We take seats across from one another at a small table on the beach, a few yards from the shore. The sun drops in the distance as sunset nears.

In a short-sleeved button-up with the top buttons undone to reveal the slightest amount of chest hair, Eric settles in the chair across from me, his bangs catching in the wind.

We didn’t talk much on the way to the restaurant I made reservations at. I’m letting Eric take this all at his own pace. I want him to feel comfortable, like I’m not pushing him.

Despite how he opened back up and pulled out of whatever state he’d found himself in, I can tell he’s not entirely okay.

The more we chatted after I got back from my walk, the more I realized he needed me to be there for him. That he wasn’t as upset with me for setting him off as he was with himself for being pulled so violently from the playful moment we were having.

I want to know more about the reason why he behaved the way he did when I touched him like that, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, and that’s a lot to ask, considering we haven’t known each other very long.

I try to chase away my curiosity as I glance over the menu.

“Hmmm…I guess it’s either gonna be nachos or fajitas. Maybe a burrito, if I really want to be crazy,” I joke, hoping to get at least a laugh from Eric.

He chuckles. I’ll take it.

He gazes up at me from his menu, the right side of his mouth curled upward.

“I like when you make that expression,” I tell him. “I think I can get you to do that later as well. But probably not until we make it back to your bedroom.”

“Mr. Morgan,” he says in a playfully stern tone, “the date’s just started, and I think you’re being rather presumptuous thinking we’ll make it back to my bedroom.”

“I got some pretty slick moves,” I boast. “Been a little out of practice, but I’m fairly sure it works the same with guys as it does for girls.”

“I assume you’re talking about the flirting part.”

“Eh, some of the foreplay too, it seems like. Although I have very limited experience, so I could be mistaken.”

He rolls his eyes, but judging by the amusement on his face, he appreciates the lightness of this conversation.

I’m being sillier than normal, not on purpose. It’s like everything in me is working to set Eric at ease…to remind him I’m on his side and not judging him for whatever happened earlier.

After the waiter takes our order, we chat a little about the weather tomorrow and what time he thinks we should go surfing.

The waiter brings our food, and Eric takes a bite of his nachos when I ask, “You know of any good places to go dancing around here?”

I seem to have caught him off guard because he pulls the half-eaten bean-and-cheese-drenched chip away from his mouth. Some beans and cheese drip down onto his plate, and he grabs his napkin and runs it across his face, then puts it back in his lap.

“There’s actually a really good place,” he finally manages to respond. “Although it’s a gay bar.”

I lean toward him. “Well, in case you haven’t caught on, Eric, I’m kinda fine with gay.”

I reach across the table and run my thumb under his bottom lip, collecting a bit of the beans and salsa he missed. I pull my hand back and lick my thumb to accentuate my point and hopefully turn him on a little bit more.

I see that desire in his eyes, that look that always makes me feel like he’s never looked at another guy like this.

“Do you like to go out dancing?” I ask him.

“I do, actually. I haven’t been out in a while, but that would be really nice.”

“Good, because I didn’t have any other plans for the later part of our date.”

“Oh really? I assumed I knew where you wanted this date to end up.”

“Eventually it needs to end up there, but I have to show you I’m more than what I can do in the bedroom.”

“You’ve already shown me that.”

His expression is so serious that I have to ask, “What do you mean?”

“I just understand that you are much, much more than anything I could’ve initially suspected. In a very good way.”

“Wow, well, thank you. I have to say the same thing about you. I mean, considering what I’ve heard from Ty…” I stop myself. This is not the direction this conversation needs to go. “I’m sorry,” I spit out.

He raises his hand. “It’s fine. Trust me, I know what my son thinks of me, and that’s a whole other complicated issue. But even with whatever you’ve heard, I appreciate that you’ve at least given me a chance.”

What does he think Ty’s said to me?

I’m curious. There’s something more there between Ty and Eric, in their past, just like there’s so much more to what happened earlier. There are all these parts of Eric that he hides away. It’s like a labyrinth I need to get through and figure out. I don’t know why, but I want to know. I want to do more than mess around with him. I want to be his friend. I want to get to know who he is as a person because he seems like a really cool guy.

When we finish eating, we go to a nearby bar and have a few drinks before he says it’s time to head over to the dance club.

Guys, a lot of them not wearing shirts, drink at the various bars around the place. At the far end of the club, a strobe light flashes an assortment of colors, illuminating the fog-filled air. Some loud pop beat plays, which sounds familiar, but with all the noise in the club, I can’t make out the artist.

“How often do you come here?” I ask Eric as we sidle up to one of the bars.

“Not too often. My ex and I used to come here every time we came down to visit.”

Ex? This is the first time I’ve heard him mention being with someone else. It reminds me how strange he is, how he tries to keep from giving away too many personal details about himself.

“What was his name?” I ask.

He seems taken aback by the question, like he has just realized he’s kept from mentioning him and that I have in some way called him out on his bluff on the fact that he doesn’t share very much.

“Casey,” he replies.

“How long were you guys together?”

“Three years.”

“Oh, wow. So…that’s a pretty decent length for a relationship.”

“Yeah, it was.” He practically says that through his teeth.

It seems like he doesn’t want me to press, and I can’t help but say, “Is every area of your life not up for discussion?”

It’s evident by the way his neck and jaw tense that I’ve made a huge mistake and he’s about to shut down.

I take his wrist the way I did in the bathroom—gently, hoping to reassure him—and immediately say, “That was my bad. That came out wrong. I just want to talk to you about things, but anything you don’t want to talk about, I understand.”

I’m nervous, worried I’ve totally fucked this up. I know he has things he doesn’t want to tell me about, but I just had to fucking push. And now I might have ruined our whole fucking night, which was going really well.

We’re back to that silence we do so well, and then he blurts out, “He decided he wanted to be with someone else.”

I’m thrown because I was expecting him to tell me it was none of my fucking business.

He takes a deep breath, as if he’s struggling with himself, before saying, “He was deciding for about a year that he wanted to be with someone else before he left me, while I foolishly believed we had something special. I had bought a ring, was planning to propose to him not a month later.”

“Oh my God.” I can understand the importance of this moment…that he pushed himself to share. He could have shut down or avoided the subject. I’m sure he knows I would have let him. “Thank you,” I tell him. “I know that might be weird, or awkward, but I mean it.”

“I’m not good at this,” Eric says.

“Not good at what? Talking?”

“I’m not good at talking about painful things. I’m sure you probably noticed by now. And usually I’m good at redirecting the conversation, or finding a way out of it somehow, but it’s a little trickier with you.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t really know.”

It reminds me of what I’m experiencing with him. I don’t really know either, but I don’t care.

“Well, I appreciate that you feel like you can share things with me,” I say. “And I want you to know I feel very similarly about you, that I do feel like I can talk about things I don’t necessarily talk about with everyone, and it feels nice. I hope that’s how it feels for you.”

Eric smirks. “Surprisingly, it really does.”

“Come on,” I tell him. “Why don’t you show me how you tear it up on the dance floor?”