Jesse has this sneaky expression on his face as he drives us to the next part of our date.

I don’t do surprises.

And there haven’t been many people in my life who’ve tried to surprise me, but Jesse is always full of surprises.

I’m trying to consider what he could have planned next.

When we pull into the Midtown Arts Plaza parking lot, I eye him.

“So we came to see a movie?” I ask.

“Of course we did,” Jesse replies, though it’s clear by the way he says it and that sly expression on his face that he has something else up his sleeve.

We head to the theater, and Jesse hands the usher our tickets before we get in the concessions line.

I look at the different movies playing. Never heard of any of them, but there’s one that’s a French film, so I figure that might be his surprise. “Aww, you bringing me to a foreign film?” I ask with a wink.

“Who’s to say?” he responds, trying to remain mysterious as he grabs a medium bag of popcorn, a Coke for me, and bottle of water for him from the cashier. He passes me my Coke before guiding me to the hall of theaters.

As we pass a room with the marquee for the French film, I find myself annoyed that I haven’t figured this out yet.

“What are you up to, Mr. Morgan?” I ask him.

“Good things come to those who wait.”

“Now you’re talking about what we’ll be doing after the movie.”

He chuckles before guiding me to a screening with an empty marquee.

As we enter the empty theater, Jesse says, “Ah, this is going to be a tough choice. Did you have a preference of where you wanted to sit? We don’t have many options here.”

He has that sneaky expression, perfected with that smirk he’s wearing, one I could fix by sticking my dick in his mouth.

We pick a row in the middle, and I plop down, wondering what this little prick has in store for us.

Jesse gets out his phone and texts, being careful to keep me from seeing who he’s texting.

“I get to find out what the surprise is eventually, right?”

“Give me a second, Mr. Impatient.”

“Okay, one second on the clock, Mr. Morgan.”

As soon as I say that, the lights along the walls of the theater dim and the credits for the movie begin, no previews.

These credits are so fucking familiar. God knows how many times I’ve watched this movie.

“The Silence of the Lambs,” I say. “You fucking bastard.”

His eyes sparkle with the blue glow of the movie screen. I can tell he’s so proud of himself for having orchestrating this.

“How did you …”

“A friend of mine works here. We met on the volleyball team Ty and I play for. You’re not the only one with big connections around this town,” he teases. “You like it, right?” There’s a sort of desperation in his tone, as though he was really hoping I would.

“Like it? This is…so fucking thoughtful, Jesse. All of tonight has been.”

His smile returns in an instant. I love knowing I’m the one who keeps him smiling.

As the movie plays, we both find ourselves quoting different pieces to one another, laughing, not having to worry about bothering anyone around us. It’s just the two of us, in our own little world…the only world I’m interested in existing in.

During Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter’s second meeting, Jesse slides his arm around me, then sneaks his hand onto my shoulder. I’m about to give him shit because that’s such a high-school sort of move, but I enjoy it too much to give him shit about it. There’s something about Jesse spending the night trying to put moves on me that feels so special. So right.

The way he gets to me fucks with my head, because how can some kid have this power over me?

Although, as much as I call him a kid, he’s far more than that. He’s more mature than most of the guys I’m friends with who are my age.

After the movie ends, Jesse and I head out of the theater. Jesse shakes the kernels at the bottom of our popcorn bag before ditching it in a nearby trash can.

“That was a lot of fun,” I tell him. “And I appreciate it. I’ve never really had anyone take me out like that before.”

“What?” he asks, genuinely surprised.

“No, I’m usually the one who’s taking other people out on the date. This was a refreshing experience.”

“Not even Casey? Come on. That’s bullshit.”

“We went out, of course, but he never took me out. I was always the one finding the restaurant, paying the check, making the moves on him.”

“Well, that’s too bad because you deserve someone to do all those things for you, Eric.”

He takes my hand and holds it, and I hadn’t realized it until that moment, but we’ve never held hands in public before.

I fucking love it.

I wasn’t like that with Casey, at all. And if I’d ever reached for his hand in private, he would swat it away and tell me not to be too sweet.

Jesse isn’t anything like him.

No, I’ve never met anyone like him before, no one who could do what he does to me…who can continuously catch me off guard…who can make me want to lower my usual defenses.

Nice as it is to have someone else take the reins, it’s also kind of terrifying to know I’m not in total control. But I’ve done that for too long, and it’s too much. It’s time to let someone else help for a change.

He was right about that, when we were crouched down in my condo, his arms around me as he dished out my own advice to me: “Sometimes we all need a little help.”

We both share that.

He needed help when he was a kid, before Charlotte and Stan were in his life. And I had to have it when I fled mine and reached out to friends who supported me and helped me set up a life for myself. I had to find hospitable, kind people in a sea of darkness during a time where I struggled, where I was in so much pain.

We walk to his car, still chatting about the movie as he drives us out of the parking lot. “Okay, so that scene where Jack Crawford is like freaking out about Clarice,” Jesse says, “that’s weird, right? Like a plot hole.”

“What do you mean?”

“She calls Crawford and tells him that she has this lead, but then he’s telling her she doesn’t need to investigate it because they’ve got the guy. So Crawford and his guys break into this house, and we find out they followed a bogus lead, and he’s freaking out, saying ‘Clarice,’ like he knows she’s in danger. But why would he think she’s checking out the lead when he told her not to? And how the hell would he know she’s in the serial killer’s house when she doesn’t even know?”

“You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought,” I say.

