Once, I met this guy. He was...
different
, to say the least. I heard of people like him, but I had never
met
someone like him before. I had no idea that he would be all my greatest fantasies come true.
I met him when I was at someone's house, hanging out with my friends. It was a Friday night in late February. A strong snowstorm was coming in, so instead of leaving we decided to wait it out. We had plenty of drinks and food to hold us over. A twenty-seven-year-old girl like me wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Sure, I would have work the next day, but I told myself I'd moderate my alcohol intake.
Sure.
There were some new faces with us, two of them to be exact. One was very talkative and sociable, but I knew that deep down, he was the biggest douchebag ever. He was wearing a tank top. In February. During a snowstorm. And he drank like he was stranded in a desert. Sure, he had an amazing body, and his face could've been able to make any girl melt, but I had dated plenty of guys like him before. After a fourth failed relationship, I knew I had to search for a more decent type of guy.
And then there was the second new face.
Him.
From a distance, he seemed average in almost every way. Average face, average hair, average body, average clothing, etcetera. But, he seemed a thousand times more decent than Douchey McShitfaced.
I kept my eye on him. He seemed rather quiet. Not exactly shy, just quiet. He rarely contributed to a conversation, and when he did, his sentences were no longer than five words long. But he seemed so friendly... When someone was talking, he gave them his utmost attention. All night, he held the same red solo cup, but he never once drank out of it. He often went to the bathroom, despite not eating or drinking anything, and would be in there five to ten minutes at a time. When he would come out, he'd seem shaken, then, he would take a deep breath, calm down, and resume listening to whatever conversation he could find.
I found Gracie, the person who organized this little get-together. She had short, light brown hair, and wore too much makeup.
I barely gave her any time to notice I was next to her. "Gracie, I need to know something," I told her.
"Oh,
hi
, Danicka!" she said in her shriek of a voice. "What's up?"
I pointed at the quiet, average boy, who was sitting by himself on the floor in the corner, going through his phone. "Do you know who that guy is?" I asked.
"Sorry, Danicka, but no, I don't," she said, only taking a quick glimpse at him. "But you can ask Cameron."
"Cameron...?"
I almost threw up when she pointed to the fuckboy in the tank top. "That's Cameron," Gracie said. "They came here together."
"Fuck
that
," I said, a little too loudly. "I'll just ask the
guy
his name."
"All right," Gracie said, "but be careful, though. He seems kinda... odd."
I suggested, "Maybe he just doesn't like parties. He's probably just... out of his element."
Without speaking another word to her, I went across the room, making my way through the seven other people there. The guy saw me coming and looked me straight in the eye, but only for a second. Then his eyes quickly snapped back to his phone.
Up close, he was actually really cute. Like, "puppy in the window of a pet store" cute. His hair was neatly combed, and he was a little bit on the shorter side in terms of height. I guessed I was maybe two or three inches taller than him.
Undeterred by his avoidance of my gaze, I sat directly in front of him. I never liked sitting on floors, but it was better than towering over him like some kind of giantess. His knees were curled up to his chest, and he had one arms wrapped over his legs, like he was shielding himself from something.
I busied myself by brushing my long, golden hair to the side with my fingers. After a few seconds, it was clear he wouldn't be the one to initiate a conversation, so I simply said, "Hello there."
He finally looked at me. His eyes were big and brown, like they held the mysteries of the universe.
He gave me a forced but friendly smile. "Hi."
"I'm Danicka," I said.
He didn't say anything. He just blinked a few times and continued to wear that innocent smile.
"What's your name?" I prompted, trying my best to not sound impatient.
"I, uh... I'm Sam," he said.
"Oh. Well, it's nice to meet you, Sam." I gave him my
own
smile—the smile I used when I was flirting.
Sam looked away, and his cheeks turned blood red.
"What's wrong?" I asked, giggling at his blushing.
Keeping his eyes on anything except me, he replied, "Oh, y'know, it's— I just, uh... I, um... I..." He took a deep breath. "I... I think you're really pretty."
"Awww. Thank you, Sammy," I said. "Can I call you Sammy?"
Sam nodded.
His simple compliment really created a warm feeling in my chest. I had been called hot, sexy, fine, smokin', and other things, but I wasn't called "pretty" that much. Or maybe... it wasn't the
compliment
, but the sincerity and innocence
behind
it.
"If... If you don't mind me asking, how old are you, Sammy?" I asked. "I was just wondering."
"Twenty-one," he said casually, like it was no big deal.
"Okay," I said. "I'm twenty-seven."
He nodded slowly, finally looking at me again. "That's, um... That's... cool."
"Are you in college?" I asked. "What's your major?"
"English. I'm a sophomore."
"Oh, I see... Did you take a year after high school?"
"Yeah," he said. "You know... Financial stuff."
