Ch 1 The First Time
It's Saturday. A normal Saturday. Just a Saturday, like any other. I'm at The Dive, with my girlfriend Jess. I know, I know, a dive bar named The Dive, it's pretty corny. Yes, the place is rough around the edges, but the beer is cheap and it's only a couple of blocks away from my place, so it's where you can find us most week-ends. Jess and I have been together for about seven or eight months, though the first few months it was a hook-up type arrangement, so we are still in the process of meeting each other's friends. Today, it's her friends Liza and Ethan's turn.
Jess looks so happy as she introduced me to Liza. She's one of her best friends and someone she'd been wanting me to meet for a while. Liza seems nice. Tall and blonde with tortoise-shell glasses which give her a bit of a sever, librarian vibe, but she seems friendly and is obviously pleased to meet me. Says she's heard good things and all of that.
We make small talk for a few minutes and then she says, almost like an afterthought, "Oh, Oliver, you haven't met Ethan. Come on, he's watching the game, I'll introduce you."
We turn and head to the bar and there he is.
There. He. Is.
He spins his bar stool around slowly, leaning back against the bar, broad shoulders in a crisp white shirt. His legs splayed. Feet perched on the stool as an easy, if slightly cutting grin, spreads slowly across his face.
There's really no way around it, the very first thing you notice about Ethan is that he's handsome. I mean seriously handsome. Dangerously handsome. Olive skin, brown hair so dark it almost looks black. Light hazel eyes with wild flecks of green and blue. A slightly prominent nose, with a tiny hint of a curved bridge. It's just enough to add interest to his face and forever excuse him from being mistaken for being just another perfect face.
Perhaps, I should add a preface here, to say that in my twenty-six years, never once have I found myself taken aback by or even vaguely interested in a man's looks. Hell, I probably couldn't tell you what color my housemates' eyes are and I've known those guys since college.
But, back to Ethan, he is so good looking that the very first thing I feel upon meeting him, is a vague sense of annoyance. But annoyance at who? Jess? Irrationally, I almost feel that she should have warned my before I met him. You know, just a quick little heads-up. Something like, "Just so you know, you should prepare yourself for the fact that Ethan is incredibly good-looking." That would be completely irrational. So, no, I'm sure it can't be that. I wrack my brain.
What the fuck is my problem?
I wonder if it's a case of me being a bit of an asshole? There's no way for me to say this without coming off as a dick, so I'm just going to have to come out and say it -- usually, when I walk into a bar, I'm the best-looking guy there.
Okay?
And no, I don't have a big head about it and no, I'm not into myself. Usually, it's just a fact. So, maybe that's it? Maybe I'm a little threatened and that's it?
Yes
, I think,
that's it.
I'm not proud of it, but I feel better as soon as I've mentally worked through this little conundrum. I introduce myself in a manner that feels perfectly normal and socially acceptable. With relief, I think I must be over my weird little blip.
"Irish, huh?" He says by way of greeting. His voice is deep. The type of deep that you easily pick out in a crowded room, as it seems to occupy a completely different octave from the voices of other mere mortals. I'm surprised he made my accent. My mom and I moved to the States over ten years ago and most people can't hear my origin in my voice anymore.
He shoves a hand towards me and as I reach out to shake it, I can't help but notice how big his hand is. Wide palms with long, slender fingers. It feels hot to touch and as it envelopes mine...
wait,
what?
What the fuck!?
What is going on with me
?
I haven't even had a beer yet, but I feel like I need to sober up. I need to pull myself together. I take a quick deep breath, sit down and take a long, cool swig of the beer that's appeared in front of me.
I focus my attention on the football game on the TV above the bar. Over the next hour or so, I find out that Ethan and Liza have been together for four years and that he is an architect. Other than that, it's small talk and yelling the odd bit of advice at the referee. I'm in my comfort zone and I feel acutely relieved. That whole business earlier must have been an anomaly and nothing to worry about, I'm sure of it. Absolutely sure of it.
Jess has made a dinner reservation for us, so as soon as the game finishes, we get ready to leave. Even though I've barely said two words to her, I assure Liza that it has been lovely to meet her, and she assures me of the same thing.
Ethan lightly taps my arm says, "Good to meet ya, Irish."
His words land and dissolve, but the spot he touched on my arm burns into me like a brand.
What the fuck?
I think, not for the first time that evening.
I'm not attracted to him, am I?
Am I?
I steal a quick, furtive glance at him.
No
.
