Page 28 of Erik

As a queen addressing her court, I nod. “Very well, sir.” I spring to my feet, winking. “I’m famished.”

Over dinner, we debate current events and entertainment, finding essential commonalities as well as complementing differences. After dessert, we move into the living room, bringing along refilled wine glasses. I choose a spot on the couch, and he settles beside me as if careful not to crowd.

He studies the ruby liquid swishing in his glass as he whirls it. After a couple of beats, he lifts his eyes to mine and whispers, “You’ve got a hint of an accent I can’t place. Where are you from?”

Aware the topic might propel me down a rabbit hole, I search for the best way to phrase my childhood story.

“I was born in Syria. Mom was a local violinist; Dad was a Swedish orchestra conductor. I lost both - one to the war, the other to suicide.” He squeezes my hand, ditches it on my lap. “At seven, I escaped to a refugee camp and roamed several until the nicest elder couple adopted me. At fourteen, I moved to San Francisco.” I pause, study his closed expression, then add, “Here, I discovered Muse of Darkness. Your music, playing in my head, kept me sane during an excruciating time of my life.”

He works his throat in a hard swallow, takes the glass to his lips, but doesn’t drink the wine. Instead, he gazes at me for a long stretch of time. Under the weight of his probing eyes, I jut my chin out, unyielding. Inside, my heart teeters on the edge of an abyss filled with my worst nightmares.

He murmurs, “It must’ve been hell growing up in refugee camps.”

More than his words, the compassion in his voice thrusts me into the past. I blink as flashbacks hit me with the force of a heavyweight champion’s uppercut, stealing the air from my lungs. I struggle to focus on the moment.

With a long exhale, I offer him a truth. “I’ve never felt as if I belonged anywhere. I pretended the world was my home until I didn’t need to pretend anymore.”

He cocks his head. “Because you found your home in San Francisco?”

“Because the world became my home.”

His fingers rub the left sleeve covering his tattoo, but his gaze reaches inside my soul. “You seem comfortable in your skin.”

I lift my lips in a lopsided smile, shrugging. “It’s a painfully acquired skill.”

Erik focuses again on the wine sloshing in his glass as minutes crawl.

Dad taught me that orchestra members respect silence as much as sound to achieve harmony. On the verge of cacophony, I fidget with a button of the couch cushion, while Erik’s pause stretches my balance like a slingshot poised to unleash a fatal shot.

“We share more affinities than I’d suspected,” he whispers, stealing a glance at me. “I’d love to explore them on a second date.”

The idea thrills and terrifies me in equal parts.On my terms.

“Okay, but it’s got to be in my house.” I arch an eyebrow.

Without hesitation, he nods. “So be it. Tomorrow, same time.”

Although, he doesn’t ask, I answer, “Sounds good.”

He rises to his feet, outstretching his arm for a handshake. “That’s settled then.”

Confusion, disappointment, and frustration race around my head without a winner in the surreal competition. How can he get so businesslike about this when my heartbeats hammer my ears with a deafening dose of adrenaline-induced high from just being so close to his body? I work my jaw, but can’t find the words, so I stand up, and wrap my fingers around his hand.

Reading me like a freaking book, Erik pulls my body against his chest, a hard-on as stiff as steel pokes me. His lips inch up in a smug grin when my eyelids flutter and a gasp escapes me.

“The wait will kill me too. I’d love to finish what we started before dinner,” he murmurs, running a thumb under my lower lip. “I’ve been dreaming of your lips around my dick for weeks. And I’d planned to drink your pleasure tonight.” His whispers caress my skin, wringing responses from spots I’ve never suspected erogenous. “But plans have changed, and I must take some precautions first.” He taps my nose with an index finger. “Take the shortcut to the front door.” I frown. He tilts his head. “Through that door on the right. If you’ll excuse me.”

My chin hits the floor when he swirls and walks out. He fucking leaves me in the middle of his living room and vanishes inside the house like a magician’s act.

What’s just happened?

I should be spewing swear words. Instead, as I meander through a vast library, a high-tech gym, and a cozy music room, my foolish heart swells at the idea Erik’s been daydreaming about me as much as I, him. That’s all the silly organ has gathered from the events of the evening. But will it be enough?

12

Erik

Imeasure the steps until the living room door, feigning a self-possession I’ve never had around Christine. Once I get to the hall, I dart toward the stairs at the end as if all bats out of hell chased me. And they might as well. What was I thinking asking her out on a date? A fucking second date?

---