I changed clothes three different times before I left my apartment. First, I thought about dressing up and wearing a sport jacket over a dress shirt and jeans. That looked a little too formal for me, so then I dressed down in walking shorts and bright red sneakers in acknowledgement that it was almost early summer. It looked perfect for a day at the lake with a friend, but I wasn’t sure about it for a first dinner date with a movie.

Finally, I settled on a compromise. I wore jeans and a short-sleeved, casual button-up shirt. The sneakers were toned down to blue.

I stared at myself in the mirror and took a deep breath. I spoke out loud saying, “This isn’t a big deal, Jordan. Just be yourself. If it was meant to be, it was meant to be. It’s just a first date. You’ve been on many first dates before.”

It didn’t take long for my brain to give the rebuttal, “But how many handsome, established men have you dated with a body like that? How many college professors?” I took another three deep breaths and left the room.

We chose to have dinner at a small Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. I made the required reservations. Seating was limited, and the chef had a strong positive reputation among local culinary experts. The food would be excellent, but I knew that I would worry about getting sauce on myself.

Our arrival timing was perfect. I met Marshall on the sidewalk half a block from the restaurant. Marshall looked impressive. He looked even better in street clothes than in his softball uniform. He wore jeans and a deep red button-up shirt. It fit just tight enough to show off his muscular build. He asked, “Are you as nervous as you look, Jordan?”

I tried to laugh and asked, “Is it really that obvious?”

“Your cheeks are a little pale, and you’re tapping your foot while you’re just standing there.” He offered me a hug and said, “Maybe this will help some.”

Wrapped in Marshall’s arms I managed to relax. I wanted to just stand there on the sidewalk like that for the next hour, but a few seconds later he let go and we headed for the restaurant.

I followed him inside just a step behind his right shoulder. There’s something about the shoulder structure of a more mature man that excites me. Marshall looked so sturdy. He looked so…permanent. He wasn’t like the guys my age who I dated. They were all still becoming men, but Marshall was already there.

The host asked if we had a reservation, and I leaned over Marshall’s shoulder saying, “It should be under Jordan Vaughan.”

With a welcoming smile, the host said, “This way, gentlemen.”

We were seated at a small table in the front window of the restaurant facing the street. When the host retreated from our table, Marshall said, “I’ve never been here before, but it looks really nice. Have you eaten here, Jordan?”

I said, “Multiple times. My house is close by. The chef runs cooking classes, too. I think his food is really good as long as you like Italian.”

“Who doesn’t like Italian?”

Marshall rested his right forearm on the table and pushed his hand halfway across. The signal was obvious, so I reached my hand out as well, and we wove our fingers together. An electric sensation raced up my spine. Marshall said, “Nice hands. I like long fingers.”

I said, “They always told me I had artist fingers growing up. Eventually, I tried painting. I was awful at it. Everything looked like that stuff you draw in third grade. The stick people with big round heads. The mountains that look like upside down Vs, and houses with squiggly lines of smoke coming out of the chimney.”

Marshall laughed a deep, rumbling laugh. It was a tremendously sexy sound. He said, “I tried painting once, too. Nobody could tell what it was supposed to be, so I just said that it was abstract on purpose. Then they complimented me on my raw talent.”

Marshall ordered a veal dish, and I ordered pasta. I soon figured out that he made the better decision. Pasta is almost impossible to eat and remain completely neat and tidy. I was a wreck trying to keep my clothes clean. Marshall noticed and said, “I promise not to laugh if you want to tuck your napkin in your shirt like a bib.”

Grinning at him, I said, “I’ll just be really really careful.”

Other than the fight to keep from getting red sauce on myself, dinner was relaxing. The conversation came easy. Marshall confirmed Joey’s comment and told me that he was a professor of meteorology. I asked, “Does that mean you forecast the weather?”

“Actually, I teach other people how to forecast the weather.”

I asked, “Are you into storms? I mean tornadoes, hurricanes, extreme weather like that?”

Marshall nodded and said, “I don’t know how you can work with the weather and not be fascinated by them. Are you?”

I said, “I’ve always wanted to go on one of those storm chasing trips. I don’t ever want to be stuck in one of them, but I would love to see a real tornado sometime from a distance. Natural things like that just leave me awestruck.”

“Maybe we should do that sometime. I saw a tornado one time when I was little and staying at my grandparents’ house. I saw it for just a few seconds, because Grandma was pushing us to get to the basement.”

I thought about Marshall’s strong arms wrapped around me for safety while we watched a powerful tornado whip its way across fields. It would be an incredible moment to remember.

“Cannoli for dessert?” asked Marshall.

“I can only have a few bites. I’m so full from the rest of the meal.”

