Starting From Somewhere (Starting From 4)

“It’s June now. What are you gonna do till September?”

“Um, I have a part-time summer internship lined up, but it’s no big deal,” he replied quickly.

“Hmm. You should have some fun too. Maybe kick it at the beach, counting babes while you make up stories for your friends,” I teased.

Cody frowned. “I sunburn easily, but for the sake of research, I’m planning a trip to the beach soon, so…yes.”

“Right.” I smiled kindly even though I wanted to laugh out loud. This guy was fuckin’ adorable.

“And…I’m gay, so I wouldn’t count babes or check them out at all. That would be disrespectful. And rude.”

“I see,” I said evenly.

“Do you? I’m confused. I thought—”

“What did you think?”

“I thought—I thought maybe you’re gay too, and that’s why you’re talking to me. I can’t tell. I’m not good at detecting flirtation or seduction. If I got it wrong I—what’s so funny?”

Okay, this time I laughed. I kept it light and made sure to smile, so he’d know I wasn’t laughing at him. I was just…charmed.

“Nothing’s funny. You got it right,” I assured him. “I’m flirting with you, but I’m not necessarily seducing you. Trust me, if I was actively trying to get in your pants, you’d know.”

“Oh. So, you don’t really want…me. That’s okay! Conversation is good,” Cody assured me, raking his teeth over his plump bottom lip nervously.

I reached out to run my thumb over the swollen skin. I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t resist. He didn’t know me at all. I was just a strange dude in a bar. But it seemed important that he know I found him very attractive.

“It’s not a matter of wanting you, Cody boy. If I can be perfectly honest…” I paused a moment to give him a chance to weigh in.

“Um, yes, please.”

“I’d do you in a heartbeat.” Shakespeare, step down. I’ve got this.

Cody’s Adam’s apple slid theatrically in his throat. “Do me?”

“Yeah. Do you, take you, fuck you. Whatever you want to call it. Over the bar, over a table, over a stool…”

His mouth was a perfect O. I set my fingers under his chin and winked.

“There are people here,” he whispered.

“True. We wouldn’t want to get arrested. As much as I’d enjoy the hell out of shimmying your khakis off and making that fine ass mine, sex in public is generally frowned upon,” I said matter-of-factly. “There’s always the bathroom.”

Cody swatted my hand away and snickered. “Very funny. Okay, I get it. You’re flirting. Lewd techniques may be effective in finding the desired temporary sexual partner.”

I flashed a megawatt grin as I waggled my brows, pleased when he snort-laughed. Yep, I was a sucker for a good sense of humor.

“You’re on to me. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself before you try gettin’ in my pants?” I teased.

“I wasn’t trying to—okay.” He lowered his lashes and took another sip of his drink. “What do you want to know?”

“How old are you? Where are you from? Any siblings, pets, or serious phobias?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m twenty-four. I’m from the Bay Area…Lafayette, to be exact. I have an older sister and a younger brother. No pets, however, my list of phobias would take a while to get through. Snakes, spiders, heights, and elevators are just a few. Oh! And sharks.”

“Okay, a few of those make sense, but why elevators?”

“I got stuck in one when I was a kid. It was probably for no more than twenty minutes, but I was traumatized. I still have nightmares about it.” He traced a circle in the condensation on his glass. “How about you?”

“Elevators don’t bother me.”

“No, it’s your turn to tell me about yourself before I try to get in your pants.” He slapped his hand over his mouth and widened his eyes comically.

“Ha. All right, then. I’m thirty-three. I’m from Chicago. No siblings, no pets. My dad has a parrot, but I haven’t seen either of them in a couple of years.” I made a quick mental note to call my dad and continued. “And my only real phobia is going to the doctor’s office.”

“That’s a normal phobia. My mom is a surgeon. She has lots of stories about patients who put off procedures because they’re afraid of anesthesia or—”

“Oh, no. Anesthesia is not the issue. I don’t like waiting rooms, stethoscopes, charts, shots. My phobia extends to dentists and optometrists too. I need to make an appointment to get my eyes checked, and I’ve been putting it off for a while. I should have done it a year ago, but I made excuses every time the date arrived. Now, I’ve got an actual issue.”

“How so?”

“I need…glasses,” I admitted with a put-upon sigh.

“Glasses are hot.”

I fixed him with a “yeah, right” look. “I’m a guitar player in a rock band. I’m not wearing glasses.”