The Attraction Of David

Chapter 19

We had an awkward silence as we sat and waited for the food that we ordered. I was optimistic and anxious about this impromptu night out. It was a given fact that I should look forward to the good things that would happen as I sat in front the perfect existence that was Stan. We talked about politics, books, and music back in the car while he drove. And then we were here, my mouth running out of words to say as he stared at me. It was like all the pre-planned conversations had been tackled on the way here.

The music in the large expanse of the pub was subtle, and Stan was tapping his fingers against the table, probably waiting for anything coming from me. There were many people, as always. The aroma of food wafted across the place, and the cheerful noises of the crowd felt alien to the looming silence in our table for two.

He cleared his throat. “You okay? You're silent."

I nodded. “Just nervous. This is our first...” I trailed off and looked at him, and he gave an approving nod as he deciphered the next word that should've come out of my lips. I was thinking of ways to not make him feel uncomfortable, like being taciturn and not being too pronounced. But it was as if the tactic was backfiring, and the one who was becoming more unsettled was me.

“What’s on your mind? What made you nervous?” He perched a hand on his shoulder, the other, crossed around his chest.

“I’m trying not to be too obvious,” I looked around, seeing that some people were looking at us since we had arrived. “It’s uncomfortable. Sorry. I'm not use to attention."

“Just don’t look at them, I know it’s weird.” He took the glass of water and downed it. “And they say men can’t hold themselves together." Stan chuckled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

His remark pertained to the table behind us where three women were audibly talking, dubbing him as black shirt, while they coined me as peach shirt. I contained my opinion to make things less odd, but then knowing that he was aware of the things that were happening, particularly, the tête-à-tête on the other side, a grin formed on my lips.

“I couldn’t blame them. I would feel the same way,” I said, remembering how one of the girls declared how broad his shoulders were.

“And I would, too, peach shirt,” he whispered, locking his gaze at me. “Ignore them. Let's talk about things while we wait. Let's figure you, David.”

I spruced up on my seat and crossed my arms. A hoarse chuckle came out of me. “You knew everything about me already. What else have I missed on telling you?”

He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know everything about you, yet. You’re very guarded. Each time I would raise a question about your history, you always find ways to draw away the conversation. You’re very mysterious, David.”

I knew this s**t would come; I just did not expect it would be tonight, on our first date. The further I attempted to get around his usual topics of digging up the past, the more it heightened his morale to implore. I had to deflect him most of the time by quipping something that would make him laugh. But I ran out of a quip, and I knew he was waiting.

Luckily, the food and the bucket of beer arrived just in time, and it was a saving grace as the moment was making my innards turn.

I peered up at the server, noticing how young she was. Presumably a part-timer. “Thank you. Wow, this smells amazing." I put on wide smile, following her movements with my eyes as she bring down the pan and the plates that looked too heavy for her arms.

She glowed back at me. “Yes. I hope you guys enjoy it. I don’t see you here often, you’re new here?” she asked, fixing our plates and slicing the pizza in front of us. "I think I've never seen you before." She giggled lightly.

I shook my head. “I come here with my friends sometimes. Just not a regular. And we're here to celebrate.” I said and looked at Stan, a smirk lining his lucious lips.

“Oh, with what?” she implored, placing down the pan right in the middle of our table. "Job promotion?"

“We’re celebrating life,” Stan answered, making her turn her direction to the face of the man in front of us. “Thanks."

The female server nodded and looked back at me." Just call me if you need anything," she said. She flashed another smile and strode to attend to another table.

I looked back at Stan who had an impish grin on his face. I raised an eyebrow. “Something funny?” I asked, opening two bottles of beer. “I hate it when you smile like that. What is it?”

“How easy it is for you to attract people without trying." He grabbed the beer I opened for him. “Just a smile and you got them at your fingertips.”

I took a swig of beer and frowned. “What? She’s nice, and she hauled everything we ordered all alone.” I found his remarks really weird. "It was not like I flirted with the girl, she seemed too young for me to do that."