He said, “Then we’ll share.”

After it arrived at the table, Marshall took a forkful of the sweet, creamy filling and held it out to me for a bite. It was such a sexy gesture. I was ready to cuddle on the couch with Marshall. I thought about it while I closed my eyes and took the sweet filling from his fork.

Marshall offered me the last bite, and I shook my head. I said, “I can’t eat any more of it, honestly. You eat it.”

I tried to pay the bill, but Marshall shook his head no, and he said, “I have a tradition. I always split the bill for the first date. My only truly disastrous first date happened when I let him pay the entire bill.

---

I don’t remember a lot of the details of the movie. I chose the restaurant, and Marshall chose the theater and the movie. The theater was just a four-block walk down the street from the restaurant. A superhero picture was showing, and the theater was a renovated old movie palace that was now furnished with couches and loveseats so that you could cuddle and snuggle together while the movie played.

Marshall ordered sodas for us both to drink, and he seated himself first on the two-person loveseat. He scooted up against one end placing a leg stretched out against the rear of the cushions. Then he patted the space between his legs and looked up at me.

My nerves were on edge as I stared at him there in the dim light so handsome and so relaxed. For a moment, I couldn’t believe that a man so experienced with life and likely so experienced with multiple other men wanted 25-year-old me to sit practically in his lap as his date.

He whispered, “I hope you’ve decided to sit before the movie starts. They might start to complain behind us if they can’t see the screen.”

I grinned self-consciously and then climbed onto the loveseat. Marshall wrapped one of his arms around my chest and gave a mighty tug that pulled me back tight against his body. He whispered directly in my ear, “Relax. It will be a smooth ride tonight. I promise.”

Leaning my head back against his shoulder, I said, “I believe you. I’m always nervous on a first date.”

Marshall rubbed a strong, thick-fingered hand across my chest and the sensation sent prickly shivers up my spine. He said, “There’s no need to be nervous. I don’t bite. I don’t even claw. I think I’m pretty mild mannered.”

“You are, and, Marshall, thank you.”

“Thank you?” he asked. “For what? I made you pay half the dinner and buy your own movie ticket.”

I nuzzled my face against his neck. I said, “Thank you for being you. This feels so good.”

He said, “It does feel good, doesn’t it?” Then he pressed a finger against my lips and whispered, “Shhh now. The movie is about to start.”

The movie was fun and action-packed. I enjoyed it, but I didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I enjoyed relaxing with Marshall’s arms wrapped around me. It didn’t just feel good. It felt safe. It felt like Marshall’s arms and body would protect me against any possible threat that might come my way.

When the hero kissed his wisecracking love interest near the end of the movie, I turned my head and kissed the side of Marshall’s neck. He responded simply with a deep humming sound rumbling through his chest.

While the audience filtered out of the theater, Marshall offered to walk me to my car. I said, “It’s about three blocks away, is that okay? I probably should have just walked from home, because the car is halfway there.” I pointed and said, “It’s in that direction. Is that where you parked?”

He said, “No, I parked in the other direction, but I still want to walk you to your car. I insist.”

I grinned and asked, “Do you want to check out what I drive?”

“No, I’m a gentleman, and I want something else when we get there.”

The hair in my forearms stood on end while I thought about what the something else might be. Marshall and I walked hand in hand down the street. I drove a practical small car. It was nothing special, but it accomplished the task of getting me around the city.

I said, “Here it is.”

Marshall said, “I have another tradition for first dates that go well.”

I only had time to get out the question, “Oh, what is that?” when he wrapped me in his arms and leaned forward with his lips parted slightly for a kiss.

And what a kiss it was. It was no slushie-sucking cretin kissing me. It was the kiss of a real man, a gentleman. First, Marshall’s lips just lightly brushed mine, but then he wrapped a hand around the back of my head and increased the pressure while parting my lips slightly with just the tip of his tongue. When our tongues brushed each other I couldn’t help but let out a moan from deep inside my chest.

I don’t know how long we kissed, but it lingered long. Marshall used the weight of his body to push my back up against the car and a thick, powerful hand rested on my chest. He found the nub of my nipple poking beneath the shirt fabric and rubbed his thumb over it. I gasped slightly into the kiss, and he chuckled in response.

When we both came up for air, Marshall said, “I want to see you again, Jordan. I hope you feel the same.”

“A hundred times the same, Marshall. This has been one awesome first date, thank you.”

My hand was shaking when I fumbled with putting the key into the car’s ignition. Finally, the engine started, and I looked up to see Marshall waiting on the curb to watch me drive away. I gave him a quick wave before pulling onto the street. I glanced up into my rearview mirror and saw him standing there like a handsome prince. I missed Marshall already.