Page 3 of Another Life

I have toget to knowsomeone before I can decide if I’m attracted to them or not. Therein lies the reason for my unsolicited celibacy. I’m perpetually surrounded by young men who don’t want to be known. They don’t want to put in any work at all. No, they want you to fawn over them and salivate at the thought of touching their mediocre penises. And that will never be me.

I huff when I realize no one’s come to operate the ticket booth before I notice a worker inside, wiping down the concession counter. When I yank the door open, I’m startled by someone coming up behind me.

“You’re fucking late—” I start as I turn to give my “date” a piece of my mind, only for my mind to go blank. Because who the fuck is this?

He’s smiling as he reaches out to hold the door open behind me, his arm now over my head.

“I wasn’t aware anyone was waiting on me,” he says, and my brain detects an accent. I can’t quite place it, but I blink once before I step over the threshold.

“I thought you were someone else,” I respond, my heart pounding from complete embarrassment, my outward expression remaining stoic.

His grin is surrounded by a thick dark beard and his hair looks damp, like he may’ve just gotten out of a shower. He stands almost half a foot taller than me, which is impressive because I’m not short.

“A shame.” He glances past me, and I turn to look at the man standing at the concession stand, his stare only punctuated by the quick rise of one of his brows.

Oh, like you have anything better to do,I think to myself as I walk over to him.

“I’ll take one ticket toRoman Holiday,” I start as I open my small pocketbook, reaching for my wallet.

“Excuse me.” The man from the door steps beside me, “Make that two.” He hands the man behind the counter a credit card before I can utter a word.

“Oh…” I don’t really know what to say.Thank you? Who the hell are you?

“You’re welcome,” he supplies as he’s handed back his card.

He glances at me through his thick, dark lashes as he pushes his card back into his wallet and his wallet into the pocket of his dark slim khaki pants that fit around his ass like they were tailor-made for him. I’m so sick of these fresh-out-of-their-teens guys who wear ill-fitting clothes and learned to fuck from poorly made porn videos.

This man…he reeks of grown motherfucker from his pants that actually fit him to the way he bought my movie ticket with no prompting.

“I’m not an asshole,” I offer, looking back up at his face and stepping away from him so I find it easier to keep my cool.

“Of course you aren’t.” He smiles like he knows a secret that I’m dying to find out.

“I’m not,” I insist as I walk toward the doors of the theater we’re meant to enter.

“I am,” he tells me with a shrug. “More people should be.”

“What makes you say that?” At this point, I want him to keep speaking, just to try to pinpoint his accent for certain. He’s all soft s’s and rolls over his r’s, a lyrical rhythm to his words. Growing up with my Greek family members exposed me to the life of a polyglot.

“Well, if you were, you wouldn’t be here waiting on someone who is very clearly an asshole.” This time, when hesmiles, I can see the lines around his eyes, and I wonder how many years it took for them to get there.

But I smirk, finding his logic flawed. I just wanted to get laid and make sure the person attached to the penis wasn’t a complete moron.He doesn’t need to know that, I think to myself, finding this exchange entertaining.

“Did you want popcorn? Candy?” He flirts momentarily with each word, speaking rapidly like he doesn’t have time to taste each syllable.

“I…wasn’t aware we were watching the movie together.” I peer around the empty theater.

“If you have a better idea, let me know,” he tells me, leaning toward me so a few tendrils of his dark hair brush against his forehead.

“Italian?” I think out loud, the lack of anHin his pronunciation giving him away.

“The movie? Sure, yes.”

“No, you,” I clarify, watching his lack of reaction.

“Once upon a time.” He steps back down the aisle. “Pick a seat. I’ll be back.”

He’s walking back through the door, in spite of the way I start to object, my hands lifted. They fall to my sides as I watch the door to the theater swing shut.

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