We talked as we worked. He told me about the polymer clay he used, the metal bits that served as scaffolding, how he formed the figures, and how he came up with the story. And then he started talking about other things that mattered to him like…his favorite ice cream flavor; his favorite video games; his best friend, Jack; his archnemesis, Connor; and the girl he kind of sort of, not really—and I’d better never tell anyone—had a crush on. Her name was Charlotte, in case you were curious. And she was going to be at camp.
Oliver also talked about his birthday, his cousins, the cake his mom made, and the party Charlie was throwing for him when he got home. He’d inherited his dad’s easygoing nature minus his sharklike tendencies. With his defenses down, he was engaging and enthusiastic. And fun to be around.
Seb joined us at some point and though the dynamics changed a bit, it was comfortable. It was also my first real opportunity to observe Seb as a parent to a young teenager. For someone who claimed to be a sucky dad, I thought he was pretty damn amazing. He was completely present and focused. He ignored his phone and stayed in the moment. Sometimes it seemed like Oliver was the more mature of the two of them. He reined his dad in when Seb’s ideas for the talking Oreo became a bit ambitious.
“Dad, that’s too much action for a clay cookie,” Oliver said, repositioning his figures on the “stage.”
“Oh, c’mon. What’s he gonna do…crumble?” Seb joked, raising his hands up for high fives.
Oliver and I rolled our eyes, then chuckled at our timing.
“Ganging up on me, eh?” Seb tousled Oliver’s hair and shot a mock glare my way.
Oliver smiled, cocking his head curiously. “Are you really boyfriends or just friends?”
And here we go.
I gave a weak half laugh and met Seb’s gaze. “We’re sort of boyfriends. I like your dad, but you know, he’s never asked me on a real date.”
“Why not?” Oliver grinned shamelessly at his father.
And you know, I think Seb actually blushed.
“I…um…” Seb slipped his hands into his pockets and turned to me. “What are you doing Friday?”
“My laundry,” I quipped.
Seb glowered. “How about Saturday?”
“Gotta wash my sweet ride, clean my apartment, pick up my dry cleaning…”
“Dry cleaning? Really?” Seb huffed, setting his hands on his hips as he addressed Oliver. “I can’t date this guy. He’s some kind of crazy clean freak.”
Oliver hooted with laughter and teased his dad about leaving his shoes in the most trippable places…and just like that, it kind of felt like home.
Seb walked me to my car later that afternoon, staring at the garden over my shoulder as I opened my door. “Hey, what are you actually doing next weekend?”
I pushed my sunglasses higher on my nose and flashed a monster grin his way. “You doubt my dedication to cleanliness?”
He gestured at the takeout wrappers on the passenger side seat. “Well…just a little.”
We shared a smile that made my heart flip in my chest. Fuck, I was kind of crazy about this guy. This one…right here. The one who made pancakes for his son, made an effort to do the right thing…to be present and accountable. The one who looked at me like I might have something he needed. Me.
“In a twist, I’m free next weekend. Why?”
“Want to go on a date?” he asked shyly.
I pursed my lips and nodded. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
So…that was when we started “dating.” Seb took me to a ridiculously fancy restaurant in Malibu that Friday. We sat at a table for two overlooking the Pacific at sunset. It was romantic and almost unbearably sweet. We ate seafood, drank martinis and whiskey, and talked till we were hoarse before going back to his place.
I made love to him that night. Slow and tender. And damn, it felt different somehow…brand-new and so fucking precious. We woke up tangled in each other, aware of yet another shift between us. I certainly wasn’t going to ruin it by asking questions. No, I was gonna do it the right way…by taking him on a terrible date.
See, I had this notion that Seb should know that the real me didn’t do fancy shit. I liked basic bars and humble pursuits like playing darts, pool, or hell…bowling. So, I took a famous Hollywood producer to a hole-in-the-wall bowling alley in the Valley. We’re talking the kind of joint that had been around since the fifties. Smoke and grime were so ingrained in the walls, the only way to remove it was to demolish the building. I figured Seb would take one look and shake his head. I was wrong.
He had more of an issue with being in the Valley than bowling. In fact, he loved bowling and he was good at it. He kicked my ass and demanded that I fuck him dirty that night. So I did. I had him on his knees in my bed, begging me for dick while the headboard thumped in carnal rhythm against the wall.