by Quell T Fox
The restaurant is hidden between two much taller buildings. It’s dark red brick, with a wooden door and only one window. A small red sign hangs by the door with the name written in golden cursive. La Bussola. Whatever that means. This is either a hole in the wall that no one knows about, or it’s so well known that it doesn’t need to be flashy to get business. Either way, I am looking forward to spending the evening with Callan. Alone. We could have gone for burgers and I’d be happy just the same. But this… this is going to be an experience.
He opens the door for me (such a gentleman) and we take a step down onto a deep red carpet that leads to a podium. Behind it stands a short man dressed in a black tux. His face is clean shaven and his hair slicked back with gel.
“Good Evening, Sir and Madame.” His heavy Italian accent surprises me. I don’t know why since this is an Italian restaurant…
“Good Evening. Reservations for Grant.”
Grant? Callan Grant.
Professor Grant.
Why does his name make my insides tingle? There is something really wrong with me, I’m sure of it.
“Grant. Ah, yes. Here it is. Table for two. Seguimi.” Callan places his hand on the small of my back and presses me to follow the host. Small round tables covered in white table clothes sit throughout the large room, each has a candle and a single flower in the center. There is soft instrumental music playing that gets louder the deeper in we go. We are seated towards the back, not too far from the stage and the live band. Yes, the live band. A bit further back there are larger tables reserved for groups. The room is dim, the atmosphere welcoming, the music divine.
Fancy as fuck. I feel so out of place. I’m thankful that Callan bought me this dress, no way I would have anything to wear to a place like this – or the money to afford it. Yeah, I still have about a grand stashed in my purse, but I have a feeling that tonight, I’m worth much more than that. We stop at the table and Callan pulls the shawl from my shoulders and hands it to the host. “Your waiter will be over momentarily. Have a lovely evening.” He disappears with my shawl. I’m not sure where he takes it, but I know I’ll get it back. Callan pulls out my chair for me – ever the gentleman.
I sit and place the napkin on my lap, because I think that’s what you’re supposed to do. If I would have known we were coming to a place like this, I would have gotten some direction on how to act snobby – I mean proper. Though, I should have known with it being Callan. This is so him. He looks at home here. Confident even. Something he lacks most of the time. He’s smart, witty and stupidly hot, how can he not be confident? It blows my mind. He looks stunning in his suit, his hair perfect and his eye shining brighter than normal. They’re an interesting shade of green right now, it reminds me of the bright green of algae. I know that isn’t sexy, but that’s the first thing that comes to mind. And believe it or not, he makes algae look sexy.
“I have no idea what I’m doing.” I whisper to him across the table, bending over and allowing him a good glance at my boobs. I haven’t used these girls to my advantage in a while. Maybe that isn’t nice to do to Callan, but oh well. I’m feeling frisky tonight. How can I not? Besides, he picked out this dress. But his eyes don’t wander. Not even a twitch.
He laughs at my comment, actually laughs. His eyes get a little crinkly in the corners and he looks even more adorable and I don’t know how that’s possible, but it is
“Just relax. Be yourself. It’s just dinner… and dancing.” The last part comes out very quietly. This sneaky bugger. He winks and I can’t help but smile.
“Dancing?” My eyebrows go up. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I can dance… when I’m drunk. We all can. That’s what alcohol does to you – makes everyone a five-star dancer. I look towards the stage and realize that there is a large area in front of it that has wooden flooring, instead of the carpet that is throughout the rest of the place. A dance floor. “I’m going to need some wine.”
The words leave my mouth the exact time the waiter stops at our table. He looks extra stuffy in his penguin suit, or whatever those outfits are called. He stands at the table, his hands placed behind his back. He also speaks with a think Italian accent. This man, however, is taller and has a handlebar mustache. He looks to be around the same age as us.
I love Italian food, by the way. Did I mention that?
“Good evening. My name is Luca and I will be your waiter on this lovely evening. May I start you off with a cocktail? Perhaps some wine?”
“Wine would be wonderful. We’ll take a bottle of your most popular.”
“Very good, Sir.” He bows and backs away and I give Callan a help-me look.
“Can I tell you a little trick? One that usually helps me.”
“Please do.”
“Fake it, til’ you make it.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? I already knew that.” I whisper loudly.
“It seems as if you may know but don’t know how to do.” I think about that for a few seconds, and he’s kind of right. Fuck, why is he right all the time?
“So tell me how.”
“The key is to keep things general. People are intimidated by too many options. It’s simple, really. He could have named off a hand full of wines. I wouldn’t have known what any of them were, and it doesn’t matter. So the answer?”
“Send the most popular.”
“Exactly.”
“But what if the bottle is like, four hundred dollars?”
“Money isn’t an issue. Besides, I doubt their most expensive would be the most popular. And if it were, then so be it. There is no price tag on this night.”
The waiter returns with our bottle of wine and two glasses. He pours us each a glass and then places the bottle into the little ice bucket thing.
