by L. A. Witt
Then his phone buzzed—a response.
Hi. Kinda new to this. Lol
Joel laughed. Thank God for that. He wasn’t the only one.
Me too.
They made some small talk, but the guy didn’t waste much time: Cutting right to the chase—not looking for anything serious.
Joel swallowed. They were definitely thinking along the same lines.
Nothing serious here either. He hesitated, then decided he had nothing to lose except a couple scraps of dignity, and added, Just want to get laid.
He held his breath as he waited for the reply. Being that brazen was not his style. Then again, neither was pining after someone to the point of not being able to concentrate on anything else.
Almost immediately, the response came: Lol we’re on the same page. Busy tonight?
Joel was ten times as nervous now, but kind of excited too. Hooking up with this guy was a step up from sitting at home, wishing he was with Andre, and it would keep him from working himself into the night like he was prone to doing.
So he texted back, Not busy at all. Drinks?
Joel left Cinnamon with his neighbor for the night, as he often did when he’d be out late. She didn’t mind being left alone, but he preferred her to have some company. She was super best buddies with the neighbor’s cat anyway, so she probably wouldn’t even miss him tonight. Man’s best friend indeed.
With Cinnamon and that cat happily thundering around the apartment next door, Joel grabbed a shower, shaved, scrutinized himself in the mirror a bit longer than he probably needed to, and got dressed. He hadn’t been out on a date—a real one or a “let’s just make sure nobody has bad breath before we grab a room” one—in a long time, and it was weird.
Well, here goes . . .
Joel drove to the place they’d agreed on. The guy—Greg—obviously had questionable taste in men, but he seemed to know his way around restaurants. The place he’d picked was well rated all over the internet, and had a decent menu. It was downtown and, Joel noted as he hunted for a parking space, near a number of inexpensive-looking hotels. Was that by design? Was every restaurant in town near a hotel and he just hadn’t noticed? Well, whatever the case, he was meeting Greg within a five-minute walk of plenty of beds.
Joel’s shoulders sank. Hooking up with someone had been his mission all day, but now that things were in motion, the thought of getting into bed with someone new exhausted him. Putting on an attractive front, wooing the man into a bedroom and out of his clothes—all of that was tiring enough. Then he’d have to figure out a whole new set of turn-ons and boundaries while gently guiding the other person through his own.
Normally, that kind of exploration sounded fun and exciting. Tonight . . . ugh.
Because the only person I want to be exploring is—
Greg. I want to explore Greg. Because he’s single and he doesn’t seem to be a Dom.
He found a parking space two blocks away from the restaurant. There, he paused for a minute to psych himself up. He could do this. All he had to do was realize he could have chemistry with another man, and the spell of Andre lust would be broken. It was just like when he’d split up with Kevin a few years ago and convinced himself he’d never find hot chemistry and mind-blowing sex again. Then he’d met Rob, at which point, well, he’d decided he’d been right.
But then he’d met Andre.
And tonight, Andre is . . .
It doesn’t matter. He’s not here tonight. I am. Greg will be. And I’m going to spend the night in bed with him, and tomorrow, I’ll feel a hell of a lot better about everything.
Hopefully.
He walked to the restaurant and waited outside. As always, he was early, and he took advantage of his few minutes alone to give himself another silent pep talk. He took some deep breaths and told himself he was worrying about nothing. If he and Greg didn’t have any chemistry, then no big deal—all they had to do was politely end their date and go their separate ways. Though at this point, as long as Greg was at least moderately attractive with no catastrophic hygiene issues, Joel was game to see where the night went.
And hey, if there was no chemistry with Greg, the night was still young and there were plenty of available horny men on the app.
“Joel?” The unfamiliar voice made him jump.
Here we go.
He put on a smile and turned around.
Greg absolutely looked like his photo. He had a little more scruff on his jaw and his red hair was slightly longer, but still within the bounds of truth in advertising. Why he’d felt the need to warn others and body-shame himself in his profile, Joel couldn’t fathom—he was gorgeous, especially in person.
