Chapter Eight

Honestly, I can’t tell you why I agreed to do it. There I was, for the second Friday night in a row, outside of the comfort of my own home. The music was soft, understated. Low jazz sounds emanating from the stage at the back of the club, if you could call it a club. It looked more like a bistro with live music than anything else.

Roland was sitting in a booth near the back. The whole place was lit with candles, lanterns on the centers of the tables, candelabras hanging from the walls, and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were lined with candles. I felt dread for whoever had to light and replace those things. I had thought the whole candle thing a tad ridiculous but that was before seeing Roland. I decided that candlelight was the best light for flattery, watching as the shadows danced across his handsome face.

“Hi,” I said as I took a seat. I sounded more breathless than I would have liked.

“Hey, Lyle. Thanks for coming.”

“It’s a pleasure. I’ve  never been here before. I didn’t even know that this place existed.”

“I have a thing for jazz, which is how I found it. The internet is a beautiful thing, you know. You should check it out sometime.”

“Are you calling me old? I feel like you’re calling me old.”

Roland chuckled, making my belly do somersaults. “I don’t know how that would be possible seeing as you’re barely two days older than I am.”

I shrugged, turning my face away from him. I watched the stage instead. There was a woman on the stage, crooning into the microphone about a long-lost lover. She was beautiful, her dark skin glistening beneath the candles. Her eyes were closed as she sang into the microphone and I could feel the passion in her words.

“You like it?”

“I’ve  never really given jazz much of a chance, but yeah. It’s rather beautiful.”

“You know,” Roland said softly. “I really would have liked to have that dance with you…”

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“Do you want to?”

I didn’t answer. I gulped, slipping the tip of my tongue out to moisten suddenly dry lips. Roland didn’t seem to care that I had no response. Maybe he knew that my answer was yes all along. He slid out of the booth and came around to my side of the table, holding his hand out to me. I stared into his eyes, the shadow of his lashes making them appear even lovelier than they already were. The innocence was there again.

Without realizing that I had been holding it, I released a deep shaky breath. It came out more as a sigh than anything else. I stood up from my side of the booth, taking his hand. It was warm. His fingertips closed around mine and I felt my heartbeat accelerate as he led me out onto the floor. It was empty. I got the feeling that not a lot of dancing took place here. I felt the eyes of the few occupants in the place on me, making me feel ever-so-slightly wobbly on my feet.

Roland noticed me looking around the club at all the people. There really were not many but at that moment, out there with all those eyes on me, it felt like there were.

“Hey,” his voice said. It was gentle, breaking me out of my reverie. “Don’t worry about them. Look at me. There is no one else here right now. It’s just you, me, and that beautiful voice up on the stage.”

I swallowed the nerves, nodding. I did as he told me to and looked at him. I mean, I really looked at him. His skin was golden, a contrasting caramel to my own dark skin. His eyes were green and they seemed to shimmer, shadows dancing across them from every direction. He had full, light pink lips, and I found that it was difficult to keep my eyes off of them. I tried to look elsewhere, anywhere from his sharp cheekbones to his strong jaw to his wavy brown hair falling into his face in the most charming way. My eyes always found their way back to his lips.

Roland’s hands were strong. The one holding my hand changed grip, his fingers slipping between my own, and the other found my waist. I was glad for the long-sleeved shirt that I had worn. Without it, I had no doubt that he would have noticed the goose bumps that I had raised on my skin at his touch. I could feel the warmth of his hands through my clothes. I moved my opposite hand to his shoulder, hesitantly resting it there.

We didn’t do much. I had never really danced before, with the exception of the few dances we had attended in high school. Those had mostly been gyrations and mindless writhing of bodies. We had had to pretend we were not gay back then, pretending to enjoy dancing with girls. This was different. There was a different kind of closeness to this. Our bodies were barely touching, save for our hands, but I could feel the heat stemming off of Roland. I could smell his cologne, heady, stronger than I could before. His hand was locked in mine. The music had taken on a more passionate tone and my racing heart was threatening to hop out of my chest and into my throat.

Before long, without ever intending to, my head was resting on Roland’s shoulder. I closed my eyes as I listened to the music and let his body lead mine. I had barely realized that the song had finished by the time he was pulling away his body away from my own.

I pulled my head back to look up at him and without even thinking about it, I pressed my lips to his. It was soft. My eyes fell closed as I kissed him. Roland’s mouth had opened in surprise and I dashed my tongue outwards, slipping it into the entrance of his mouth. Roland made a small humming noise, the first response outside of shock that he had had. The hand that I had had resting on his shoulder found its way upwards into his hair, my fingers gripping onto his soft locks. It was when his tongue slid outwards to meet mine that I suddenly realized where I was and who I was with. I gasped at the contact before breaking away from the kiss.

We were quickly made aware of the fact that we were very much not alone in the small club when someone let out a low wolf whistle. It was followed by the sound of several people clicking, like we had performed a piece of poetry. I guessed that this wasn’t the kind of place where you gave applause for a performance.

“Well now,” a sultry voice said. It was the woman on the stage speaking into the microphone. “I think you two gentlemen know exactly what I was singing about, don’t you?”

I glanced over at the stage. I was mortified. The blush was extreme. I turned to face Roland. He, too, was blushing. The pink hue was only slightly more visible on his skin than mine. The difference between us was that Roland was also smirking, a cocky smile playing on the corners of his lips.

It took me a moment to realize that I was still holding his hand, as tightly as though my life depended on it. The shock of what I had done hit me and without another word, I broke free of his hand and went back to our table. I picked my jacket up and left. I made the mistake of glancing back, seeing him standing in the center of the floor, confusion and hurt etched upon his gorgeous face.