“For dinner, perhaps you would like to try our special? Tonight, we have a lobster special. Lobster Ravioli drizzled with a butter limoncello cream sauce, served with a bowl of our delicious lobster bisque.” Callan eyes me.
“What do you think, Sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
The look that he gives me stops my breath and makes it hard to swallow all at once. He looks at me with a deep adoration. Throw in the S word and I’m literally melting right now. Will he look at me like that every day? Is that an option? Because sign me up. ASAP. Will all of them look at me like that? I guess they would in their own way. They’ve shown me that already, haven’t they?
Four guys. Four very different guys. Four very different ways of showing their affection. Four different wants. Four different needs. This is all so appealing and intimidating at the same time. Too many choices, as Callan mentioned. But is four too many? Or is it just right? It feels right. I don’t know if I’m up for the job. I know I said I wanted to stay, that I’d already decided on that. Which I have. I like being around these guys, they make me feel good. They make me feel alive. But the relationship thing is what’s making me wary. The more I think about being in a relationship with four grown men, the more terrifying the idea gets.
How can I split myself between four men? How can I be enough for FOUR MEN?
I wasn’t even enough for one. For anyone. Dipshit wasn’t the first to cheat on me. Come to think of it, most of my boyfriends cheated one me, but none of them mattered as much as the last loser. And that’s only because I was with him the longest. We were in the ‘serious’ stage. So how, how can I fulfill four men’s wants and need’s when I’ve never been able to do it for only one.
“Friday?” Callan’s smooth voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Oh! Sorry, yes. I mean no. No seafood for me, thank you.”
“Perhaps the chicken parmigiana, then?”
“Yes, that sounds great.” He nods his head and backs out one more time.
“Not a fan of seafood?” Callan asks, sweetly. I pick up the glass of wine and down half the glass. It’s freakin’ delicious. “Not while I’m drinking.” I hold up the glass, giving it a little shake. He gives me an u
nderstanding look over his glass as he takes a sip.
CHAPTER 15
Friday
“So, tell me about you Callan Grant.” I say as I finish my drink in another gulp. I reach for the bottle, but he beats me to it, pouring me another glass he starts to speak.
“My name is Callan Grant. I am a math professor at La Veidad of Columbia, a private school back home. I’m 29 and live alone. I don’t have any pets, my favorite color is blue.” He finishes pouring the wine and replaces the bottle into the ice to keep it chilled. “Oh, and I’m a Virgo. That may be important, if you believe in that kind of thing.”
“You don’t?”
“I believe in facts.” He’s never rude about his opinions. Just… matter of fact. I sit across the table from Callan, swearing that I am staring at someone I’ve never met before. Seeing him here, it’s so different than how he is everywhere else. Why is that? Is it because we are along, or is it where we are? Both?
I know nothing about these guys, yet I have the need to be with them, near them.
“What about growing up? You’re different than the other guys.”
“We’re all different, Friday. We grew up in different homes, yet we share a bond. We lived in the same neighborhood our whole lives. Until we started falling apart, that is. I’ve known them as long as I can remember, we went to all of the same schools– “
“How did you grow up?” He knows what I’m asking for and he’s avoiding it. But If I’m going to be with these guys, I need to know more. I need to know that they can trust me as much as I want to trust them. Even though Maddox still kind of scares the shit out of me. “I gather it wasn’t good for any of you, that much I can tell. I know I have the ‘dumb blonde’ look going for me, but I’m not all that dumb. And even if you don’t want to open up completely, just tell me something. I get it. I didn’t grow up perfect and I don’t like talking about it, but I want to get to know all of you. And right now, I want to get to know you.” I can tell that I’ve made him uncomfortable. Not what I was trying to do, but he needs a little push. I want him to open up to me. They all need to. It won’t work otherwise. Not that I have experience with multiple boyfriends, but I assume the basics of a relationship stay true no matter how many people are willingly involved.
Callan clears his throat before continuing, his eyes dark and focused. “You don’t look dumb at all, Friday. You’re gorgeous. I hope you know that.” I shift at his words. I do know that but hearing it from him… it’s different. He takes another sip of his wine. “I was the only one of the guys that had both parents around. I had a father and none of them did. I think they resented me at times for it. My parents were never around, though. We had everything – you name it, we had it. The guys loved coming over, playing the newest video games on our giant TV, swimming in our huge pool during the summer, having the maid wait on us hand and foot. It was great, for them. For them it was a vacation away from their own demons. But for me, that was my hell.” The soft music playing in the background adds drama to his story. “Lenny grew up without parents that didn’t care about him, I grew up with parents that didn’t care about me. I still don’t know which is worse.”
That hits me right in the heart, causing my chest to tighten. All I can do is take another sip of wine. What he feels is awful. I know from personal experience. Growing up with a mother that chose drugs and men over me every change she got. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side, that much is true. I want to comment, to thank him for opening up but I don’t know how to say that. And luckily… saved by the food.
Our waiter stops at the table and places our food down in front of us. It looks and smells delicious.
“Enjoy.”