“I know. If there’s one thing that’s so good about you, it’s your smile. It’s really beautiful and inviting, like you are attracting people with it."

“Like this?” I gave an enthusiastic toothy grin at him.

“Yeah, like f*****g that, now stop before I yank you out of your seat and...” He exhaled loudly. “It frustrates me how good you are with being so attractive without even trying.”

“You mean you should be frustrated with yourself,” I retorted. “Anyway, you ordered too much food,” I said, seeing how many plates we had in front.

“Well, this is a bunch, but we can handle it.” He grabbed a chunk of lettuce from the plate of grilled chicken, folding the leaf and dunking it into his mouth. “I wonder what other things we have not talked about. Let’s talk about your childhood, “he said as he chewed.

I took a forkful of pasta, dismissing his words. I dreaded discussing the past with him, of all places. I’d rather talk over what’s in store for our future. I munched and swallowed, eventually lifting my gaze to meet his. He was staring ardently at me, a sign that ceasing the notion to converse about it was not possible.

I took another forkful of food into my mouth. “What would you want to know?” I finally asked. “I told you, it’s not interesting. How about we chat with what’s in store for us?”

He took a piece of meat into his mouth, and my eyes marveled at how defined his jaws were as he ate. I knew he had noticed how my stare lingered on his face, so he leaned his head close. He cleared his throat, and I had to loll my back against the seat to gain some distance.

“We had a lot of things in store. When I say a lot, it meant inpossible to count. What do you see in this relationship?”

I patted the sides of my lips with the napkin and took another gulp of beer. I needed to be honest with him. Being honest meant saying that I yearned to see us as a couple, see us holding hands in public, kissing and letting people know that we were together. No hindrances, no embarrassment, no fears. I was happy; he was happy, and there should be no stopping us from having this beautiful relationship taken to another level. It may be too fast; a month would seem like an absurdly short length of time for other people, but does time really matter? Was time a fuel that we needed to move forward?

As he hanged around for my reply with the food getting chewed on his mouth, the impression that tonight was not the best time to be honest with my thoughts, gnawed me up. It was our first date, and we could not even hold hands as we eat. I mean, I was okay with that, but what about tomorrow? How about the next time? And my past? His past? I didn’t know his; he didn’t know mine.

Both of us were still thoughtless with a lot of things that had brought us to this moment, at this table, even though him and I always claimed that we were knowledgeable of each other. We were still wary to show all the things we have in store. And seriously, it felt like the only time we were honestly bared was when our bodies were sheening in sweat as we enjoyed the rapture of a mind-boggling s*x.

“I see us being happy,” I replied. That was the concise answer, and it should be; that was my motive and desire. That was honest, but not too honest, as he already knew that. “I see us doing this again and again.”

“Me, too,” he said. “I know you’re thinking a lot about your feelings, my feelings, our future, and I also do the same thing. You might not be saying it to me, or you also might deny it to yourself, but I can see your fear and uncertainty. You’re easy to read, David.”

“I’m just...” I sighed, oblivious with what words I should intertwine with my ‘I’m just’. God, it was hard being so honest with him. “I’m scared, really.”

“You’re honest with that.” He took another mouthful of meat and pasta. “That, of course, I already know. You’re balking, tell me more.”

I took mine, contemplating with each chew. His eyes had scanned my face like some sort of a puzzle that he was piecing together. He made it clear that he was adamant about perceiving me, and hell yeah, I was feeling the same way, too. And then there was his leg, nudging mine from under the table, amplifying the fact that I should speak.

I sighed at him. He was holding the slice of pizza, taking tiny bites, making that goddamned sluggish chew as he studied me with a small frown.

“I know, I’m just thinking of what I should say, alright? I’m not hiding anything from you, Stan. Just give me some time.”

“I have given you enough time. Thirty seconds or more than that. Now, tell me.”

“I’m not comfortable telling you about it, okay?” I wiped a finger on my eye and grabbed the bottle of beer. “Maybe some other time. I’m sorry. Is it okay?”

