“Hello, Mr. Sakasai,” I said with a broad smile. “I didn’t think to ask last night what sort of sandwiches you like, so I brought a bunch of choices.”
“You’re very thoughtful.” He set a wrapped loaf of bread down on the counter.
Miles was wearing some old jeans with paint stains and another T-shirt that fit him like a glove. I peered closer at his colorful arms—tattoos of a goldfish, a pirate ship on the sea, and Japanese woodblock art of some cats and a woman in a kimono. It was a very eclectic bunch of art, but all extremely well done. So he must have gotten paid pretty well elsewhere in town.
Miles glanced sideways at me, then smiled. “My father doesn’t approve.”
“Of your tattoos?”
“He’s a very old-school man.”
“What’s that mean?”
“When he was growing up in Japan, tattoos still had a stigma. Something the public associated with criminals or gangsters,” Miles explained.
“I think they’re gorgeous.”
“Thank you.”
“Did they hurt?” I asked.
Miles shook his head. “No. Well—the one on my inner thigh was a bit uncomfortable.”
My mind took that image and ran with it like a bat out of hell. What in the world was tattooed there? How long did the artist have their head in Miles’s crotch?
I’d like to be in his crotch….
“You okay?”
My cheeks were hot and my pants felt a bit too tight. “Tease.” I walked out of the kitchenette.
I heard Miles laugh to himself as he followed me out. “Christopher,” he said, catching my elbow at the stairs. “May I ask you a question?”
I looked up, cocking my head to the side. “Of course.”
“I was thinking, last night… would you… be interested in dinner? With me.Of course. At my house,” he said, stumbling a bit. God, he was so cute, and nervous and hopefully as excited as I felt.
“I’m surprised,” I said.
“That I like men?”
“No. Yes—no, I suspected you might have. I just thought I’d be the one who’d end up askingyouout in the next few days.” I laughed a little and absently tugged on my sweater. “You didn’t strike me as the ‘ask a guy out’ sort.”
Miles shifted a bit. “I don’t. Not that much.”
“I’d really like to have dinner with you,” I said.
His mouth quirked into a small smile. “Tonight?”
“Sure. How did you know about me, though?”
“Easy.” He moved by and started down the staircase. “You were checking me out yesterday.”
“I was not,” I protested.
“You were.”
“I was just looking at your tattoos!”
