His jaw dropped and he stared at me. “I don’t know. I guess I thought your whole driver’s license thing was cute.” Hearing that made me give myself a mental pat on the back for not spewing any bullshit denials about why I’d left my license at his place. “But after that comment you just made, I can honestly say I have no idea. Truly, none.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Maybe I have a brain tumor like that guy in the Woody Allen movie.”
“The brain tumor turned Lukas Haas into a radical Republican, not a raging slut,” I corrected.
Chase tilted the sides of lips up and his eyes twinkled. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you just called me a slut for agreeing to do what you’ve been trying to get me to do since the second we met and focus on the part of that sentence where you know details about a Woody Allen movie.”
I ducked my head, moved my fork around my empty plate, and hoped the warmth on my face wasn’t visible. I hadn’t intended to let that cat out of the bag. Those types of movies were my guilty pleasure and I’d always managed to keep that on the down-low.
“I would have figured you more for an action-adventure type,” Chase continued unperturbed. “You know, explosions and car chases and shit. Not dry humor about New Yorkers done to song.”
“I like action movies,” I said.
“Of course.” He nodded seriously. “But what’s your favorite Woody Allen?” he asked.
“Hannah and Her Sisters,” I answered automatically and then flinched at having confirmed his suspicion.
But instead of making fun of my movie taste, he said, “Shit. If that’s your favorite movie, I’m glad I have a sister and not a brother. Otherwise, I’d worry you’d try to get into his pants.”
Desperate to change the topic, I accidentally asked him about his family, something I normally considered too personal to bring up with my tricks. “You have a sister? Does she live nearby? Is she a dancer too? What about your parents?” A wave of sadness washed over Chase’s face, and I kicked myself for breaking my own rules and getting personal. “Never mind,” I said. “It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s okay.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, seeming anything but okay as he stared at a spot behind me. “My dad took off when I was kid and I never hear from him, but I don’t remember him having any sort of rhythm. My mom’s a nurse and she lives in Florida with her new husband. My sister’s a nanny right now. She used to be a waitress and she worked at a makeup counter at the mall and a bunch of other things too, but she’s never danced. We used to be really close, but she moved to—” He gulped. “ —the other side of the country and she spends a lot of time with my ex, so it’s hard.”
My stomach rolled over when Chase mentioned another man. I cracked my knuckles, and before I could stop myself, asked, “How ex?”
“Huh?” He blinked and refocused on me.
That conversation was the worst foreplay ever. I knew I should let it go, say never mind and take his clothes off. What did I care about his family and his ex-boyfriend and really anything except his gag reflex and how long I could keep his ankles pinned to his ears before he raised a fuss?
“Your ex-boyfriend, the one your sister likes, how long ago did you break up?” I asked, seemingly incapable of exhibiting good judgment. And then, because that wasn’t pathetic enough, I added, “Are you still hung up on him? Is that why you keep turning me down?”
“Keep turning you down? We’ve known each other for just over a week, Adan. Where I come from, that isn’t a very long courtship.” He held his hand out in a stop motion and said, “Wait, don’t tell me. This isn’t a courtship; it’s a booty call, right?” He laughed, but it wasn’t the happy, lighthearted sound I’d gotten used to hearing. I hated it. “In answer to your question, he was my first love. I’m not sure you ever get over that, right? But we broke up years ago and we don’t keep in touch, don’t have mutual friends, won’t run into each other, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”
I wasn’t thrilled about the implication that he’d never get over his ex and I wanted to ask more questions about it, but that would leave the door open for him to ask me about my past relationships, of which I had none. Needless to say, I wasn’t interested in telling Chase that I managed to make it all the way through college and a year into a job working for a consulting firm in San Francisco before I had come out and that I’d spent the four years since then fucking my way through a slew of nameless, faceless men in my limited free time. And talking about his family put me at risk of fielding questions about my family, something I didn’t want to do until, at a minimum, my mother managed to look up the word “gay” in the dictionary and stop asking me if I’d met a nice girl yet.