"Oh, I get
that
," I told him with a laugh. "Debt can be crazy."
He nodded. I could tell he was losing interest in the conversation. I needed to change the subject.
"Do you have a job someplace?" I asked.
"Yep," he said.
". . ."
". . ."
"What do you do?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Um... I work at the paper. I write—stuff like that."
"That's cool! You're kind of like Peter Parker, huh?"
His eyes flashed. Suddenly, all that bashfulness seemed to dissipate. "Yeah... Yeah! Well, maybe more like Clark Kent, but yeah. Well... not really, because I do online stuff. I'm not really a reporter. Not
exactly
, anyway. Um... What do
you
do?"
"I'm a masseuse," I said.
Sam gave me a blank stare, like he didn't even know what a masseuse was. Then he raised his eyebrows. "Huh... That... seems like a cool job to have," he said.
"It
is
a cool job to have," I told him. "And it's quite rewarding, since I get to help people."
"That's... really cool, Danicka," Sam said. I noticed that his smile was much more natural and relaxed. "Yeah, helping people... That's a nice way to live."
"Have you ever gotten a massage?" I asked. It was a little out of the blue, yes, but I figured we weren't strangers enough for me to ask that.
"Well... Not professionally," he replied.
"What do you mean by that?"
Sam took a second to think. "A few years ago a friend gave me a massage, but I hated it. It was just so... uncomfortable. So, no, I've never had, like, a
real
massage."
"They probably just didn't know what they were doing," I said. "
Plus
, now you know someone who can give you a
real
one," I said.
". . . Uhhhm..."
"Here." I held out my hand. "Give me your phone."
He actually gave it to me, not even asking why I needed it. I put my personal number in his phone and gave it back to him. He looked at me, then at his phone, then back at me, flabbergasted.
"Uh... Duh-Danicka, I—"
"Shhh... Don't worry, we don't have to do it
tomorrow
or anything like that. I just want you to have my number. I... I think we should talk more, Sammy. You seem like a really pleasant guy."
"O-okay, th-thank you, but... Can't we just talk more... here?"
"Of course!" I said. Usually, when I gave a guy my number, he would just take it and run. "But... Do you want talk someplace quieter? And where we won't have to sit on the floor?"
"S-sure, yeah. Of... Of course."
He looked at his phone once more.
"Is something wrong, sweetie?" I asked.
"N-no, i-it's just... A girl has never given me her phone number before."
I looked at him, speechless. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to
think
. Was that really true?
My silence was a mistake, because, before long, Sam had a worried expression on his face. "Does— Does that creep you out?" he asked, speaking rather quickly. "I-I know that's kinda weird, so if you want me to delete your number I ca—"
"What?
No!
No, Sam, I'm not creeped out," I said hastily. I tried laughing, but it came out as a nervous chuckle.
I read his face like a book—he was hating himself for being so awkward.
"Turn Down for What" started blaring through the subs, shaking the whole house. I looked at Sam. He was sitting in a way that made him look like a pile of pine needles was under him.
"Let's go talk somewhere quiet!" I yelled through the music.
He nodded, then got up. I gave him my hand, letting him help me up. Keeping our fingers intertwined, I led him to the bedroom. His hand twitched once he figured out where we were going.
"There's no need to be scared, Sammy," I said gingerly. "I'm not gonna try anything on you. You're safe with me."
I closed the door behind us and turned on the light. The bed was nicely made, and the entire room itself was very clean. Flicking the switch, I turned on the lamp next to the bed, spreading a soft, orange light through the room.
I sat on the bed, then, looking at Sam, patted my hand on the spot to the left of me. He sat down next to me, albeit a little farther away than I liked. Our feet could feel the vibration of the bass, but it was leagues quieter in the bedroom than in the living room.
"So," I said, ready for my private time with him, "what kind of music do you like? Do you have a favorite singer?"
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but then he blushed. "I... I really like Justin Timberlake," he said, speaking in a way that made him sound ashamed.
"I like him, too!" I said. "I wish he would make some new music soon."
"Me, too. I'm getting kinda tired of the songs the radio keeps playing. Um... What music do
you
like, Danicka?"
"I
love
J. Cole," I said almost immediately. "His latest CD is
amazing
."
"Really? I... I'll have to check it out."
"Are you sure? It might be a little hardcore for
you
, Sammy," I teased.
Sam scoffed. "Oh, I bet I can handle it. I listen to Timberlake, after all. And I'm always open to listening to new music. Just as long as it's not annoying or repetitive. Can I... tell you a secret, though?"
I moved just a little bit closer to him, nodding. I was amazed that he already trusted me enough to tell me a secret.
"Back in high school," Sam began, "when I was a freshman, I went through this...
phase
."
"Uh-huhhh..."
