Damian

by Jessica Wood

  “I meant, what perfume do you wear? You always smell amazing.”

  I blushed and felt flattered by his comment. “Um, I don’t wear any,” I admitted.

  “Unbelievable,” he said as his jaw tightened.

  “What?” Can he be upset by that?

  “Nothing. It’s just… You have no idea the things I’d like to do with you,” he teased as he gave me a suggestive smirk.

  I giggled. “Well, behave yourself. I never agreed to be one of those girls you sleep with. You’re taking me out on this date—nothing more, nothing less,” I said firmly.

  He laughed. “I make no promises,” he said with a deep husky voice. “If the mood strikes you, just let me know. I’ll have you against a dark corner, no matter where we are, in a hot second if you were okay with it.”

  “And look at you. Such a gentlemen.”

  “Okay, don’t tease me like that,” he warned playfully. “I don’t think I—or my other half for that matter”—he gestured down to his crotch—“can take it much longer.”

  “Well, you’re just too easy,” I teased back. I loved how comfortable and natural I felt around him.

  “Okay, come on. I have a cab waiting for us downstairs. Let’s get going now before I stop being a gentleman and punish you for teasing me for this long and just take you now against your front doorframe.”

  There was something in the hoarseness of his voice that seemed to flip on a switch inside me, igniting a raw desire that I hadn’t known existed. A part of me wanted him to follow through on his threats to punished me. A part of me wanted him to grab me and take me hard against the doorframe.

  I blinked and shook myself back into reality. “Yeah, sure. I’m ready.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we had been dropped off in front of Swan’s Oyster Depo on Polk Street. It was a small, brightly lit shop with a blue awning with a swan logo. From the outside, it looked like an unassuming old-fashioned fish market that sold fresh local seafood. Visible at the window display in the front of the shop were trays full of various raw and cooked seafood selections, and half of the items I didn’t recognize.

  Damian looked over at me and laughed as he saw the uncertain expression on my face. “They serve some of the freshest clam chowder and lobster meat.”

  “Oh. So it’s not just a market?”

  He chuckled. “No. Come on. Do you really think I’d offer to take you out and take you to a raw fish market?”

  I struggled but smiled at him. “Well, with you, I can never be too sure,” I teased. “Also, it looks so tiny,” I noted. The shop took up no more than ten feet of the street.

  “Big enough,” he laughed. “Now come on. Let’s go in. I see some people getting up to leave inside.” He motioned to the small front door.

  As we squeezed into the front door to replace the two customers who had just paid and walked out the door, I smiled. The place was filled with excited chatter and packed with people. He was right. The place was much bigger than it looked from the outside. It was a long, narrow space that went back at least five times the length of the front of the shop.

  There were five waiters bustling around, each of them dressed in fishmonger attire with long white aprons over t-shirt and jeans. As my eyes darted around the shop, one of the waiters nodded at us and directed us to the only two empty stools that lined the long marble counter. We sat down and I looked around in awe from the large swordfish hanging against the wall to the numerous posters of different fish to the various signed football jerseys that hung on the walls. My nose registered the fresh smell of the sea that permeated the place, and I inhaled deeply and welcomed a rich savory aroma of what I could only guess to be the clam chowder Damian had mentioned.

  “What do you think?” Damian asked as he studied my reaction.

  I smiled up at him. “This place is amazing! This is so different from what I expected.”

  He looked at me expectantly. “And what exactly did you expect?” he asked with a smirk.

  I laughed. “Well, to be honest, something more…trendy? Or maybe something more like a dark, seedy bar?”

  “Ouch. I’m starting to understand what type of person you think I am.” Something in his voice made me wonder if there was a hint of seriousness in his comment.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I…” I looked at him. “You’re just so flirtatious and cocky. I think I just thought you’d pick something that fits that personality more.”

  Then his expression became more serious. “You know what, Alexis?”

  He left the question hanging and I immediately regretted my comments.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you that way. I …” My voice trailed off when I saw a gleam in his eyes that betrayed his serious look.

  “You know what, Alexis?” he repeated, waiting for me to respond to him.

  Okay, I’ll bite. “What?”

  “I’m more than just a pretty face,” he said as he burst into a fit a laughter.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “And this is why I judge you.”

  Just then, one of the waiters came by to take our order.

  “Oh, I haven’t even looked at the menu,” I admitted as I looked at the simple menu that was posted in front of us on the wall.

  “Do you like beer?” Damian asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Perfect. I like a girl who drinks beer.” He then looked at the waiter. “Two Achor Steam Boats please,” he said as he pointed at the beer on tap.

  He leaned toward me and I caught a whiff of his cologne. “It’s an SF beer and has been around since the late 1800s. I think you’ll like it.”

  “Oh, cool. Thanks.” I then looked up at the wall to study the menu.

  “What can I getcha?” our waiter asked as he placed our beers in front of us.

  I wasn’t sure what to get. I’d never had any of these things before—unless you considered Campbell’s Clam Chowder soup.

  Damian seemed to sense my apprehension. “Why don’t we order a mixed batch of the dozen oysters?”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “I had no idea there were different kinds of oysters.”

