And so I shake off every fear I can’t quite name, and revel in how good it feels to have big rough hands touch me. He’s handsy, this guy. Likes to touch my fingers across the table, bump his leg against mine.
After dinner, we take a walk, and before I get in the cab, he kisses me good night in a way that makes my thighs shake.
When I get home, I text Luke again.
Grace: Second date.
Luke: Same guy?
Grace: No.
Luke: Good.
It isn’t until I’m getting ready for the third date that I realize my variation of Luke’s plan doesn’t actually work. This guy’s name is Javi, and he’s a military pilot. He’s not in the city that often, doesn’t live here, but he’s looking for a hook-up.
And I am not.
I’m pretending that I am, but that’s a lie I’m telling myself, because as fun as these dates are, they don’t hold a candle to what Luke and I did on his couch.
Fuck.
If I’m going to try dating, I actually need to have sex with one of these guys, and Javi seems like a good enough option.
And then, at the last second, he cancels. Work, he says.
Sure, I bet.
And so I quietly shelve the dating plan. I don’t tell Luke about it. He doesn’t ask. And another week rolls by. The days are warmer now, we’re well into spring, and the whole city is starting to bloom.
I still feel like I’m covered in a layer of permafrost, but I’m not tempted to try the dating apps again.
And then one night, my phone vibrates. Three messages, sent back to back.
Javi: Hey, sorry for the radio silence, but I was away for work and spotty reception.
Javi: Legit spotty. I was in Resolute Bay.
Javi: But I’m back in Toronto for the weekend, and I’m interested in meeting up for a coffee sometime. Any time, really.
I grin like an idiot.
Grace: Where are you right now? I’m downtown.
Javi: I can be there in thirty minutes.
Javi is nice. And hot. And after two cups of coffee, I’m not tired at all.
“Do you want to take a walk?”
“Sure.”
He stands first, coming around to pull out my chair for me.
I like the way he smells. I like the way his fingers brush ever so gently against my back, then fall away again.
“So you were way up north,” I ask as we step outside. We talked about everything except his work while we drank coffee.
“Yep.”
And maybe we won’t talk about it now, either.
That’s fine. I’m not looking for his life story.
“How long are you in the city now?”
“Just the weekend. Then I’m going to Trenton for a while.”
“Cool.”
“Nice to have someone to hang out with a bit before I go, though.” Clear boundaries. He’s not looking for a relationship.
That’s fine.
I’m only looking for one night. “I’m kind of busy with work, and some personal stuff,” I say. “But I’m giving myself tonight to just be…free.”
“Free is good.”
“Free is very good.” I wink at him. “Do you want to go back to your place?”
“My place is a hotel room at the Marriott. Does that work?”
It’s perfect. “Sure. Let me just text a friend and tell them where I’m going.”
I hesitate for a second before I tap the message out. I know it’s probably across the line.
Grace: Another date tonight. Might be out all night. I’m at the Marriott.
Luke: Understood. Be safe.
I shove my phone into my purse and take Javi’s hand.
25
Grace
I text Luke the next morning and he doesn’t reply, so I go downstairs.
He answers the door, eventually, looking hungover in the worst way. He's barely got a grasp on a glass of water. He doesn’t say anything, just steps back, letting me in, and my heart sinks.
How do I explain what I’m thinking? How I feel? I grab the glass from his and take a desperate gulp—
"That's not water," Luke says as I gasp and choke against the unexpected burning tingle.
"What the fuck are you drinking?"
"Tequila."
I blink at him through watery eyes. "At nine in the morning?"
"I didn't realize it had gotten that late."
I look at him again, more carefully this time.
He's not hungover. He's drunk. There’s no way I can try to have a calm, rational conversation with someone who is blitzed out of his mind. "Why didn't you say something?"
Shrugging, he sways to the couch. “Hardly seemed like there was time before you just stole my drink.”
“You can’t drink a water glass full of tequila at nine in the morning. Or any time.” I set the glass down in his kitchenette and join him on the couch.
He gives me a sad look. “You were on dates.”
I take a deep breath. “Which you told me to go on.”
“And I meant that. But it was hard to picture.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“Yeah.” He closes his eyes.
“I shouldn’t have told you I was going on them.”
Another shrug. “I deserve it.”
“I’m done with all of that.”
He freezes. Then, slowly, he blinks his eyes open and looks at me. “Why?”
“Because I know what I want now.”
“I’m too drunk for this conversation, aren’t I?”
“Probably.” I shift closer. “Or maybe you’re just drunk enough to tell me the truth about the Daddy thing.”
He groans. “Oh, fuck.”
“Did you ever do the Daddy/baby girl—”
“Never.” He says it fast and sure, like the question sobered him up.
“I need you to take that quiz,” I whisper. “Because it’s not that simple for me. I took a whole class about being Little and I’m not really that, exactly.”
“I’m definitely too drunk to know what that means, but there are classes?”
I nod. “There are.”
“I have a lot to learn, don’t I?”
“Yep.”
He catches my hand and pulls it to his mouth. He kisses my knuckles, then gives me a sad look. “How are you sleeping?”
“I’m not.” I bite my lower lip. “Do you remember what I said when we were fooling around? I need to masturbate like that to fall asleep.”
His mouth falls open. I wonder if he’ll remember that when he sobers up.
He moves his hand to my face and strokes my cheek. “I wish we had done a lot of things differently.”
“Me too.” Then I jump all the way in. “We still can.”
He crushes his mouth against mine, claiming me, and I free fall into his embrace. He makes a noise, sweet and agonizing at the same time, and hoists me up. Drunk, but still strong.
I need more. I claw at his shirt, desperate for the feel of his skin under my fingers.
He changes the angle of the kiss, deepening it.