I ran a kissing school when we were, I don’t know, twelve maybe? It was out of my friend’s basement while his parents were at work during the summer. We’d charge guys to kiss girls and give the girls a cut of what we made.”
I laugh at the mental image. “What a little entrepreneur you were.”
Victor shakes his head. “We told the girls they had to audition by kissing us for free. That was way better than the money.”
“I bet you never had trouble finding girls to kiss. You had to be cute back then, with those blue eyes and that blond hair.”
He shrugs. “I did okay. What about you? You’re cute as hell. You had to have guys interested in you.”
“You’re giving me too much credit.” I think back on my adolescence. “My dad was pretty protective, especially since he was working and I was home by myself for summers and always after school. He kinda had me convinced boys were only out for one thing and I should punch anyone who tried to get frisky.”
He gives me an amused grin. “I can see that. Did you ever do it?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Your dad was right, by the way. Pubescent boys have a one-track mind.”
We order burgers and fries and talk more about our childhoods. I notice that Victor says nothing about his mom. It’s almost like he doesn’t even want to acknowledge her existence, and given what he’s told me about her, I understand why.
I tell him about losing my mom, and he tells me about growing up without a father. Over dinner, we get back to our usual easy banter, the tension defused. After that, he drives us about half an hour to an ice skating rink on the outskirts of the city.
“I haven’t ice-skated since I was a kid.” I tell him.
“I’ve got you.” He winks and we get out of the car.
He leads me around to a side door, where he uses a key to get inside. The rink is small and a little rundown, but we have it all to ourselves.
The scents of leather and popcorn fill the air. I can feel the laughter here, even though it’s dark and abandoned.
Victor finds the lights and we walk behind the counter to get skates.
“The guy who owns this place is a big Blaze fan,” he explains. “I come here for open skate on Sundays to skate with the kids when I can.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop trying to impress me, I’m not falling for it.”
His laugh is hearty, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m not bullshitting.”
“So on Saturdays, do you rescue puppies from burning buildings?”
“Every other Saturday; how’d you know?”
