Wood: A True Lover's Story

“I’m good,” Trent said, trying to exert some confidence.

Wood looked as if he was about to say something when their waiter, Sean, chose that time to approach their table.

“Evening,” he belted, flashing them a tip-earning smile. “You guys decided to brave the cold for some good seafood tonight, huh?”

Trent reclined into Wood’s body and gave their server his attention. If the older man was surprised at their proximity, he did an amazing job of not showing it. He simply told them about the night’s specials, his favorites dishes, and took their drink orders. Trent waited until he was gone before he asked Wood, “Do you wanna share an appetizer?”

Wood smiled that familiar one Trent was used to seeing, making him relax even more. “This is a really nice place, Trent. I’m surprised,” Wood said while staring out the window at the black waves washing onto the sand, then drifting peacefully away.

“Surprised?”

“Yeah. You strike me more as a beer and wings kinda guy. I was expecting a crowded place with great food, but I thought there’d be TVs mounted all over the place and I’d have to holler in your ear for you to hear me.”

Trent was feeling like a winner inside. He’d already accomplished one thing he’d intended tonight and that was to show Wood another side of him most people didn’t get to see. When he’d eaten at Catch 31 last summer with Bishop and Edison, it’d taken well over an hour to get a table, but Edison swore the food and dining experience would be worth it. Trent remembered having an amazing meal, and he realized he rather preferred dining in places that had linen on the tables and put care into preparing his food. But most of all he recalled wishing he had someone sitting beside him like his best friend did.

“I do enjoy a good Bud and some hot wings… but I can have that at home.” Trent gazed past Wood at the scenic view of the water, then pointed to some doors on the other side of the bar. “Local bands play live jazz on the courtyard out there in the summer on Wednesdays. And since I’m not big on crowds, this place has a patio with a real laid-back vibe that wraps around the restaurant.”

“Oh yeah,” Wood said, his voice low and husky as he stared transfixed at Trent’s mouth as if he was saying all the right things.

“Yeah.” He swallowed, and Wood’s heated stare dropped to his throat.

“Fuck. Stop looking at me like that,” Trent breathed.

Wood inched away and gave him some breathing room while the server refilled their water glasses and set Trent’s ginger ale in front of him.

“Have we decided on starters? I strongly recommend the oysters Rockefeller. It’s our specialty,” Sean said, standing with his notepad poised and ready.

Trent unconsciously rubbed at the soft material over the mark Wood left on his throat. “Damn, we haven’t even had a chance to look at the menu.”

Their server smiled knowingly since he had to have seen them behaving as if they were hungry for anything but food. “It’s no problem. Take your time.”

“So are we gonna eat or what?” Trent began to look over his menu, but he could feel Wood watching him out of the corner of his eye. He’d never been so conscious of everything he did and said on a date. “The fried oysters sound good.”

“Whatever you want.” Wood answered, idly stroking Trent’s thigh. It seemed as if he was doing it mindlessly while he flipped his menu to the seaside and farm favorites page. “Now where is the thickest, juiciest steak they got?”

They ate their food with bits of conversation thrown in between, but everything was so delicious they didn’t want to risk any getting cold. Wood ate all of his bacon-wrapped scallops and over half of his sixteen-ounce rib eye. Where in the hell he put all of that food Trent would never know. He pushed away the last couple of bites of his own blackened red snapper, unable to consume even one more fork of the buttery fish.

“I know two big guys like yourselves saved room for dessert?” their waiter said with a teasing glint in his blue eyes. “You can’t possibly come all the way down here to pass on our famous vanilla bean panna cotta.”

Trent frowned. “A who’a-whatta?”

Wood grinned slowly, then leaned into Trent’s side. “It’s an Italian dessert, like a creamy, thick pudding,” he purred in his ear.

Trent adjusted in his seat, hoping Sean didn’t notice how hot he was getting. He could feel the dampness along his temples, his body on fire everywhere Wood was touching him. Trent could even smell Wood’s sexiness over the aroma of their dishes. “It’s up to you if you want dessert. I’m stuffed,” he managed to say.