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She's clearly stunned at what we’ve just done in public. She sits back and watches me as I take a sip of my drink, while I watch her in return.
“Red, drink your wine. The night is young.”
21
* * *
I'm learning so much about myself. Apparently, being fondled in public turns me on. I also really like feeling free to be wanton while having a sexual experience. Sex with Kevin was . . . sex. We did it in bed. At night. He got on top of me. He came and then he got off.
We never made out, or flirted beyond this. At least not after our first year or so of dating. And even while we were in a place where we had sex more regularly, we always did it in bed with the lights off.
My experiences with Dean are completely foreign, yet it feels so natural.
We’re done eating dinner and sharing a tres leches dessert that feels as decadent and sinful as our entire evening.
I realize we never really got to date like this before. We were in high school, dates were movies and doing homework together. And even though we’ve already made love, and are in love, tonight feels special.
We’ve talked about everything from politics to religion. We had such different upbringings. He was raised in an agnostic household and called himself spiritual rather than religious. I was raised a devout Methodist. Yet, we had very similar views on issues of morality and ethics.
Dean talks a lot about his passion for seeking out and cultivating talent. Helping people find the right audience and making sure they don’t get taken advantage of. He joined the Creative Artists Agency straight out of business school and left after only two years to join Definitive Artists.
“So, Dean. What is your talent?” I ask him, letting him turn my hand over in his. His other hand comes up and starts to draw circles on my open palm.
He looks relaxed and happy.
“Seeing talent,” he says simply. “I'm good at knowing what other people are good at. I just need to spend some time with them in their natural habitat, and I can figure it out,” he says with such confidence and excitement. I'm so happy he's doing something he loves.
“When you’re not working, what do you do?”
“I work out, I read, and I listen to music. I learn the newest dance craze from Kidz Bop,” he deadpans.
I laugh out loud. I can’t help it.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I'm dead serious. It’s how I know what’s going to be hot next. The kids are always ahead of what adults are buying. One day, I’ll show you.”
And so, our conversation continues. We talk about Dean’s love for music, dance, and reading historical biographies. He’s reading Alexander Hamilton’s right now and tells me a great screenplay is floating around, looking for money to produce for Broadway.
I stifle a yawn and glance at my watch.
“Oh, my goodness, it’s almost ten thirty,” I exclaim as I glance around the restaurant for the first time in a while. The din is gone. The place is basically deserted, most of the tables have the chairs turned upside down on top of them.
I hadn’t noticed anything as Dean and I talked. I was totally absorbed in him and listening to him talk about college in California, business school in Chicago, and then life in New York. The only thing he hasn’t talked about is his mother. It’s not a subject I want to broach.
“Is it?” Dean says without looking away from me. “Time flies,” he says with a slow, sexy smile I feel in between my legs. I swallow hard and take a sip of my water.
“It does. But, I’ve got to get home. I have to be up early for soccer, and then I’ve got a ton of errands to run.”
I’m trying to sound casual. I wonder whether or not a man like Dean, one who seems to live in a world full of glamour, late nights and even later mornings, really wants to get involved with someone like me. I live by schedules and my son’s schedule always comes first.
“I understand, tonight was nice. It feels like we are getting to date. I like it. What are you doing Sunday?”
I scan my internal calendar quickly. Kevin’s picking up Anthony tomorrow afternoon and he's supposed to spend the night and come back Sunday morning.
“I could see you tomorrow night if you’re free,” I say trying to not to sound as unsure as I feel. I’ve never asked a man out; I’ve never been so forward. But this is Dean, he’s already mine in so many ways.
“Yes, I am. I can pick you up. Say around six?” he asks.
