“Is getting me drunk part of the relaxation plan?”
He shakes his head. “There’s no alcohol in there. I took a guess that you’re a splash of cream with no sugar coffee drinker?”
My stomach twists with butterflies at his scarily accurate assumption, and all I can offer him in response is a slight nod.
“Making sure you have enough caffeine in your system to stay awake and enjoy me in my pursuit of relaxationismy plan. There’s no way I’d be able to show you how well I can relax if you’re not awake.”
“Fair. But maybe somnophilia is my kink, ever think of that?”
“I have no clue what that means. And I’m definitely not one to kink shame, but you can’t blame me for wanting to stare at those blue eyes of yours when I make you come at least once.”
Challenge accepted.
I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been sitting here. All I know is that his plan to have me caffeinated and ready for him to relax —hopefully inside of me— has worked. I’m feeling energized and eager to move on to the next part of our evening.
Conversation with him feels so easy. We’ve established that aside from both being Puerto Rican, him being full and me being half, mixed with Italian, and sharing some of the same comfort foods —a tie between guava pastellilos and ramen from across the street from the Met— we don’t have much in common.
Where I gravitate toward horror movies, he’s an action and comedy person. Our collective music taste begins and ends atour shared love for Bad Bunny. He prefers instrumental music or Hozier, meanwhile EDM and anything 2000s rock is my go-to. The jolt it gives to my system in the morning is arguably needed more than an orgasm and a hot cup of coffee to start my day outright. A fact that I embarrassingly told him, as I have a habit of oversharing. Though he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he appears to enjoy learning more about me. He listens so intently, it’s like he’s adding to a Rolodex of information in his mind.
It’s amazing how almost everything down to the sports teams we root for, the way we choose to relax— him going to the gym to work out; me doing anything but working out— literally everything about us couldn’t be more opposite, yet somehow, I’ve never felt so connected to or had this much fun getting to know someone. Granted, sharing our interests and preferences is surface level at best, but considering the dry spell I’ve had lately in the dating department, this is more than I’ve done with anyone, at any level, in a long time.
He admitted that he’s a workaholic but wants to someday settle down and find balance in life. He didn’t get into it much, but he did mention how much he admired his parents’ marriage and it’s something he hopes he can have with someone one day.
While I, on the other hand, am all for marriage, so long as I’m not involved in it. My parents may still be married, but I never saw anything in their dynamic that would make me want it for myself. What they have in years together they lack in true love for one another. I wish my mom would wake up from the daze she’s been in with all the money my dad throws her way and realize he’s not a good man and an even worse husband and father.
When I told him that I have no interest in marriage or having kids, rather vehemently, he left it at that. He didn’t pry or try touse his reasoning to change my mind. Even if he likely disagreed or didn’t fully understand my reasoning. He simply listened.
“Are you still interested in treating me?” I ask.
A spark ignites in his dark brown stare as he reaches for his wallet. “I’m a man of my word, and as long as I have your permission, I’ll treat you to whatever you want.”
The flutters that have taken up residence in my stomach all evening have made their way down between my legs. My hand lifts, and before I know it, his five-o’clock shadow is scratching my palm as I cup his handsomevery rideableface. “You have to stop talking like such a gentleman, it’s going to convert me.”
“Into?”
“Believing that not all men suck.”
“As a man, I can agree that a lot of us suck. However, as a man who was raised to respect women and treat them like the goddesses put on earth that they are, I’m okay with giving you a glimpse of hope, even if it’s just for the night.”
I tilt his chin upward, forcing him to peer up at me. “Can’t wait to be proven wrong,” I whisper, and even with the bar being as packed as it is, there’s no missing the whimper that slips past his lips.
“I take that as a yes?”
He nods his head. The gesture feels like an aphrodisiac at this point, since it’s been so long, if ever, that I’ve had a man as fine as he is be so eager to please me. He feels like putty in my hands, just waiting for me to give him the go-ahead. It makes me feel powerful. In control. Two things that despite my feisty persona, I don’t always feel on the inside.
“Good, I’ll be right back. I’m going to use the restroom.”
I let go of his chin and he uses it as an opportunity to quickly snatch my purse off the back of the high-back stool.
“Wha– ”
“Do you need anything from in here?”
I quirk a brow. “Umm… no.”
“I promise I’m not a creep.”
The look on his face is so sincere, I know he’s not lying. Still, I can’t help but joke with him a bit. “Spoken like every creep out there.”