  He laughed and ordered a whole crab for himself and a dozen oysters for us to share. I ordered a bowl of clam chowder and shrimp salad—two items I was familiar with.

  As I nursed my beer, I smiled as I watched him take his first gulp of from his beer and casually comb his hand through his chestnut brown hair that fell back in its perfectly tousled position.

  “So why did you take me here?” I asked as we watched our waiter shuck and prepare our dozen of assorted oysters a few feet away.

  “Well, this is one of my favorite places in SF,” he explained.

  And I’m sure this has nothing to do with the fact that oysters are a aphrodisiac, I thought sarcastically to myself.

  “And also you said that you were trying to be more adventurous and do some exploring. I thought you’d like this place. It’s one of the best fresh seafood places in the city, and I love the vibe.”

  I beamed at him and realized that I’d misjudged him again. He picked this place because of me.

  “That’s sweet of you,” I said. “Even if you don’t think you’re a sweet guy,” I added as I saw him about to protest.

  He chuckled. “Plus, oysters are good for you. And they’re an aphrodisiac,” he said with a wink.

  And there it is. “Why am I not surprised?” my voice laced with sarcasm.

  He laughed. “Actually, you know what? I can honestly say that that thought actually hadn’t crossed my mind when I picked this place. But it’s definitely a plus.”

  Then the raw oysters arrived in a round metal tray on top of a bed of crushed ice.

  I looked at them apprehensively. “I’m not sure about this.”

  “Oh come on. Oysters are just really good. And if you enjoyed sushi, you should definitely try this. I bet you’ve never had fresh oysters before.”

  I laughed. “You got me there. Don’t laugh,
but I didn’t even know they looked like that until now.”

  “Oh, Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore,” he teased me. “Welcome to the city, country bumpkin.”

  “Hey, be nice!” I warned. I kept my voice serious, but when I saw the concerned look on his face—wondering if he had fucked up—I couldn’t contain my laugher. “Jeez, I’m just teasing! I know that I’ve been very sheltered and there are a lot of things I don’t know about the world. That’s why I decided to move here.”

  “Alex, you really know how to push my buttons!” He playfully nudged my shoulder.

  I blushed and my heart skipped a beat when I heard him call me “Alex” instead of “Alexis.” My parents were the only two people who had called me “Alex,” and after they had passed away, I would cringe whenever someone called me “Alex.” But now, hearing it out of his mouth, it felt different than I’d expected. It felt natural. It felt nice.

  “So what do we have here?” I motioned to the platter of oysters, trying to change the subject.

  “I believe these four are the Kumamoto oysters, these are the Blue Point oysters, and these four are the Miyagi oysters.”

  “Oh. And they taste different?”

  “Yup. There are a number of different varieties from different parts of the world. They’re all really good. Here, let me show you how to eat it,” he said as he grabbed one of the Miyagi oysters. “So here’s some vinegar sauce. You can use this or one of the other sauces they have. There are a number of ways to eat it. It’s usually some sort of vinegar mix, hot sauce, or horseradish, and then you squeeze some lemon juice on top. Then you use the small fork to loosen the oyster from its shell. Then you tip the oyster shell and let everything fall into your mouth.”

  I watched as he prepared his oyster and then tipped his head back as he slurped the oyster out of it shell. There was something seductive about the way he ate the oyster, and I felt a rush of excited energy flow through me.

  “Here, you try.” He pushed the tray of oysters closer toward me.

  He walked me through the steps as I prepared my oyster. I then paused as I lifted it to my mouth and looked at it uncertainly.

  “Go on, Alex,” he encouraged.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and poured the oyster into my mouth.

  It took me a few seconds to register the flavors. But when I did, I realized that it wasn’t at all what I had expected. I thought it would have been slimy and fishy in my mouth, but it wasn’t. It was fresh and tasted like a burst of the fresh ocean. The lemon and hot sauce I’d used seemed to bring it all home.

  “Do you like it?” He looked at me hopefully.

  “If this is your way of seducing me”—I paused and looked at him with a grin—“it’s working. That was delicious.”

  He laughed. “Finally! Something’s working!”

  I giggled. He really seems to like me. I felt my heart work overtime as it pounded violently in my chest at this thought.

  Then I caught his eyes focused on something on my face and I began to feel self-conscious.

  Crap. Did I leave some crazy eye shadow on my face on accident? Maybe I put on the mascara on wrong. Is it smeared on my eyes?

  Then I watched as his hand reached up towards my face. A shiver ran down my body when I felt his rough hand touch my cheek as he gently pushed a few strands of hair from my eye and tucked them behind my ear.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for the last half hour,” he whispered gently. His voice was warm and comforting, and I felt my body respond to it as it began to relax.

  “Thanks,” I whispered as I felt myself melt into his eyes. “So, tell me something about yourself,” I said, wanting to know more about this man I was starting to fall for.

  He paused for a brief moment before responding. “Not much to say. What you see is what you get.”

  For some reason, I couldn’t quite believe that. “So do you have any siblings?”

  “Nope,” he responded shortly.

  “That explains a lot,” I teased.

