I KISSED ADAM!
Well, actually, he kissed me.
And it was incredible. I never wanted it to end. The way he smelled, like clean linen and musk, intoxicated me. I was addicted to him, and it scared me.
I leaned against the door to my studio, closed my eyes, and traced my lips with my finger, imagining I could still feel his lips pressed to mine. To see me, you’d swear I was a love struck little girl, and, maybe to a certain degree, I was. Maybe it was the endorphins or maybe it was the fact that no one had ever taken an interest in me the way he had. And that was one of the most difficult things for me to wrap my head around. Why me? What did I have to offer that a million other guys didn’t?
I wandered through my studio in a daze and flopped down on the couch. Resting my head against the back of the couch, I closed my eyes and replayed the night in my head. I knew going to Mancy’s would be a disaster, but he seemed so enamored with the idea that I couldn’t turn him down. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if I would be able to turn down anything he suggested. He seemed to have sensed my discomfort, although I’m certain I didn’t hide it well. His response was almost…gallant, turning on a proverbial dime to change the plans he had made for us. Guilt gnawed at my insides after that. I knew he had wanted to do something nice for me, and I had allowed my discomfort to ruin it. I know he didn’t see it that way, but I certainly did. I just felt so out of place in a restaurant like that, like everyone was looking at me and judging me based on my clothes, shoes, and hair, and finding me unworthy. I wanted to be worthy, for him. But it reminded me that maybe I wasn’t.
I honestly didn’t think my Burger King suggestion would be taken to heart, but as soon as the words left my mouth, his face seemed to lighten up. And while his apologies were sweet, they were utterly unnecessary. The issue was with me, not him.
Conversation seemed to flow once we got to the lower-scale restaurant. Maybe because it was more within my comfort zone, or maybe because I felt like I was truly being listened to, I don’t know. But the revelation that he was also gay sent my head into a space it had rarely seen; hope.
I hoped he was interested in me. I hoped that he could see past all of my insecurities. I hoped that once he found out how fucked up my life had been, he wouldn’t run for the hills.
I reached into the messenger bag that I had left behind and pulled out a notebook. When I was younger, I used to keep a journal of sorts, just a way for me to organize the chaos in my head. It had been a suggestion from my mother before she’d died, and something I had maintained up until a few years earlier. The closet had a box full of those old notebooks, and I would occasionally pull it out and read through some, sometimes for no other reason than to gauge how far I had come.
I wanted to write about that night as long as the memories were fresh. I wanted to record the details of my first real date, ever. I wanted to be able to look back at that night and remember with a clarity that time and distance often distorts.
My phone vibrated inside my pocket as I began to write. Pulling it out, there was an unread message from Adam.
-Had a good time tonight. I hope u did 2. Can’t wait for next time.
He had just barely dropped me off and he was already sending me texts. I took that as a good sign.
-I did 2. Can’t wait either. I sent back.
-What’re you doing?
I leaned back into the couch and willed myself to breathe. I was too excited at the prospect of Adam being interested.
-A little writing. I sent.
-Oh? Smiley face emoji -about?
-Nosy, aren’t you.
-Maybe a little. So, what’s it about?
-Should you be texting and driving? I couldn’t help a little snark. Plus, I was right. He shouldn’t be texting while he drove. I didn’t want our first date night, my first date ever, to end on a sour note.
-Have speech to text through my car. You didn’t answer the question.
No, I hadn’t. Those journals were something that was private to me. I could have kicked myself in the ass for even bringing it up, but that was the problem with Adam. He made me feel safe, like I could tell him almost anything. Almost.
-About tonight.
-Oh?
I could almost feel the grin coming through my phone screen.
-Yeah, this hot guy took me to Burger King tonight for our first date.
-Classy guy. Wait. Hot?
I chewed on my lower lip as I typed. -Yeah, hot! Tattoos, beard, brown eyes. I think you’d like him.
-Sounds like a winner.
-And a good kisser.
-Kiss a lot of guys, have you?
Should I lie or be honest? Lying would make me look like a player, which I certainly wasn’t. Honesty would make me look like a loser, which I most definitely felt like. My mother’s voice echoed in my head, “When in doubt, the truth wins out.” -No. Only one.
I waited for the next message for a couple of minutes, but nothing came through. Disappointment coursed through my veins, and questions took root in my head. Maybe he had figured it out, that I wasn’t worth his time. Maybe the evening hadn’t gone as well as I had assumed. Maybe he was a player and had realized that I wasn’t going to be an easy lay, and had moved on to an easier target.
My phone finally buzzed. -Maybe that’s the only one you need.
All those questions flew out the window with that one sentence. There was so much hidden meaning in those words. -I think you’re right.
-Pulling into the driveway now.
-Ok. Good luck tomorrow.
-Thank you. I’ll talk to you soon.