“Hi.” Joel extended his hand. “Yeah, I’m Joel.”
Greg smiled, giving him a conspicuous down-up as they shook hands. “I know. I recognized you as soon as I saw you.” Another down-up, followed by a wink that gave Joel goose bumps.
Really, dude? Me?
Damn, things were off to a good start, so Joel decided the evening looked promising.
The hostess seated them, and they ordered their drinks. Joel was seriously tempted to get some alcohol just to settle his nerves, but that at least needed to wait until he’d eaten something. He hadn’t done a lot of that all day because . . . nerves. Not to mention the irrational conviction that he might break his pattern of clean eating and instantaneously gain back all the weight he’d worked so hard to lose, and just in time for his date with Greg.
Besides, a drink is nothing but empty calories, so . . .
“Just water for me, thanks.” He smiled nervously. “Have to drive and—” And literally nobody cares except you. “Just water.”
Greg quickly skimmed over the list and ordered a local microbrew. Which, weirdly, gave Joel a little pang of sadness as he thought about the music festival and the beer garden and Andre. Always back to Andre. All roads led to Rome and all trains of thought led to Andre.
After the waiter had brought their drinks, Joel went through the menu three or four more times than he needed to. He’d long since decided what he wanted. Looking at the menu, however, gave him an excuse to put off conversation.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get to know Greg. Quite the contrary. But it had been ages since he’d been on a first date, and it hadn’t been nearly that long since he’d said something stupid while trying to make a good first impression. His odds of making this weird, uncomfortable, or very, very short were definitely not in his favor.
The waiter came and took their orders, so now Joel didn’t have the menu to serve as a distraction.
Time for conversation. God help us all.
Greg smiled. “So, what do you do?”
Say dumb things and turn perfectly good dates into awkward ordeals.
“I’m . . .” Joel cleared his throat. “I’m a business consultant.”
Greg straightened a little. “You’re the guy who goes through and culls the herd, then?”
“Uh. Well.” Joel shrugged. “Kind of, yeah. Mostly I’m there to cut expenses, but I can’t stop people from interpreting that as laying people off.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway. What about you?”
“I’m bartending on the weekends, but still looking for someone who’ll actually pay what an MBA is worth.”
Good luck with that. Joel grimaced. “It’s a tough market these days.”
“Mm-hmm. Especially with companies making . . . cutbacks.” The hint of venom in the last word was so faint, Joel couldn’t decide if he’d imagined it.
He tried not to squirm. “The high-tech companies are seeing a pretty good jump in job openings.”
“Jump in applicants too,” Greg muttered.
Joel took a drink. He had no idea how to respond to that. He’d come here for some pre-sex introductions, and now they were subtly sparring over work. This wasn’t what he’d psyched himself up for.
Greg sighed and gave what sounded like a self-deprecating laugh. “You know what? I’m sorry. I’m being an
ass. I . . . had two job interviews today, and I’m not feeling very optimistic about either of them, but I told myself I wouldn’t let that fuck up this evening. So . . . I apologize.”
Joel barely knew what to do with that. This was the second time in recent memory that a man had apologized to him for making things weird. How bizarre. “It’s . . . uh . . .”
“Let’s start over.” Greg smiled, all the hostility gone from his face. “I saw in your profile pic, you had a . . . French bulldog?”
Joel couldn’t help smiling too. “Yeah. She’s great. Her name’s Cinnamon.”
“My aunt has one. They’re nice dogs. Does she have the breathing problems other smooshed-nose dogs have?”
“Not really. She snores like a goddamn freight train, but the vet says she’s fine.”
“Doesn’t every dog?” He chuckled. “I’ve got a black Lab, and I swear he keeps the neighbors up.”
Joel laughed. “I don’t doubt that at all.”
“Just the one dog?”
“For now. My ex was allergic to cats, and the place I’m in is too small for more than one pet, but I plan to get one or two when I move out of my apartment.”
