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Dmitri laughed. “It was weird, but yeah. She was nicer than I expected. And um. I feel like you and I are maybe friends.”
It sounded almost like a question, and his heart was caught up in his throat when Raphael met his gaze. “Of course we are friends.”
“So. There’s four at least.”
Shaking his head with a grin, Raphael lifted his hand, then curled his fingers toward his palm like he wanted to touch but he was too afraid. For a second, Dmitri’s heart thudded because maybe…
“Would you like to do me a favor?”
Dmitri nodded. “Yes. Anything.”
“Help me pick something out to wear tonight? I have a first date, and Luca is out of town. According to him, my style is tragic.”
Dmitri felt something crack inside him, though it didn’t split apart, because he’d been telling himself all this time that Raphael was not for him. He was older, better looking, kinder, easier to love. And being worthy of his time and friendship—that was enough.
“Yeah, for sure.”
Raphael smiled at him again, settling back into the sofa. “I’ll text you photos, yes? And you can help me make a good impression.”
“I’ll do my very best,” Dmitri said, and although he hated it, he meant it.
5
Raphael tooka breath before he approached the restaurant doors. He hated when his set-ups were down the hill, only because half the time they chose some random, out of the way little bistro, and he had no idea how quick of a get-away he could make if it went bad. And it always went bad.
He should have said no, then spent the evening getting fucked into the floor by Diego, but this set-up had come from Rose, and Jayden said her taste was impeccable. Of course, Raphael had not yet met a single person who had gotten him a date that carried on to a second. Since things with Cody had dissolved into nothing, Raphael had spent the first part of his single years grabbing drunk blowjobs in bathroom stalls at the clubs he could barely navigate on his crutches. The latter half had been mostly occupied by Diego, but even that was few and far between, and only when the itch became impossible to ignore.
The building had three long steps to get to the front, the door heavy wood, the rest of the restaurant vine-covered brick. He was grateful that he didn’t see rooftop seating, but the place was dark and the passages narrow. He bashed his shoulder on the door trying to get through with his crutches, and the loud noise drew the attention of the guests waiting for their tables. Their stares were judgmental and curious, which quickly turned to pity, and he wanted to turn tail and run because he wasn’t in the mood.
He was shaken from his moment with Dmitri in the salon. A little burst of want had spread in unexpected ways—different from the quiet comfort he’d offered the night they watched the stars. Raphael had pushed Dmitri into a little box of untouchable, but something had snapped.
Maybe it was the way he brought the Twinkies as a thank you, or the way he curled up on the sofa and looked so vulnerable. Or maybe it was the easy way he talked to Raphael—like he was a person and not some parody of an inspiration poster hanging on the side of the road reading,If I can do it, what’s your excuse?
It was barely a flame, flickering in his gut, but he knew he had to crush it out before it grew. Dmitri would be easy to love. He would be easy to trip and fall for—and never get back up—and Raphael knew what happened when he let himself go down that road.
He was left with notes on nightstands or the guilty apology because his body was just too much. Dmitri seemed stronger than Chiara or Cody, but Raphael had lost faith far too long ago to let himself leap.
He took a breath, then smiled at the hostess as he leaned forward. “I’m supposed to be meeting a friend. Her name is Ann.”
The hostess frowned, then scanned her list. “Oh um,” she said, her voice just a shade too loud and a pace too slow that he knew wasn’t natural for her, “I can take you right to her.”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes, and he followed the woman into the dining room. The tables were also painfully close together, and it took him twice as long to maneuver between guests before he was taken to the spot near the window where Ann was waiting.
Jayden had passed along Rose’s basic description of her friend. Tall, strawberry blonde hair cut short, blue eyes, wearing jeans and a white top. And she was just that, but not someone he would have picked out in a crowd.
Ann’s eyes settled first on his crutches, then drifted down to his legs, before finally meeting his gaze. Her body stuttered like she was trying to decide if she should get up, so he put her out of her misery and he took the seat, setting his crutches against the window.
“Sorry I was late,” he told her. “There was only street parking, and it takes me a while to make the walk on my crutches.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Um. Rose said you’re wheelchair bound?”
He winced. “It’s…” He bit the inside of his cheek. “That’s not a very kind term. I use a wheelchair sometimes. And sometimes my crutches.”
She sat back and drummed her fingers on the table once. “A friend of mine is wheelchair—I mean. That’s…he has one, and he likes that phrase. Politically correct, I guess?”
“It isn’t,” Raphael said. He cleared his throat and shrugged. “I would never presume to tell another disabled person how to refer to themselves though.” He picked up his menu and deliberately didn’t look at her. “Have you ordered?”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d need help with your menu,” she said.
