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It was awkward. At first. I made it my mission to try and ease into conversation with easy subjects such as favorite television shows and his favorite color. I had picked up sushi. He wasn’t a fan, but I insisted and told him if he didn’t like it, I would have no problem sailing down the line to that greasy burger place on the water. He perked up at that idea. He cleaned up below deck as best as he could and when he came out, he wore a muscle shirt, jeans, and a blazer. I snickered.

“That blazer looks like it has seen better days,” I pointed out.

Hawk glanced down at it, his lips curved up into a crooked grin. “I only take this bad boy out for funerals nowadays.”

That got dark really fast.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. I never knew how to respond to things like that. I never had an experience like his, but more than that, I had never experienced death. Both sets of grandparents were still alive and kicking, all of my friends were alive. People from my high school died of course…accidental overdoses, car crashes, crazy accidents, but no one that I was close to. No one that warranted an invitation.

“No, don’t apologize.” He reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. I startled at the touch, surprised he initiated physical contact with me. The only contact he seemed to want from me was sexual and if we weren’t engaged in that, he wanted nothing to do with me. “I didn’t mean to say it to be rude or sarcastic. It just came out. I’ll stop now.”

“No,” I began, surprising myself. “Please don’t. I want to hear your stories.”

Hawk seemed surprised. He had yet to drop his hand from my shoulders. I wanted to get even closer to him, but even I couldn’t help but find myself interested in his life. If he was willing to share. And he was.

We talked over sushi and dim lighting. Hawk enjoyed the sushi more than he was willing to admit. In fact, he even tried eating my crunchy rolls, which definitely wasn’t going to happen. The fish was fresh. I couldn’t stop moaning.

“Would you stop?” he asked. “I get it. You’re comfortable with your sexuality. You don’t have to continue to remind me of that.”

I grinned. “Why?” I asked. “Am I making you think about things that we’ll be doing this weekend?”

He cracked a smile, but said nothing. Instead, he turned his eyes to his food. “You know,” he said. “This is actually pretty good. I’ve never been much of a fish person.”

“I told you,” I admonished, my eyes locked onto him. “You should trust me a little more.” My eyes dropped to his jacket. “You look good in that blazer, by the way. You should wear it more often. Not just for funerals.”

He glanced down to look at it again, as though this time he might see something different.

“When was the last time you wore that?” I asked. It was a serious question, but I wanted to know the answer. I was curious.

He thought about it for a moment. “Three years ago,” he said. “January twenty-second. Sam Brady’s funeral.”

I pressed my lips together and crossed my legs. I hadn’t meant for things to get heavy between us but they had. Surprisingly enough, I felt comfortable with the notion of getting intimate with him…and not just sexually.

I watched him as he spoke about his friend. I felt honored he would share this information with me. I didn’t press, didn’t think it was my place. If he wanted to share something with me, he would. If he didn’t, that was okay too. I was here to receive whatever he wanted to offer.

His eyes were filled with sadness, bluer than they typically were…and that was saying something. When he started his story, his eyes were on the surface of the table, the wooden chopsticks, and the white Styrofoam box. By the time he finished, he looked into my eyes with his, big and beautiful and open. I shifted in discomfort. Those eyes were vulnerable. Those eyes scared me. They meant something. This was deep. This was getting too deep.

And yet, despite the discomfort I currently felt, I could not remove myself from this room. I didn’t want to be anywhere else but with him, in this moment. Not even the hotel room. As much as I wanted to wrap my legs around him and feel him inside of me, I wanted to listen to his gravelly voice as he spoke about someone who truly meant something to him. I could hear the raw sadness in his tone, watched as he flexed and curled his fingers. I didn’t think he even realized what he was doing.

When he finished his story, he looked back up at me, waiting. I didn’t know what to say. I felt even trying to say something after everything he shared would be disrespectful. I wouldn’t pretend I knew what he was feeling. I also wouldn’t pretend to understand what he had gone through, which left little for me to say.

Instead, I reached across the small table between us and placed my hand over his. I pulled his hand towards me until it was just before my lips. I made sure to lock eyes with him as I placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles. His eyes flickered, as though he was surprised that I offered him something that seemed so simple to me. “Thank you,” I murmured, my lips still against his skin.

“For what?” His voice was perplexed, but he didn’t pull away from me.

“For sharing,” I told him. “This is nice. Just being with you. Thank you for this night.”

He grinned. “Any time,” he said.

I gently released his hand and leaned back against my seat. “But you still owe me seven orgasms.”