“I respect that, at least now we’re clear. I’m just waiting for you to tell me you're uneasy about having it discussed, David. I won’t know if you wouldn’t tell. Let’s be open with each other moving forward.”

I nodded and looked down at the table. “Alright, I’m sorry. I like that you’re, uh, being respectful. But, please, can you stop parting my legs? Can’t you wait ‘till we’re back home?”

He chuckled and moved his leg away from mine. “Home. Oh, yeah, you’ve given me an idea. Wanna try to live with me so we have more time to talk?"

I arched my brow and looked at him. “As if you’re comfortable with that. Stop fooling around."

He shook his head lightly and gone back to eating the food. So did I. If my words had given him an idea, then damned him, the thought pranced around like an addict forefront my mind. I immediately pulled it out of my brain. It was too early for that, and I didn’t know what made him say those words. A closeted man wanting to live in with a bisexual guy he only had known for a month, the absurdity.

“Was I talking too much?” he asked, making my head snap back to his, food partly chewed in my mouth. “I’m just thrilled being with you, David.”

I swallowed and took a swig of beer. “No, you’re doing just fine. How about you ask me some other things so I could answer them for you?” I asked, shuffling the bottle in my hands.

He took another slice of pizza. “Remember the last time we were here? You were so confused with what you’re feeling. Have you felt secure with what you were feeling now?”

“There were days when I’m feeling like we still had those blurred lines between us. I am excited to find out where we’re going next, of course. And I want us to be together as we figure out where we’re heading. But I’m kind of insecure, and when I’m not with you, there’s this inexplicable sense of, I don’t know, hesitation to pursue. It was always there, nagging me.”

“So, you’re sure, but sometimes you’re not? What would make you feel secured about it?”

“You would rather not knowing it,” I answered. I knew I would be too selfish if I would go after what I wanted. I’m happy, and I shouldn’t ask him for too much as what he provided me was more than enough. I felt cherished and fine whenever I was around him. My possessiveness when it came to him was crazy, and as if that missing label was all we needed to move forward.

“And that renders the desire to know more even stronger,” he said. I wanted to wince at his words, for I knew I had to lie to him if he would pursue yet another topic that we better stow away for the meantime.

I was fine with knowing that our interests and mutual attraction meant we were right for each other. It was the quintessential factor for the time being. I wanted to delay the thought of asking him when he would be ready to take our relationship further as he smiled and chewed on the dinner. I was fine with this for now. Although the selfish part of me wanted to claim all of him, I knew that it was not the relationship that this beautiful man deserved.

“I always hope that both of us would grow even more, even if it meant holding on to each other or being apart. I am happy that I got to know you. Have you thought about that, Stan?”

“We’ve grown, and we’re still growing, David. Yeah, not exponentially, but subtle, which is neat. Now, can I ask you something?” he asked. He leaned forward, planting his chin on his hand.

I leaned my back against the chair. “Yeah?” I asked. I masked the sense of nervousness with a smirk as he looked at me, and it seemed that he forgot people were around us, that they could see us. It was like he threw all the caution away for me when he leaned close.

People suddenly became non-existent around us. We were in our own bubble now, but I knew we still had to play pretend among the crowd. It felt so right to be close to him, but it might feel wrong for him. I distanced myself to cut the ties that he created with just a single stance that could give us away so easily.

“How do you deal with being open to people? Does it not bother you, David? I am interested.”

I nodded. I moved and grabbed another bottle of beer, opened it, and took another gulp. It was not so hard to answer, as it was not complex. For me, it wasn’t, it shouldn’t be anymore. But I knew it was a complicated concept for him. And as I wiped the cold condensation of water and sweat off my palms, I had to release a pensive sigh.

“I only told very few people about it. I avoided telling people altogether after I moved to a different company. When I said who I was to people whom I never really cared about, they told me things that bothered me. Were you r***d by a man when you were a kid? So, you like a p***y and you suck a d**k? Your kid would be gay like you for sure. Worse one? Good thing your dad did not kill you. People harassed me through text messages."