The food is amazing, the best Italian I’ve ever had. We eat in silence and quickly. Callan orders another bottle of wine since we’ve finished this one. I say we but mostly it was me. When we (again, me) are halfway through the second bottle I am most definitely feeling it. A few couples are already up on the dance floor when Callan stands and offers me his hand. “Dance with me?” His eyes sparkle as he looks down at me, making me feel like a Princess. I know he really wants this. I take his hand and I let him lead me to the dancefloor.
“I have to let you know that I don’t do this whole dancing thing very well.”
“You weren’t so bad at the club.”
“I was drunk. I’m not nearly drunk enough now, nor is this the right kind of music.” He smiles a genuinely happy smile and alcohol does him good.
“Just follow my lead.” Easier said than done.
He places my left hand on his upper arm by his shoulder and I’d be lying if I said I wished he didn’t have so many layers on. He takes my other hand in his, holding it up and his other hand goes to my waist. The gesture is innocent, but my body reacts anyway. He starts moving, pushing and pulling me with him. I try, wow I try so hard, but I lost count of the amount of times that I’ve stepped on his feet or tripped over my own. But I’m having fun, and that’s all the I care about. We both laugh and laugh. Everything around us disappears. The people. The room. The music. Everything goes. It’s just us.
When the music slows down, he pulls me close to him. So close that I feel his heart beating against his firm chest. I rest my head on his shoulder since these heels give me a height boost. I nuzzle my face to his neck and take in his scent. He smells like soap, fresh out of the shower. He has a naturistic, woodsy scent. He smells like the world and it’s intoxicating.
Or maybe that’s the alcohol.
“Where did you learn to dance like this?” My eyes are closed, and still it’s just him and I. Moving together as one.
“Lessons. One of the best and worst things of my childhood was all of the lessons I was forced to take. As a child I hated them, but now? I’ve learned to appreciate all that I know.”
“Tell me about your powers.” There is a long pause before he starts to answer.
“You asked if we were dangerous. Well, we are. Especially me. My powers are the hardest to control. Pushing ideas onto someone can happen as accidentally as dropping your phone… or stepping on someone’s foot.” He lets out a sigh. “I work hard to keep my thoughts in check. I fear that I will unknowingly change someone without their consent. I know too many things, things that I don’t know that I know. It’s interesting but can be a burden at times.”
“You say that all like it’s a bad thing. Your powers could very well be used in a positive way, as easily as it could be negative.”
“Positive and negative outcomes are relevant to the person involved.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I rest my head back down and enjoy everything that is Callan Grant.
His hand stays on my lower back as the other continues to hold mine. His fingers brush along my lower back, sending me into another world.
Everything is easy with Lenny, and it’s even easy in a way with Maddox. But this? This is special, right here. This is something so different, something I have never experienced before. I pull back to look at him. He smiles but I don’t return the act. Too many serious thoughts go through my head, like how lucky I am to be here with him in this moment and that he planned all of this for me. All of this, for me. Knowing that he will be sharing me with three others, and he still takes the time to make something special. His face turns more serious, and hunger flashes in his eyes. I bite my lip, wanting what he wants but I can’t bring myself to do it. I won’t. I won’t mess this up again. So, I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
We look at each other for a very, very long moment. I’m not sure when the music picked up, but it did and we’re still pressed closely together, slow dancing in our own little world. This next song comes to an end and a few people clap quietly. I finally pull my eyes from his and clear my throat.
“Uh… ladies’ room?” He startles and takes a step away from me, removing his hands from me and dropping them to his sides.
“It’s
right on the other side of the stage over there. Would you like me to escort you?” I smile, because that’s sweet and also kind of awkward.
“I’ll be fine. Be right back.” I turn and head towards the bathroom, I look over my shoulder and watch as he heads back to the table, his walk is graceful. It’s no wonder with how good of a dancer he is.
CHAPTER 16
Callan
I walk back to the table with my head bowed in shame. I blew the moment, again. I know that was my moment. She practically said it. I saw it in her eyes, in her movements. I know she wanted me to kiss her and I ruined it. I should have had more wine, or maybe less food. I run my hand down my face, completely disappointed. I told myself that I wasn’t going to be like this. Not tonight.
Fake it til’ you make it.
If only I could follow my own advice. I’m caught in my self-pity when a tall man, dressed in all black catches my eye. I turn my head towards him, and an awful sense of dread fills my body. Something isn’t right. He’s walking from behind the stage, where Friday was. A smug grin resting on his face. There is no men’s room over there. The men’s room is on this side of the stage. A faint ticking sounds as a vision of numbers counting down pops into my head. I’m confused because I’ve never had a vision before and I don’t know what it means. The ticking gets louder as the numbers grow brighter. It’s as if I can see them in front of my eyes, like a projection.
Oh no.
I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life. I push myself from the table so hard that I knock it over. But I don’t care. I dash around the stage towards the woman’s bathroom, pushing dancers out of the way, screaming for Friday. The women’s room door shuts just as I get to it, but it’s quickly reopened to a very confused Friday. I grab her arm and pull her to me. The ticking in my head still sounds, louder than it was before.