Greg wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. Not a cat fan.”
“Really?”
“Nah. I like dogs. Cats are just . . . I mean, they’re kind of dicks.”
Joel laughed again. “Can’t argue with that.”
And why the hell were they talking about cats and dogs? Much as he loved any opportunity to gush about Cinnamon, he hadn’t met up with Greg to compare notes about pets.
He shifted in his chair. “So, um.” He cleared his throat. “You’re new to the app too?”
Greg’s face colored. “Yeah. Late to the twenty-first century, apparently. I should’ve gotten on it ages ago.”
“Me too. Except, I mean, I was spoken for up until recently.”
“Not me. Just not very good at meeting people.”
“I know the feeling.”
“But hey. We made it this far.” Greg winked and gave him a broad, wicked grin that reminded Joel of—
Oh God. Andre.
He shoved Andre’s grin, name, and existence from his mind. “Yeah, we have. Well, um . . .” He was tempted to ask What now? Except he knew the answer. They’d eat—they’d decided to grab a light dinner instead of just drinks—and then they’d go find one of those nearby hotels and get on with it.
His heart sank. He’d spent the whole afternoon and into the evening psyching himself up for this, and he’d mentally worn himself out. If the thought of getting into bed with a man—with Greg—had exhausted him earlier, it fucking drained him now.
Just get past this part and into bed. Then it’ll be fun.
He fought the urge to tap his fingers on the table. What exactly was the next step here? Negotiate rules? Feel each other out for any kinks or fetishes that hadn’t come up while they’d messaged? Go to the mechanic and make sure everything was working? No, wait, that was part of buying a car, not arranging sex.
God, I am so bad at this.
And so . . . not . . . into it.
Andre flashed through his mind. His smile. His laugh. The way he squeezed his eyes shut when he came.
Goose bumps sprang up all over Joel’s body, and that wasn’t a good sign when he was sitting at a table with a man he was supposed to want to have sex with. He couldn’t even convince himself to sleep with Greg while imagining Andre. He’d feel too guilty. And besides, he’d be too distracted by the fact that, no, Greg was not Andre, and that would kill the mood, his erection, and pretty much all the night’s festivities.
What am I doing here?
Greg cocked his head, watching Joel from across the table and probably waiting for him to say or do something to push this pre-sex date along.
And Joel couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Look, I’m . . .” He blew out a breath and sat back. “I’m sorry. I thought I was, but I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
Greg’s eyebrows flicked up, but then his lips pulled into a sympathetic grimace. “Recent breakup, eh?”
Not that recent. And it was long overdue.
But this other guy . . .
Joel covered his face with his hands and cursed before dropping them into his lap. “I’m sorry. I really thought this was what I needed, but I—”
“It’s okay.” Greg’s voice was gentle and kind, not the least bit patronizing or annoyed. “Better to bow out here than when things are already happening.”
“I know, but I feel like an ass for wasting your time.”
Greg shrugged. “It’s all right. I’m not in a big hurry to jump into things myself.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “And, I mean, we’ve already ordered dinner. Nothing says we can’t just eat, talk about whatever, and head off in separate directions.”
Joel stared at him. “Really? You don’t mind?”
“Nah.” Greg laughed self-consciously. “Kind of a relief, if I’m honest.”
“Oh. It is?”
Greg straightened. “Oh God! I didn’t mean that. Not . . . not because I wouldn’t want to . . . you know, with you. I mean I’m still feeling out this dating thing. So, now there’s no pressure.” His lips quirked. “Am I making it worse or does that make sense?”
“No, no, it makes sense.”
“Okay, good.” Greg smiled, wrapping his hands around his drink like he needed something to steady them, or something to hold on to. “Just dinner, then. Conversation.”
“Fine by me.”
“And hey, I still got out of the house!”
Joel managed a laugh. “That’s a plus, right?”
“Definitely.”