No, obviously not. That's not me.
As we leave, I open the door for Jess and in years to come, I'll often wonder what makes me do it, but as she walks through, I turn and look back at Ethan and Liza. She's pressed up against him now, his arm is draped around her small waist, his hand snaking down, grabbing her ass. He cups her chin with his other hand, tilting her face up to his. I see his lips part and the pink wetness of his tongue, as he presses it into her mouth. I'm transfixed. I tear my eyes from his mouth, track up along his jaw, up his chiseled cheekbones and finally land on his eyes. I fully expect to find them closed, but no.
No, his eyes are open. Wide open.
They're looking straight at me. Into me. His gaze hits me square in the chest, making me physically recoil. My mouth opens in surprise, though I quickly clamp it shut. Blood rushes south. I feel myself stiffen.
Fuuuuck.
*
It's been a couple of weeks since our last, extremely odd encounter, and I've had plenty of time to work through it. I've analyzed the situation repeatedly and in minute detail. Ultimately, this is what I've come up with: Jess and I had not had sex on the day I met Ethan and I was obviously pent up. It happens. No big deal. Additionally, dicks are not all that clever and sometimes they do dumb shit. Also, no big deal.
Okay?
So that's it. Line drawn in the sand.
No. Big. Deal.
*
So,
No Big Deal
it is, until Jess and Liza make plans to get a mani-pedi together and unanimously decide that it will be nice for Ethan and I to hang out. I 'um' and 'er' about it a bit, trying to think of an excuse that's not, "Your friend's boyfriend gave me a look that made my dick hard." But I'm coming up empty. Jess seems to have decided that Ethan and I are going to be friends and there doesn't seem to be much I can do about it. I make a mental note to watch her for signs of being controlling in future, though to be fair, she's been pretty much a dream girlfriend up until now.
I feel a bit like a kid being dropped off for a playdate as she drives me over to Ethan's. I remind myself firmly that last time was
No Big Deal
. Still, I feel a little sense of trepidation as we walk up the stairs to his apartment. Ethan opens the door and lets us in while Liza greets us with a big smile. The mood is completely relaxed and neutral. Normal.
See? Absolutely,
No Big Deal.
Yes, he gave me a look. Nothing wrong with that. Everything is completely fine.
The End.
But.
But.
Butt.
It wasn't the end, was it?
I can still hear the clatter of Jess's heels on the staircase, when the mood in the room shifts. It's hard to say what changes. On the face of it, all Ethan does is offer me a beer, get it out of the fridge and walk back over to give it to me. Under the surface, it's the edge in his voice, it's the way he moves, the way he lookes at me when he hands it to me. It's hard to know how to describe it other than to say, there's a charge. I can't tell you if it's a positive or negative shift, or if there's suddenly more or less oxygen in the room. I can only say that it's
charged.
What happened next happens so quickly, I don't even have a second to refer back to my
No Big Deal
pep talk. It's vague and jumbled in my mind, but to the best of my recollection, it goes like this: He hands me the beer. I take it, but as I do, he gives me a playful little jab in the ribs. I jump a little and might say something like, "What the fuck, dude?" He jabs me again, a little less playful this time, so I shove him a little. His lips crack open, in a crooked, dark smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, as he reaches down and very deliberately taps my dick.
He tapped my fucking dick!?
I'm unequivocally positive I say, "What the fuck?" that time.
I toss my beer onto the floor and grab him by the scruff of his t-shirt and shove him up against the wall. He still has that smile on his face and I can't help noticing that his eyes are completely and notably without fear. So much so, that I can't seem to hold eye contact with him and maybe that's why my eyes wonder down. They wonder down past his neck. Down his chest and to his belt. To his buckle and to the little bit of skin I'd exposed by grabbing his t-shirt. Tanned skin. Taut skin, covering his belly as it rises and falls as he breathes in and out.
Time seems to slow, and then stop briefly. I raise my hand, clenching my fist, fully intending to punch him. Somewhere between curling my fingers to make a fist and drawing my arm back, I lose my train of thought. I'm distracted. Distracted by the heat of his body. Distracted by the quickness of his pulse and the quickness of mine. Ultimately, what should be a punch that ends a friendship before it even begins, turns into an open palm pressing against that little bit of exposed skin. My open palm. His exposed skin.
Instead of getting the fuck out of there right then and there, that open palm turns into a hand grazing his belly and a sharp intake of breath, though I can't be sure now, if that comes from him or from me.
