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“What’s that?” I prompt him.
He finishes chewing, swallows, then asks, “You remember that night when we spotted each other across the street outside of that bondage club you suggested I go to? What were you doing there?” He slurps on his soda, eyeing me over the glass.
I freeze with my burger gripped, halfway to my mouth. I lower it to my plate as I stare at Tye, who is still slurping on his soda.
I always prided myself in being honest. Moral. Upfront. I can’t lie to him. And besides, I’ve got a feeling he knows exactly why I was down there.
“Looking for you,” I answer bluntly.
His pretty eyes flash. “Me?”
“Yep.” I go for a bite of my burger.
Tye’s eyebrows pull together in thought as he considers his soda, stirring it with the straw. “So … how did you know I’d—?”
“I told you about Fetish Friday at Club Spades. So I knew you’d probably be out on Friday. And I guess I …” I shrug, chewing, then lift my eyes to his. “I guess I realized I’d made a mistake.”
“About what?”
I give him a look. “I know you aren’t about to make my ass spell it out.” After his continued blank stare, I sigh. “Turning you down that first night.”
“Oh.” A subtle look of satisfaction turns smug on his face as he lifts his chin. “Well, I’m not gonna say ‘told you so’ …”
“You just did.”
“… but I’m glad you came looking for me. If you hadn’t …” He gazes at the window as a couple of men holding hands walk by outside. It seems to soften his expression. “I don’t think I’d have had the courage to book a session with you last week.”
I squint. “What do you mean?”
“When I saw you downtown, looking at me from across the street, I …” He huffs suddenly and drops his arms onto the table. “That night was a fucking mess. I’d gotten hit on by so many gross guys who looked at me like I was just some new horny twink to fuck. A piece of meat.”
“Well, I saw how you were dressed that night,” I point out with a dark chuckle. “You sure weren’t some kinda demure waif in that sleeveless black thing and tight pants you had on.”
Tye scowls at me. “What I wear or don’t wear shouldn’t determine whether or not someone else respects my damned space. Anyone should be able to wear what they want, express themselves how they want, and other men should be decent enough to respect their boundaries, respect their space as a human being, and not just assume my ass is up for grabs—literally.”
I sit back in my chair, remembering myself. “Yeah,” I say and realize. “Sorry. You’re right. I … didn’t mean to blame you for their actions, or—”
“It’s okay,” he suddenly says, then puts on a very quick (and very tight) smile. “I was triggered. My bad. I’m just tired of … having to …” He isn’t sure how to say it.
It suddenly hits me, what he’s trying to say. “Deal with the blessing and the curse of being so fucking beautiful?”
Tye meets my eyes, surprised.
I shrug. “I get it. People take advantage of you. People have preconceived notions of who you are, just because you’re attractive. They think the best of you. Or they think the fuckin’ worst. It’s difficult to find someone who sees the human being first.” I fold my arms on the table in front of me, nearly mirroring his own pose. “Even for as many times as I’ve bitched about it myself—you wouldn’t believe the fucked-up things people think about who I am before they even exchange two words with me—I was guilty of it myself the first moment I saw you.”
“You were?”
“Wasn’t it obvious? Damn.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “I thought I had you all figured out that evening you came into my apartment with your big blank eyes and nervous demeanor.”
“I wasn’t that nervous.”
“Maybe I’m just as guilty of judging too soon.” I pick up my burger, then can’t even take a bite as I start laughing derisively at myself. “I feel like I was your age just yesterday. Damn, when the hell did I become so jaded and old …??”
Tye takes my hand suddenly, even as I still grip my burger.
My eyes snap to his.
“You’re not old,” he says to me. “And I don’t think you’re jaded, either. I think you’re hopeful. I think you’re cautious. I think you have the most … the most beautiful set of eyes I’ve ever seen.”
I arch a dubious eyebrow at him.
“They’re so … exotic,” he then says.
My eyebrows close in at the use of that word.
“I mean, seriously. And your skin is so …” He cracks a smile—still holding my hand—and lets his eyes dance down my arms, up my neck, up to my face. “It’s so rich and smooth. Can I ask if you—?”