A moment later, their meals arrived. Without the pressure of impressing each other into bed, they both relaxed enough to carry the conversation through dinner without a whole lot of awkwardness.
Joel didn’t order much and he ate even less. He was still nervous and embarrassed despite Greg’s reassurance that it was fine, and also sort of worried that Greg was holding out hope that this might turn around and end in a hookup. Now and then, he even caught himself hoping for the same thing, if only so he didn’t spend all night feeling mortified about torpedoing the whole thing.
Maybe it was just as well he was eating light. No point in stuffing himself. That would only make him more aware of his weight, which would make him even less inclined to take off his clothes if things with Greg did turn around.
But it was stupid to even think that way. Even if they found their footing, went someplace private, and took off their clothes, his mind would be elsewhere, and that wouldn’t be fair or honest to Greg.
I shouldn’t be sleeping with you when my mind wants to sleep with Andre.
Yeah, this was a bad idea. Definitely glad I pulled the plug.
After dinner, they said good-bye and, as planned, went their separate ways. In the car, he pulled up the app to deactivate his profile. As he did, he caught a glimpse of Greg’s. The green light was on, indicating he was online.
Joel laughed. Already on the prowl, eh? Good for him.
He deactivated his profiled, uninstalled the app, and dropped his phone on the passenger seat.
It was still early. Not even eight thirty. Dungeon activities would still be in full swing, especially if he left now. Which meant he could get there and . . .
And what, Joel? March in and declare your undying love for Andre? Give in and let him tie you up?
He really had no idea. All he knew was he didn’t want to be here, and the one thing he couldn’t stop thinking about was there.
So he put his car in drive and pointed it toward the dungeon.
Joel parked across from the dungeon and hurried to the door. He’d never been this eager to get in here, and damn it, there was a short line just inside the door. Of course, the doorman was taking his sweet, sweet time checking people’s IDs.
As a bonus, this doorman didn’t recognize Joel, so he didn’t just wave him through
like everyone else would. While the guy checked his ID, Joel tried not to give away his impatience or do anything to channel all the nervous energy rushing through him right then.
After what felt like a month but was probably about two minutes, the doorman finally let him in.
When Joel walked into the dungeon, the place was busy. A few people glanced his way, but nobody seemed to really care. Fine by him. He wasn’t here to be noticed.
There was quite a crowd milling around in the lounge by the bar. Those who were drinking sported the distinctive pink bracelets that announced they were not allowed to scene that night. The dungeon had strict rules about booze—once a person ordered an alcoholic drink, the bracelet went on and they were done for the night. Pity he’d never been able to institute that rule in the house he’d shared with Rob.
Joel shuddered. He hadn’t come here to think about Rob or alcohol. He’d come here to find the man who’d been keeping him awake the last few nights and had parked himself as the invisible third wheel during Joel’s date.
Andre. He was here for Andre. Andre, whose car was in the parking lot, which meant he was somewhere in this labyrinthine building.
Please, God, let him be in a room with the door open . . .
He wandered through the rooms and halls. And damn, it was weird to be here alone. The last time he’d been here, he’d been with April. Every time before that, Rob. Now, it was just him.
When he went past the lounge, he spotted Nancy in the hallway, chatting with someone else while her sub knelt at her feet. He approached cautiously, and when she turned, he said, “Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt—super quick, have you seen Andre?”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetie.” She smiled and gestured over her shoulder. “He was heading upstairs last I saw him.”
“Great. Thanks.” He gave her a quick smile, murmured another apology for interrupting, and headed for the stairs.
He was even less comfortable venturing into this part of the dungeon by himself. He had no fear of anyone here. Everyone in this place stuck by a rigid code of safe, sane, and consensual, and if they broke—hell, bent—that code, they were summarily banned forever. But these walls were crawling with memories he didn’t want to think about right now. He hadn’t come here to face his past. He’d come here . . . why? Because he had a snowball’s chance in hell of a future with the man who’d always been, still was, and would remain miles out of his league?
