Were my dark jeans and burgundy button-down too underdressed? I glanced quickly around the restaurant. A few people were dressed up, but more were relatively casual.
My concern melted away when Nicholas approached me. Eyes widening, he murmured softly, “You look amazing. That is definitely your colour,” as he leaned forward and gave me a chaste peck on the cheek. Before we got any further, a man approached the table and leaned forward to pat Nicholas’s shoulder.
“Evening, Mark,” Nicholas said with a small, polite smile.
“I can’t stop, but wanted to say hi,” the man replied. When he glanced at me, Nicholas introduced me.
“Mark, this is a friend of mine, Ky. Ky, this is Mark. This is his restaurant.”
After quick handshakes and greetings, Mark headed off, and Nicholas smiled, “Sorry about the suit—got stuck at work later than I expected. Had a video call to London early this morning, hence the suit, but I thought I would have time to head home. No rest for the wicked, or so my mother always told me. I guess she would know.”
Dinner was spectacular, and the wine was amazing. Nicholas asked me questions all through dinner, about work, about hobbies. Any time I asked a question about him, he started to answer and then turned it into a question about me. The conversation was easy, but shallow. He still smiled when he spoke but it was the cool smile I had seen him give other people, not the unguarded smile I had received a couple of times. I wanted my smile back. I didn’t know any other way to describe it. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he was just trying to be polite on our first date. Or only date, I suspected.
As we were getting ready to leave, I reached for Nicholas’s hand as I started to thank him for dinner, and he pulled away to cover a small yawn. He was avoiding contact, but subtly enough I would have felt like an idiot calling him on it. As we wandered outside, I was trying to work out if I had read this all wrong. Maybe he really was just tired.
I had nothing to lose at that point, so I asked him if he would be free the next Saturday. When he hesitated, I continued anyway, my heart sinking. “No big deal. Just a music festival over at Manly. Have you heard of Beer and Beats? It’s usually pretty good. I was going to head over in the morning.”
After a pause, Nick answered. “I might have to play it by ear. I’m away for a few days this week in Melbourne, so I’m not sure if I’ll be free Saturday or not. I’ll text you and let you know closer to the day, though.”
I smiled weakly, knowing a brush-off when I heard one. A quick awkward goodbye, and I was heading back to the train station. Alone.
Chapter Seven
Ducking Ian’s right hook, I got two short jabs in and stepped away. I enjoyed sparring with him. Even though he was nearly a decade older than me, you wouldn’t know it by how he could fight. He was fit, strong, and, far more importantly, smart. Very smart. Neither of us had too many volunteers at work willing to spar with us unless we went across to the MMA gym, so we trained together whenever we had the chance. He had been fighting since he was a teenager, and my strength was no match for his experience.
Even though they weren’t soft jabs, he chuckled and stood up straight so I knew we were finished. Thank God for that. I was exhausted. It had been a long week. Nothing big events-wise, but long hours training and assisting with several raids across Sydney and Wollongong.
As we sat on the bike for a cool-down, Ian and I continued to chat about nothing important. My mind wandered to Nicholas, like it had a thousand times that week, and our date next Saturday. If he showed up, that was. I suspected he was going to bail. We seemed to have got this a little backwards. We’d had sex, but I knew very little about him, exactly what he did, despite asking him loads of questions last week, or even if this was an actual date.
Maybe it should have stayed a club hook-up. I didn’t really have time for more complicated. Simple worked for me. I came across as cold at work, but it kept me in charge. Cold, methodical, and as long as we got the job done, I didn’t have someone looking over my shoulder. I’d never liked anyone else having control. I had enough of having no control to last a lifetime, and I wasn’t that kid now.
Ian getting off his bike brought me back to the present. “So, I hear young Detective Grayson basically saved your life at that Bankstown job last week. You’re getting a bit slow in your old age.”
I frowned at him. “What the fuck?”
His lips twitched, and then he continued.
“Well, the way Brooke was telling the story, after he’d secured the three large guys, he helped you arrest the teenager who was attacking you with a knife.”
“Fucking Grayson. That is not what happened.”
Now that he had gotten the reaction he was trying for, Ian laughed. “Yeah, obviously.”
“That shit better not be in his actual report,” I grumbled, reminding myself to chase up the report. I should have been notified of it by now.
More seriously, he continued. “Listen, is Grayson going to be a problem? I know he is the favoured child, but if he is, then he can go be a problem elsewhere.”
“Hell no,” I answered, shaking my head. “If he is a problem, then he’s a problem we will fix.” I sighed as I slowed my cycling and wiped my face with my hand towel. “If he was bad at his job, then yeah, it would be an issue. The thing that frustrates the hell out of me is he’s good, or at least could be. He’s smart and has really good instincts when interviewing people. He’s just a fucking arsehole.”
Ian nodded and grunted out a goodbye as he headed to the change rooms.
Ten more minutes of mindless stretching, and I headed to the showers too. Shoving my dirty clothes and shoes into my bag, I grabbed my phone and wallet out of my locker to head home. I absently checked the time on my phone, noticing a new text message from Nick.
Hi. Sorry. Swamped at work so probably won’t make it Saturday.
Just because I wasn’t surprised didn’t mean it didn’t suck. I typed a quick reply.
No worries. Maybe another time.
I guessed that was that, then. I wasn’t going to chase someone who wasn’t interested in me, no matter how much I felt something was there. Obviously, I was wrong.
I waited for a minute for a reply, but when I didn’t get one, I assumed he was busy and pocketed the phone before heading home.
I was drifting off to sleep later that night when my phone beeped. It wasn’t the work tone, but I reached for it anyway. I fumbled it before picking it up and unlocking it to see the message.
Private number.
Maybe this would have be best done before the bottle of wine, not after, but fuck it. I like you. I have fun with you. But I don’t see the point of taking this any further when we know we won’t work. Even if I were staying here long-term, we are hardly compatible. But there it is.
I replied before I thought about it too much.
Maybe I haven’t had enough wine for this conversation. WTF does “hardly compatible” mean? If you are in a relationship, just say that. Why string me along? I guess it explains why you haven’t really told me anything about yourself. If you’re not interested, just say that.
WTF are you talking about? I’m not in a relationship. If I was, I wouldn’t be at the fucking club most weeks. Like Sean said, not compatible means two tops don’t make a bottom. Or something like that. Not that it matters, I’m not in Sydney forever. Just setting Eric up. Then I will move on, like always. And being attracted to you isn’t going to do fuck all for me. I can't do relationships. They suck. They are an illusion. But I like you more than I should, so it would be easier to not see you at all than to see you and know it won’t really work going much further.