-Ok.
I put my phone down and picked up my notebook and pen and began to write, starting from when we first met two weeks previous, trying to describe in detail what he wore, how he looked, and that feeling of electricity I felt when he shook my hand.
My phone vibrated again, and I picked it up. -David?
-Yes?
-You’re a good kisser too.
I didn’t know how to respond. I stared slack-jawed at my screen. I sent back a red-faced emoji and said, -Thank you.
-Sleep well.
-I will. You too.
Picking up my notebook, I began to write. Entirely about Adam.
With the new product coming in on Wednesdays and Fridays relegated to Game Nights, Mondays were typically slow days at the comic shop. As a result, the store had shortened hours and there was usually a staff of two, usually Trish and me. I was surprised then, to find Greg at the shop when I walked in the following morning.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked. Not exactly the friendliest greeting, but Greg and I didn’t talk much. He had been working for the store for a little over a year, and I could probably count the number of conversations we had on one hand. Not that I was the most outgoing, mind you. In fact, come to think about it, our lack of conversing could be purely my fault.
Greg was big. Not fat, but built more like a linebacker. Why he worked in a comic shop and not a gym was completely beyond me. He didn’t fit the stereotype. He stood a good six inches taller than my five-foot-nine-inch frame, had an unruly mop of curly, brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. He was good-looking, in a rugby jock kind of way. The day he started, I found myself staring at him. He caught me, but never said a word.
“Trish called off. Probably hung over or something. Owen called and asked if I could take her shift. I need the cash.”
Seemed reasonable. I made my way to the back office to clock in when I heard Greg call out, “Who’s the dude?”
I turned back to him and asked, “What dude?”
“Trish called me last night before she got ‘sick,’” he said, bringing his hands up and using two fingers of each hand to make air quotes, “and told me you’d been in with some guy. Said the guy’d been in here before and had freaked you out.”
How had I ended up the subject of store gossip? It was a small store with a small staff, but I had never done anything in my life to be even remotely gossip worthy.
A twinge of fear raced through me. Would Greg be uncomfortable knowing Adam had been my date the previous night? “He’s just a friend.”
“A friend,” he repeated, cocking an eyebrow at me as if he didn’t believe me. “A friend that freaks you out. Did he do something to you?”
My face heated. If Greg only knew. “No.”
“Trish is worried. So’m I.”
Greg was worried? About me? It made no sense. We barely talked.
“Is he a boyfriend?” he pressed.
I knew I was turning red. Truth was, we had only been on one date, and a single date doesn’t define a relationship. In fact, there probably wasn’t a relationship to speak of. “No, he’s not. He’s just a friend.”
“And does this ‘friend’ have a name?”
“Adam. As if it’s any business of yours.”
That seemed to sting him a little, and he backed up. “Just be careful. She said he looks rough.”
At that I laughed, for multiple reasons. First, who knew that Greg had a protective streak in him. Second, yeah, I could see how she could get that, what with the beard and the tattoos. I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh at her assumption or be pissed. I opted for the former.
“I am. I will,” I said. Then, as an afterthought, I added, “Thank you.”
That seemed to set him at ease, at least a little. I meant it, too. I was appreciative of his concern. It was so rare to me that I didn’t immediately recognize it when it was literally standing directly in front of me. But he was concerned. I could see it on his face.
Then something else dawned on me. Greg had asked if Adam was my boyfriend. Did that mean that he knew, or at least suspected I was gay? My head spun with the implications. Did Trish suspect? Would Greg be keeping his distance now? Had she told Owen, and if so, how would he feel having a gay employee? One of the reasons I had never come out was because I feared being treated differently. Although I didn’t associate with the people I worked with outside of work, I still considered them friends. In fact, they were the only friends I had. The thought of losing that, or my job, was enough to make me physically ill.
Through the fog of my thoughts, I heard, “Dude, you okay?” Then feet shuffled up to me, and I felt a beefy hand grasp my shoulder and give me a soft shake. I glanced up and into the very blue, very concerned eyes of Greg. “You went pale and looked like you were about to hurl.”
“I’m fine. Just need to sit.”
Greg led me back to the office and I plopped down into the chair behind the desk. He left and returned with a bottle of water. He squatted down in front of me and handed me the bottle. He seemed to be examining me as I drank and finally said, “If the gay thing has you freaked, don’t let it.”
I literally choked on my water.
“I’m fine with it,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to my breathing problem. “My little brother’s gay.”
I had no idea how to express my appreciation for his sudden support, so all I managed was an, “Oh.”
His face darkened, then he grasped my shoulder again, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “If anyone gives you shit, tell me.”
I was dumbfounded. All I could manage was a slight nod of the head.
“Good. Now, let’s get this store open.”
I finished the water, tossed the bottle, and made my way back onto the sales floor.