He tucks his head down for a moment, as though he feels embarrassed for how he launched into that commentary about what sounds like a plot hole—one I definitely wouldn’t have picked up on.

“Yeah. I find myself trying to make sense of it whenever I watch it, and then that moment happens, and it’s clearly a big deal, but I don’t understand…at all. Bugs the crap out of me every time. He has no idea where Clarice is, but he’s absolutely certain she’s in trouble, or at least that’s how it looks. And she is in trouble, but how would he know that? As far as he’s concerned, didn’t they talk about her not looking anymore? Even if she was about to go find the killer, how would he know that her lead was going to lead to the right one?”

“That sounds reasonable. I’d have to rewatch it to decide for myself.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m completely wrong, but it bothers me.” He chuckles before it becomes a full-on laugh. “Sorry. That’s weird, right?”

“That’s adorable is what that is. I love that you’ve put that much thought into it.”

He flashes his ever-so-charming smile again, as though he’s putting it on display for me.

He’s passing Piedmont when I say, “You were supposed to turn back there.”

“We’re not going back to your place, Eric.”

“What?”

Once again, I’m thrown. I was certain of how tonight would play out, at least after the date. We would go back to my condo, where we’ve shared night after night, and we would consummate our feelings with something that has been burning on my mind since I got my results for my tests back.

My balls feel heavy, as though they want me to come inside Jesse even more than I do.

“We’re going to my place this time,” he says. “It’s not all fancy like yours, but I like it, and I want you to see it. It’s very…me.”

I’d taken for granted that we always meet at my place, but now that he’s mentioned it, I’m eager to see it. I want to find out more about who he is. I want to know Jesse as well as I can possibly know another person. I want to be in his life in the way I almost thought wasn’t possible when we first started messing around in Puerto Vallarta.

We pull up to his condo building, and he drives us through the relatively small complex before parking in a space in the lot. He guides me through the building, to his unit.

I’m stunned by how eager I am, how excited to see this part of his life.

As soon as I enter his place, I’m taken aback. Jesse’s tastes are pretty modern, like mine, but where my style is clean and…safe, Jesse is a little more adventurous. The walls and cabinets are white, his cement floors painted light gray with a lacquer finish. The open-design layout is mostly whites, creams, and silver, but he’s not afraid of the occasional pop of color—like with his red sectional sofa in the living area, which is just past the kitchen area to the right of the entryway. His walls are decorated with artwork—black-and-white prints and some more abstract paintings. I don’t have a lot of artistic flair, but Jesse obviously has his particular tastes—another thing to add to my list of things I’m learning about him.

As we pass his kitchen and head toward the living area, I notice the white quartz top of the island. It’s obviously something Jesse selected, considering it’s unlikely this is a standard selection for any condo building in town.

He stops in the living area and turns to me. “You look shocked.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so bold,” I admit.

“In a good way?”

“Yes. I like it. You clearly have your own style and aren’t afraid of getting a little daring. And your tastes are fairly…expensive. I recognize several of the manufacturers you carry, actually.”

He laughs. “Did you think I was living in a poor house?”

“No, I just assumed you would have been a little more modest.”

Jesse shrugs. “I don’t know. I spent so much time early on bouncing around to different houses, I figured I wanted to have a place…a home…that looked like a home. And I care about making it one I enjoy living in, even if I have spent all my time at your place recently.” He winks. “Now come on. I want to give you the grand tour.”

I follow his lead, and he walks me around his unit, paying special attention to the artwork he’s collected throughout the years and why each piece captured his eye. He guides me up a short stairwell to the second story of his condo before he leads me into his bedroom.

There’s a framed picture on the nightstand. It’s of him and his adoptive parents, I assume. I walk over to it. “Is this Stan and Charlotte?”

“Yeah, that’s them. You’ll have to meet them sometime. They’d really like you.”

“Looks like I’m about as old as they are.”

“They’re a little older, but not by much.” He chuckles as though that isn’t such a great obstacle to him. “And all they want is to meet this special guy I met and am going crazy over. How do you feel about that?”

“You going crazy for me?” I say, knowing he was really asking about me meeting his parents.

“That too.”

I smile—something I do so much more with him in my life. I also cry more too, apparently, but that’s a whole other thing.

Jesse moves toward me, slowly. He scans me up and down. “What do you say, Eric Westright? Are you ready to meet my parents?”

Everything about us feels as though it’s happening too fast. Like we’re on this freight train that’s heading right for a cliff, but if we go off a fucking cliff, I hope we go off it together. Jesse makes me want to be a better person, a different person, to push past all my insecurities and fears and worries.

I wrap my arm around him, pull him close to me. “I would love to meet your parents,” I say, “but right now, I know one thing I would love to do even more.”

He kisses me, and it reminds me of how much of the night has been spent without his lips against mine…and I feel this almost rage swell within me at the thought that I’ve been deprived of his delicious mouth for too long.

I shove him back on the bed.

He goes so willingly, gazing up at me eagerly. “Tired of talking?”

“I love talking to you, but my cock has its own plans.”

“Well, I’d love to hear its suggestions,” he says before I pounce on top of him.

This night has been so amazing, and now I want to scratch this itch, the one that’s burning within me as though I’ve never fucking gotten off with him.

I want his body, I want to be inside him, and the way he claws at my clothes, the way I claw at his, I can tell that neither of us can stop the passion we ignited any more than we could after the spark we shared the moment we first met.

He might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Thank God for mistakes.