Jerk

Even if it’s the version of me who keeps gnawing on his lip.

And checking his breath every five seconds.

And stealing nervous glances at the cute guy he’s walking next to.

To tell you the truth, it’s exhilarating.

That overwhelmingly excited feeling lasts the whole walk to the restaurant, and through the whole dinner. We share a whole damned table of delicious dim sum, ordering nearly half the menu. Someone at the restaurant must be taken by us, because we’re brought out two bonus dishes courtesy of the chef, who also comes out to ensure we’re happy. After he leaves us to enjoy the rest of our meal, Danny gives me a look and says, “It’s definitely your tie,” to which the both of us laugh. Every bite is like holding a seasoned, flavorful piece of paradise on our tongues. Every dish smells twice as enticing and delicious as the last. And every time I catch Danny’s eyes across the table, neither of us can resist smiling.

This just might be the best night of my life.

When we leave the restaurant, our walk is slower and calmer, chatting casually about all sorts of random things, from my change of pace at work, to antics at his nutrition shop. I’ve loosened my tie and rolled up my sleeves. It feels like we’re our old selves again, maybe even from a year ago when he was unavailable and I was awkward and insecure.

Is this what being happy feels like?

Is it way too soon to tell?

We stop at the crosswalk where our paths diverge. My place is one way. His, the other. As we peer into each other’s eyes, I feel like our bodies have become powerful magnets, and it’s taking every bit of strength I have not to crash my mouth into his and lose all restraint.

“Well, I guess this is when we call it a night,” says Danny.

I nod slowly, understanding. I want to show him I’m a better man. I want to show him my maturity. “I guess it is,” I agree. “Only if you’re ready to head home.”

He shuffles his feet. “If I’m being honest, I … don’t want this night to end.”

“Me neither.”

“But it … probably should.” He bites his lip.

This is the new Romeo, the one who doesn’t push, the one who gives his special man the space to breathe, the one who knows self-control—even if it fucking kills him. “Don’t worry, Danny. This is just one date. We will always have next time.”

“Next time?”

“And the time after that, and after that, and after that …” I take hold of his hand suddenly, which startles him. Our eyes move to our fingers as they gently weave together. “There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere. We can have ten more dinners before we do anything else, if that’s what it takes.”

He peers into my eyes.

I peer into his. “I can wait for you. As long as it takes.”

He swallows hard. I feel the tension of need rippling through his body like an electric current. “I …”

“Yeah?”

His grip on my fingers tightens. “I … don’t think I can wait.”

I lift an eyebrow. Does he mean—?

The next instant, he pulls me against his body and presses his lips to mine.

And now it’s Danny who can’t hold back as he clutches me against him, kissing me like this may be the last time he ever kisses anyone again. I kiss him right back, feeling as if I’ve finally reached the other side of this rickety, terrible bridge I’ve been crossing since I can remember.

Danny is my safe place. He’s my destination.

He’s my everything.

When we pull apart, it feels like the chemistry building between us never stopped. Whatever we had, it’s back tenfold, and there’s nothing in the way to stop us but ourselves.

“You’ve never seen my place,” Danny points out suddenly.

I can’t keep my eyes off of him. “That’s true.”

“We should fix that.”

“Only if you’re ready.”

He pulls our hips together and gives me a look. “Do I look ready to you?”

Then he kisses me again.

I kiss him right back.

Whatever we’ve just started, it’s a raging firestorm, and it is eager to consume everything in its path—mad, glorious, and unstoppable as it is.

I can’t tell you how we get down the street. I can’t describe the front of his apartment complex. I can’t even tell you which floor he’s on or what his apartment number is.

All I know is, Danny won’t stop kissing me.

And I can’t stop kissing him.

Whatever we’ve been denying ourselves all this time is at last making itself known. My hands are all over his body and his lips are all over mine as we stumble through his dark apartment, kicking into things on our way to his bedroom—wherever the hell that is. My tie is whipped off in seconds. His shirt, too. Then his fingers fumble blindly for the buttons of my shirt, and it’s gone just as fast. My shoes and pants are an afterthought as they’re peeled off and flung aside. When my back hits the bed, he’s on top of me in an instant, claiming me like a prize.