I had feelings for Finn. That wasn't news. I’d probably had a crush on the guy for many more years than I’d like to admit. But since I started sleeping with him, the naked and sweaty kind, and the unconscious kind, those feelings, that crush, evolved. Proliferated into something different, something real and deep. Something that meant more than… I’d once mused about proposing to him when I was at a peak of loneliness. But that night?
It was a strange and difficult feeling to grasp. It had been so long, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever felt that way. I loved my most serious ex, but still chose my career over him when I was given an ultimatum. I don’t think I would do the same with Finn.Coulddo the same. I’d choose him. Over and over.
That scared the living shit out of me. I knew it was problematic. I knew we’d have to have a big-boy talk about his ability to have romantic feelings for a man, his intention to come out, and how it would affect our relationships with my brother, plus all the other issues. But I’d risk it. I would. If he wanted it too, I’d burn the world down for him, or build him a whole new one.
I found him before he saw me. His cheeks were flushed, and his brow furrowed. There was a lost-boy quality I found endearing, but also an urge to wipe it away. And I did, once his eyes landed on me. His face broke with the most unpretentious and unbidden joy. So did mine, for what it’s worth.
To make it worse, or better, he looked amazing. Also in slacks, just tight enough around the butt, nice shoes, and a button-down just snug enough around the pecs, with rolled cuffs. Maybe a little casual for the artsy, fancy vibe of L’Interdit, but way nicer than anything anyone had ever worn to Applebee’s.
Heat bloomed on my cheeks as he approached. Maybe it was the French aura of the place, but instead of a handshake, a bro hug, or any other greeting, I went in to give him a cheek-to-cheek kiss. He didn’t understand, fumbled, and our lips met in a quick peck. Finn’s eyes blew wide and his face burned, but his smile never faded.
“How’d I beat you here?” I asked.
“Had to get gas,” he said, as we approached the maître d’. “I also changed. Twice.”
The dining room was expansive, but broken into segments with dividers made of bubble-ridden, misshapen, colored glass. All the lighting hanging from the ceiling and on the walls was made of the same glass, littering the space with fragments of soft blues, greens, and yellows. Our table was small, smaller still with two big guys sitting there, and off to the side. There were people around, but it felt like we had the room to ourselves. Or maybe it was the company. Everything was perfect in a way I couldn't put into words. But my smile could. His too.
“You look…” Finn scanned me from head to toe, even though I was sitting. “So fucking good, bro. Holy fuck.”
I chuckled. “Thanks. You too.”
“I should’ve worn a suit jacket, too. It looks so friggin’ good on you.”
I chuckled again. “Eh, we look better like this, instead of a matched set.”
“True. And adding another layer to rip off later will just slow things down.”
“That’s an excellent point.” A smirk too dirty for the atmosphere curled my lips. “I want nothing slowing me down, looking the way you do.”
He gave my smirk back to me. “Shame it’ll be a crumpled mess on the floor by your front door.”
Finn was so confident and forward. It reminded me of the night after the club in Miami. I’d only seen glimpses of that Finn since then.
The waiter approached and gave his spiel about the place in a heavy French accent I wasn’t convinced was real. We ordered drinks, both opting for a martini. Gin for me and vodka for him.
Once he was gone, I said, “So what made you choose this place?”
Finn went red, but it faded as he spoke. “Dunno. Heard it was fancy, but cool fancy, and had good food.” He grinned again. “And since you’re a fancy doctor, I thought you’d like it.”
The smile started in my chest, but I kept it off my face for a moment. “I told you, I could lose my fancy medical license if anyone heard you say that.”
“I think we’re good. Unless…” Finn looked around. “Oh, shit… Is that old guy a fancy doctor, too?”
Neither of us could hold it, and we laughed loud enough for the fancy doctor’s wife to glance over her shoulder.
“In my defense, I’m not a fancy doctor. I’m a resident who rides my bike to the hospital, thank you very much.”
“You’re fancier than me. I don’t even own a suit jacket.”
“It’s a blazer.”
“See!” He laughed again, and so did I. “That reminds me, why haven't we gone for a ride yet?”
I considered responding with a joke about him riding my cock, but went a different way. His comfort and ease only made my feelings for him stronger.
With a smile, not a smirk, I said, “You know, I don’t know. We should. It would be fun.”
“Yeah. And I can pay you back for the jet ski,” he said with a grin, not a smile.
