Page 46 of Romance Languages

At me.

This had never happened before. Was it really this easy?

Before I could second-guess myself, I nodded back at him.

And he smiled again. At me.

My friends were courteous and didn’t gawk, but I could feel their eyes on me still.

“Damn, J. Get it,” Everett said under his breath.

And then I was off, making a casual beeline to this new potential Romeo, liking what I saw the closer I got.

“Hey, how’s it going? Julian.” I held out my hand. I didn’t have a suave line, but I didn’t need it.

“Dylan,” he said back, his voice deep and relaxed.

“How’s your beer?”

“I haven’t had it yet.”

“Well, something tells me this isn’t your first one of the night,” I said with a flirty smile. I recalled the flirting lesson our friend Charlie had given us back in the day. When I felt my confidence falter for a moment, I remembered that I was cool and sexual, so why wouldn’t this guy want to flirt back?

“Are those your friends?” He nodded behind me. When I turned around, my friends all scattered, busted.

I sighed. “For the time being.”

* * *

Dylan ran a music shop.He played the guitar, piano, and harp of all things, something he’d learned from his mother.

We’d found a small high-top table in the corner to talk, and the time had flown. We were clicking as we discussed music and high school and commenting on songs the DJ spun. Our hands kept touching, and we kept looking at each other. The flirting was on.

I alternated between living in the moment and standing outside myself shocked that this was all happening. Maybe real life was kinder than the apps because people had no choice but to get to know me. Or maybe it was as Seamus had said, that the only thing stopping me was me.

“You know, I’ve seen you here before, but I’ve never had the nerve to talk to you,” Dylan admitted while scratching his beard. I ran my fingers through it in a move of sheer boldness. Seamus’s felt softer…

…which was an irrelevant point because Seamus wasn’t here. He was likely at a sports bar or a strip club or buying a lawnmower or whatever straight guys did for fun.

“Do you ever run into old students?” Dylan asked.

“It hasn’t happened yet. But I’m hitting the point in my tenure at South Rock where my first students will soon be old enough to get in here. I’m so not ready for that point.”

“I once saw one of my regulars at the music shop here. I remember when he used to come into the store with his mom when he wanted to buy his first guitar.” Dylan turned red, cringing at the passage of time.

“What’s your favorite instrument to play?”

“Banjo.”

“Banjo?” That was a left turn I hadn’t seen coming, but the beard should’ve been a hint. “I’m a Yankee through and through. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who played the banjo.”

Dylan brushed his hand over mine and gazed at me with those warm, dark eyes. He leaned in, letting me take in how good he smelled.

“So, I don’t live too far from here. We can go back to my place, and I’ll give you a private concert.”

My breath caught in my throat. Even a kindergartner could read between those lines.

“How does that sound?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

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