  He snorted but didn’t say anything.

  “What about your parents? Do they live around the bay area too?”

  “Oh, the food is here,” he said abruptly as he gestured at the waiter coming toward us.

  For the first few minutes after the waiter walked away, we ate in near silence. I wasn’t sure why he was so quiet, and I felt a strange tension fill the stillness between us.

  “So I want to know more about you, Alex,” he said, finally breaking the electric silence. His expression was warm and genuine.

  “Like what?” I asked. For someone as cocky as he is, he doesn’t seem to talk too much about himself.

  “So why did you decide to leave the great state of Iowa?”

  I giggled. “I was just tired of life in Iowa. There was nothing really keeping me there.”

  “So you won’t miss the country lifestyle?”

  “I didn’t live in the country. I lived in a city. You know, you really don’t know anything about Iowa,” I teased.

  “Sure I do,” he said with a bold, blind confidence only he could possess.

  I rolled my eyes. “At least you haven’t confused it with Ohio or Idaho,” I said sarcastically as I tried some of my shrimp salad.

  He chuckled and then stopped. “I don’t get it.”

  I laughed at him. “Then why did you laugh in the first place?”

  “Beats me. I was just expecting something funny from you,” he said with a laugh. “You just make me laugh a lot.” His tone changed, and he looked at me and smiled.

  “I’m a comedian,” I teased, trying to resist his natural charm. “Anyway, it seems like everyone I’ve recently met has been confusing Iowa with Ohio or Idaho. They’ll ask me something about Ohio or Idaho when I have previously mentioned that I moved here from Iowa.”

  “Oh really?” He thought about it and then laughed. “I guess I can see that.”

  “They’re three completely different states in three different time zones!”

  He shrugged. “Well, I do know something about Iowa.”

  “And what is that?” I was unconvinced that he knew a thing.

  “You guys have this huge state fair each summer.” He smiled triumphantly when he saw the surprised expression on my face.

  “Lots of states in the Midwest have state fairs. That was a lucky guess.” I just couldn’t imagine how someone as cocky and self-absorbed as Damian would actually know such a thing.

  “But does every state fair have a huge butter sculpture display each year?” he challenged.

  “Actually, many do,” I retorted and laughed when I saw the defeated expression on his face.

  “I can never win with you, can I?”

  “Who said anything about winning? I didn’t know this was a competition.” I laughed and placed my hand on his hard, muscular shoulder. “I’m just kidding. So how do you know about the Iowa State Fair?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, to be honest,” he began between chuckles, “when Shawn Johnson was at the summer Olympics several years ago for gymnastics, I remember that she was from Iowa and they made a life-size butter sculpture of her at the state fair.”

  “Oh. Wow, great memory. So you follow gymnastics?” Something about Damian watching gymnastics didn’t seem to make sense to me.

  “I used to watch the Olympics pretty religiously when it was that time of the year. I watched it with my parents. They watched it together a lot when I was growing up. ”

  His answer stunned me. It was the first personal thing he had told me about him, and it was also not the type of answer I’d ever imagine a guy like him would say.

  He must have seen the surprised expression on my face, because he added, “Well, I mean, yeah, I used to, when I had free time. I don’t anymore.

  “So are you close with your parents?” I asked.

  There was a long pause w
hile I watched him redirecting his attention on the half-eaten crab dish in front of him. “Nah. I’m not.” His voice was sterile and flat as he ate his meal.

  Then to my surprise, he laughed.

  “What?” I knew there was something more to this story.

  “Come to think of it, I wasn’t that into Olympics actually. I’m not sure why I said that. The only reason I remembered the butter sculpture thing was because I had a thing for Shawn Johnson.”

  “But she was like sixteen then!” I said incredulously. What is he not telling me? I had a nagging feeling that he was trying to divert the conversation away from his parents.

  He shook his head in agreement and laughed. “I know. But hey, I thought she was a cutie, and she was flexible. What can I say?”

  I slapped him playfully on his shoulders and rolled my eyes.

  “Typical.”

  “Well, I can’t resist a pretty face.” His voice was soft and different, and when our eyes met, I knew he was talking about me.

  My cheeks grew hot in response to his words, and I kicked myself for being so easily affected by him.

  “You’re such a flirt.”

  “True story.”

  I studied him and wondered if there was something more to this man than the way he made me feel.

  “What are you thinking?” He looked at me quizzically.

  “You really want to know?”

  He looked intrigued. “Hell yeah. Tell me. I can take it your feistiness.”

  “Well… I think you’re more than all that you let on.”

  “Oookay?” He dragged the word out slowly, and the expression on his face revealed that my comment was the last thing he had expected.

  “I just mean that you always seem to default back to this cocky guy who’s all about flirting with hot girls and thinking about sex. But I think that’s just an exterior you, like a front you put up so people don’t see the real you.” The words had just come out and I hadn’t planned on being so forward with him—not on the first date.

  “Fair enough.” He had a pained expression on his face, but it quickly disappeared and was replaced with a blank look. There was a long pause and I watched him take a swig of his beer.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that. Sometimes I’m too blunt for my own good.” I looked at him apologetically.