I nod my head, trying to recall if I’ve ever seen any of his plays. I vaguely know of his name but that’s about it.
“And what about your own plays? Have you had any of them on stage yet?”
He looks down at his glass of wine, swirling it and then sighs.
“As for the plays I’ve written, well, it’s tough to find a producer who is willing to bet on an unknown playwright. But I do have one that I’m shopping around right now.”
I study his profile as he looks out over the cityscape and unconsciously sifts his wine as he speaks. I’ve never met an actor or a writer, unless you count Marilyn Deminsky, the drama arts teacher at the school. And boy – talk about drama queens. I steer clear of her whenever possible.
Now I’m curious. “Which do you prefer? Acting or writing?”
Theo tilts his head and purses his lips, drawing my attention to them. He has really nice lips. Full, even though the bottom one is slightly larger than the top, but they are well proportioned. Unchapped. Kissable. Suckable.
Geesh. I need to stop with these thoughts. That’s no-mans territory. Or rather, no-woman’s land. There’s no prize at the bottom of the box where Theo is concerned. I let out a stifled chuckle and he looks at me inquisitively.
“Sorry, ignore me. Please continue,” I say, waving him on as I pour more wine into my glass. I’m feeling tipsy and mellow, which can be dangerous combination because I may start acting on my unspoken feelings. And a drunk horny girl around a man not interested in women isn’t a great combo.
He holds his nearly empty glass out for more, as well, and speaks as I refill.
He replies to my earlier question. “Neither, actually. I mean, I love them both equally, but I’ve taught playwrighting and acting technique classes in the past and found I really enjoy teaching. I guess it’s true what they say. If you can’t do, teach.”
And then he catches his guffaw and the look on his face is priceless. Like a boy whose hand is caught in the cookie jar.
“Oh fuck. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. Shit, I have no filter when I’ve been drinking – I’m a light weight. Don’t get me wrong – I am totally enamored with the teaching profession and am in awe of what you do. Noble profession.”
He keeps going and it’s kind of cute how he trips over his tongue and stumbles over his words with embarrassment. I decide to let him off the hook just because I know he didn’t mean anything negative by what he said.
I reach out and place my hand on his forearm, the soft wisps of hair tickling the pads of my fingers. I immediately reprimand myself for the gesture because it wreaks havoc on my wiring. The touch is electric. If I were a Christmas tree, I’d be lit up like Chevy Chase’s inChristmas Vacation.
My reflexes aren’t fast enough, however, because his unoccupied hand lands on top of mine, the heat of his fingers zinging up my arm. And straight to my head. And elsewhere.
Of course, why wouldn’t I be attracted to a gay man? I’ve had the biggest dry spell in all of history and I evidently have no working gaydar on me. I was one of the millions of teenage girls in the early two-thousands who fell for Ricky Martin before he came out to the world and was devastated to learn he was homosexual. Not that I see anything wrong with that in any way shape or form. I’m glad he’s free to live his life as he should.
It once again, however, reminded me that I have horrible skills in observation. So these electric zings I’m feeling from Theo’s touch aren’t really there. It’s just my drunken self overthinking things.
“Really, Theo. You don’t have to explain. I don’t really like being a teacher all that much, either. I’ve seen a lot of stupid, ignorant people getting paid to teach the next generation.”
I think of some of the teaching staff I’ve worked with and roll my eyes.
His clasp tightens noticeably on my arm and draws my attention to where our bodies intersect. If Theo were any other guy, I’d be in his lap right now going to town. I’d be grinding my itty-bitty parts against his…oh, wait.
Hold the phone.
My gaze stealthily moves from our conjoined arms to his crotch. Because I know what my parts look like, and I’ve scoped out his ass a few times – which is perfectly shaped and hard - but I haven’t had the opportunity to identify the potential of his wing-ding. His ding-dong. Hot dog. Wiener schnitzel. Sausage.
Just as I’m about to zoom in on the package in question, Theo crosses his legs and contorts his body so that he’s turned toward me, effectively concealing any possible image or shot of his firehose.
Dammit. Foiled.
His face is inches from mine now as he moves in. His hazel eyes half-lidded, an inviting smile across his mouth. And oh how close those lips are to mine. If I just moved in just a hair, pretended to lose my balance, I’d practically fall into his face.
Or maybe my face could land in his lap and I can get an eyeful of his manhood. Now there’s an idea!
But the seriousness of his tone has me gazing into his intense hazel irises. “But you’re not a shitty teacher, Joey. You obviously have a huge heart and care deeply for your students, otherwise you wouldn’t hurt so bad over this situation.”
And before I know it, he leans forward a fraction of an inch more. I don’t dare breathe. I close my eyes, parting my lips, ready to let his plunder my mouth. Take what he wants.
But his lips land on my…forehead.
Yep, that’s right folks.
That’s how I roll.
The perfect ending to a perfectly shitty day.
