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But then a knock on the door. I peer through my peephole—
It’s Hunter. Masked and caped and luscious.
I open the door. “What are you doing here?”
“I sent you an email.”
“I know. I got it.” I smile.
“You did?” He widens his eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d get it until Monday, and…”
“And what?”
“I didn’t want to wait until Monday to apologize to you. I’m sorry, Frankie.”
I warm all over. “Thank you for that.”
“If you got my email, why didn’t you respond?”
“Is it such a bad thing to keep you guessing a little bit?”
“It’s not a bad thing,” he says in his deep voice. “But I feared you wouldn’t come, which is why I came here.”
“Right, because you know where I live.”
“Yes.”
I hold the door open. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you.” He enters.
My phone dings. “My Uber is here.”
“So you were going to go to the club.”
I gesture to my outfit. “Uh…yeah. Do you think I dress this way for my health?”
He smiles then, and I desperately want him to remove his mask. I already know who he is. But I can’t ask him to do it. I feel like he needs to do it of his own accord.
And I’m surprised when he does just that, removing it along with his cape and hanging them on my coat rack by the door.
“Should I cancel the ride?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “For now, anyway.”
I cancel the Uber and then turn to Hunter. “Can I get you anything? I’m afraid I don’t have the ingredients to make one of your famous martinis, but I have white wine. And some red.”
“Red would be nice,” he says.
“I’ll get it for you. I don’t have much to eat in the house. I usually do my shopping on Sunday afternoons, but I can probably scare something up.”
“No, I’m fine. I had dinner.”
I nod and head to my small kitchen, pull a bottle of Pinot Noir off my rack, and uncork it. I pour two glasses and bring them to the couch where he’s sitting. I hand one glass to him. “It’s Pinot Noir from Washington state. I hope you like it.”
“I usually like anything red, as long as it’s not sweet.”
I smile. “So do I.” I take a sip.
He does the same, and then he takes another.
“So why did you come here?” I ask.
“I wanted to see you.”
“I was planning to meet you at the bar, as you know.”
“I had no reason to believe you would, especially after my behavior today.”
I say nothing. What is there to say? He did behave badly.
“Would it be so bad to get to know each other?” I finally ask.
“No,” he says. “It’s just that…I haven’t had a relationship with a woman in over five years.”
I’m not overly surprised, considering he’s already told me he only plays at the club. “Why?”
“It seems easier to just keep things…professional, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. Having sex with someone isn’t professional.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. Not like I’m having sex for money or anything. I guess a more apt term would be impersonal.”
“But how can anything that intimate be impersonal?”
“It’s a transaction. Scenes at the club for me are a way to live out my needs and help another live out hers, with nothing else between us.”
“And your partners are always okay with that?”
“Yes. We lay out our expectations beforehand.”
“What about the people like me, who you meet at the bar and then take to the club?”
“Actually…”
“Don’t tell me I’m the first. You said—”
He covers my lips with his fingers. “I know what I said. You’re not the first person I met at the bar as Phantom. And you’re not the first person I took downstairs. But you’re the first person I’ve wanted to reveal myself to.”
“I see. What made you change your mind for me?”
“I don’t know, Frankie. I wish I did. Something about you…”
“You’re attracted to me.” I give him the words.
“I think that’s pretty obvious.”
“But I assume you’re attracted to the other people you play with.”
“Of course I am. Physically.”
“So it’s more than physical for you with me?” I warm inside.
“It is, and what I can’t understand is why.”
“Here’s a thought, Hunter.” I playfully elbow him in his ribs. “Maybe you like me.”
“I do like you. I like everyone I play with. But with you, it’s…”
“It’s more. You want to get to know me.”
“Yes.”
“And what exactly is wrong with that?”
“It’s not something I do.”
“All right.” I take a drink of my wine. “Let’s lay it on the line, Hunter. Who burned you in the past?”
He goes quiet, then.
Yep. I nailed it.
“You heard my story,” I say.
“Yes, left at the altar.”
“Not quite. We didn’t make it to the altar. I can at least thank him for saving me that humiliation.”
Hunter shakes his head and swallows another sip of wine. “That’s looking at the glass half full.”