I felt like telling him everything from there. I knew he would listen, and I knew he would care. His eyes told me. But the good thing that he did not witness in such a terrible memory that I needed to spill was the pang. It still hurts. It was like the words were so fresh, as if they were projectiles that came out of nowhere amidst the noise of the music and jovial conversations in the background. If only I had asked him to trade his question with something less personal, I could've deflected the suddeness of such emotion.

He just nodded. And I just took another chug from my second bottle for tonight. Those people, and of all people, my dad. Sometimes the world can be so cruel, and I didn’t even know what I did wrong. I wondered sometimes, yeah, what have I done wrong for those words to be said? I shrugged the thought off. It was true that the monsters aren’t hiding under the bed; they are walking among us, living under the same light and breathing the same air. Worse, they could spite for no reason at all.

“Thank you for saying yes. I hope you wouldn’t get tired,” I said. I yearned to grab his hand and kiss his knuckle, if only that was possible. “Am I boring you?”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head. “No. Of course not. So, since I answered that question, how about I ask you another one?”

“What question did I ask you?”

“If you were boring me. I answered no.”

I raised a brow at him. “Uh, excuse me, sir, but that’s unfair. That was not even a question, to begin with.”

“It was, I answered it.”

“Alright, it’s not like I could win an argument over something so petty with you. What is it?” I asked.

He shifted on his seat and grabbed his second bottle of beer. “The question earlier, do you feel secured or not? You did not answer it with something concise.”

“Seventy-ish on yes and thirty-something on no. Now, don’t fret, we’re only on the first month.”

“What would make it a hundred? Tell me, I will do it for you,” he demanded. His tone was sure, so mirthful and confident. My surety, mirth, and confidence, all together, were diminished as I thought of what would make it a hundred.

“I couldn’t tell you,” I said. I smiled as he frowned. The confused expression did not even tone down the charm that he had. His face was stunning, it was undeniable.

“Try me,” he said.

“No,” I answered hastily.

“Try me, David.”

“No, Stan.”

“f*****g hell,” he mumbled, sighing as he did. “Don’t you want me to try? I am willing, I told you before, right?”

I laughed, enough to make him run a hand through his hair. “Why are you frustrated? You’re acting like a kid.”

He nudged my leg again with his under the table. “Fine. But, hey, you look good in my clothes. Do you know that I hate that damned shirt?”

“Then why did you make me wear it?”

“To know if it will look good when worn by someone else. I hate the color peach.”

I snickered, pressing my legs together to clamp his. “Then why do you have it?”

“My dad gave it to me,” he answered. “You can keep it, it fits you.”

“I won’t decline,” I said, releasing his leg down the table. I looked down at the food we had left. “Damn, you do eat a lot. Uh, do you want me to order anything else? Dessert or sweets while we drink?”

He shook his head. “I have one. Remember what you said earlier? Dessert’s not on you, it’s you.”

I leaned my head forward. “People will hear you, stop that,” I chided. I couldn’t help but feel excited with what he said, that I had to bring my bottle down as I moved away. “God, Stan. Stop that, will you?”

“C’mon, I know you so well. As if you didn’t want to. Remember how noisy you were just three days ago?” He grinned widely, crossing his arms, showcasing his taut muscles that held my body just three days ago.

“Would you even believe me if I’d say I did not?”

“I wouldn’t.”

I exhaled audibly. I took another drink as I stared at him. He was staring back at me. He probably was thinking of the answers I had given him earlier, and it was apparent that he would do what he can to push me into telling him everything.

“Thinking of something again?” he asked.

“Just thinking of how persistent you are,” I answered, the rim of the bottle, gliding across my lips.

“I won’t force you, and I’ll wait. Although I’m not really patient, just remember that. I'll give you time." He tipped his bottle forward. “Cheers?”

I smiled, feeling the pressure of his words, tipping the bottle forward. “Time... okay, I’ll remember that. Cheers.”