“And what is the next step?”
“A date. Ask me out. Like…on a pretend date,” I suggested. “You’re going to have to ask someone out eventually, and face-to-face conversations are important. What do you think?”
The slight pause made me nervous.
“Are you free this weekend?”
I nodded like a puppet, wiping jizz on my T-shirt as I sat up. “Yes. Friday?”
“Friday it is.”
7
TOMMY
Fridays were busy. I taught until six p.m., just in time for prime rush hour weekend traffic. Getting across town was tricky enough, but navigating the freeway to get to West Hollywood would be a nightmare unless we planned a late dinner. A very late dinner. I was fine with that, but Noah offered to drive to Pasadena. His regular Friday afternoon client was on vacation this week, so he had time…but no idea where to go.
“I’m not familiar with your hood, Professor. You’ll have to choose a restaurant,” he’d said.
“No problem.”
Except I didn’t know where to bring a date. As much as I didn’t want to advertise that I actually had a date, I needed advice.
“Oh! Blake and I love that Spanish place near Caltech. You can literally walk from campus, and the tapas and sangria are fabulous. It’s romantic too,” Asher had assured me. “This is a budding romance, I assume?”
I felt my face turn pink. There was no way I could tell my friends about the very odd friendship-slash-tutorship I’d entered with Noah. “Well…I don’t know about that. But it’s two guys going out for dinner.”
“A promising start!”
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I secretly hoped Ash was right. I liked Noah. He was fun and whimsical. His casual irreverence made me laugh almost as much as his unexpected sporty side intimidated me. But then he’d ask about my day…what I was teaching, what my students were like. It was a heady thing to have someone like him hang on my every word.
Yes, I was aware that this whole exercise was about him finding me someone else to date, but I didn’t think he was trying very hard. He occasionally brought up his friends, Rick or Jeff, in conversation. They were smart, single, sporty. I’d like them. Or so he said. But he never seem bothered when I abruptly changed topics and he certainly hadn’t faked that phone sex orgasm. Simple math suggested that in spite of personal misgivings, Noah liked my company and was sexually attracted to me.
On paper, it didn’t make any sense that someone like him would be interested in me. I knew who I was, and let’s face it, new glasses, a new haircut, and a new pair of khakis hadn’t changed me. I was still a geek.
Noah didn’t seem to mind. He made an effort to know me. He asked endless questions about my family, my friends, my work. He sympathized with my frustration with Dr. Abrams and chuckled when I told him about the student who brought baked treats for me every Monday.
But he didn’t share a lot about himself. He never talked about family, other than to say that his friend Easton was like a brother to him, Darcy made him laugh, and Jase kind of intimidated him. He stuck to current events and silly stories he’d overheard at the salon. He also talked about the ghost he was sure lived in his condo. Mabel?
He made me smile, but I wasn’t sure what I did for him. Not true. I’d made him come. And while that was extremely cool, I doubted he’d stick around for phone sex.
Yep, I really had to wow him on this date.
Needless to say, I was a nervous wreck on Friday morning. My coffee didn’t taste quite right, and the three bites of bagel I’d eaten sat in my stomach like a rock. There was no way I’d make it to lunch without fuel, so I nibbled the bagel like a mouse while I read an assignment from my iPad at the kitchen table and enjoyed the quiet. A nice perk of being an early riser.
“Yo, Tommy boy.”
I jolted and glanced up at the massive man hovering in the doorway. “Ezra. You’re up early.”
“Got shit to do, man,” he replied, yawning as he waited for his coffee to brew. “Thank God it’s Friday, am I right?”
“Hmm.”
Ezra mistook my polite hum of acknowledgment as an invitation and flopped onto the chair across from me. I fixated on his impossibly small white cup, wondering if it just seemed tiny because Ezra was huge. He was six four and built like a brick house with dark-blond hair, brown eyes, and tattoos all over his muscular body. And yes, I’d seen more of Ezra’s body than I cared to admit.
Yep, he was our resident exhibitionist. Ezra didn’t think twice about parading about the house in his boxer briefs without a shirt. Or even naked. Once, he’d stripped after spilling red wine on his white polo shirt and khakis to put them in the washing machine. He’d had the gall to act exasperated when we demanded that he put clothes on. Arguing with a tattooed naked, muscular man was a bit daunting.