Page 23 of Not Your Basic Love Story

I could hear him smiling when he said, “I was thinking the same thing.”

After the meal, which I was adamant I’d pay for since it was my date, we took a walk downtown arm in arm, hiding beneath his umbrella. The plan had been to take a stroll through Stanley Park, but the late winter storm was growing worse and our umbrellas were not doing much to protect us from the stinging droplets blowing in sideways.

“Should I take you home? I parked over there,” he asked.

My mood deflated. I didn’t want the night to end but wasn’t sure what else to do. Most local activities I was aware of involved drinking. We headed towards the parkade. His white BMW was somehow spotless despite the messy spring roads. He opened the door for me.Classy. The leather interior was the colour of cinnamon, impeccably clean, not a speck of dust in sight. Dev climbed in and started it up.

The transmission was manual. I’d never seen anyone drive a manual shift before, having grown up in Vancouver and raised on public transit. The way his feet maneuvered the pedals, his right hand gripping the gearshift as he clicked it into its rightful place, all while weaving through the challenging stop-and-go traffic of the downtown core, was sexier than I could have imagined. By the time I’d directed him to my apartment, I was eager to invite him up.

“Normally, I’d offer you a glass of wine. Tea, perhaps?” I asked, unbuckling and shifting in my seat to face him.

Dev smiled his charismatic smile. “Normally, I’d like to walk you to your door, but there’s no parking around here.”

“I have access to the visitor’s parking if you want to come up.”

He hesitated. “Rebecca… if we’re going to do this, and I mean really do it in earnest, I want to date you properly. Respectfully. Trust me, there’s nothing I want more than to come up to your apartment for, uh, tea, but I want to make sure you know that I respect you.”

I rolled his words around in my head for a moment, unsure if they were respectful or condescending. After all, it had been my idea, and we'd already seen each other naked. “The invitation was for tea,” I said, a little more defensively than I’d intended. “We don’t have to do anything else.”

He thought for another long moment, his four-way signals flashing. “Sure. Tea never hurt anyone,” he said finally, a smile coming to his face but with uncertainty in his eyes.

I directed him where to park. My building was nothing special, nestled between the less-fortunate East Hastings Street and the more well-to-do neighbourhoods. Though my place wasn’t anything to be excited about, it still cost me a great deal. Worth it, though, to live in the best city in the world.

Even though the rent was expensive, I refused to have a roommate. They’re the worst. I’d never had a great experience with one. I’d rather live in a tiny five hundred square foot apartment than have a bigger place with someone else always underfoot. The elevator smelled vaguely of urine and shuddered as it carried us to the fourteenth floor. I let him in, jiggling the sticky lock. The walls were white and stark, and so thin that a second-rate comedy show’s laugh track was clearly audible from my neighbour’s apartment. I walked in and kicked off my shoes into the pile next to the door, which was also right next to my fridge.

“So, um. What can I get you to drink? Tea?” I asked, quickly flitting around the small space, tidying. I grabbed my bra and jeans off the couch I’d bought on Craigslist, faux leather scratched and sunken, and tossed them onto the heap in front of my overflowing bedroom closet. I eyed my unmade bed, the drooping mandala tapestry hanging above the plain metal frame, and far too many scented candles littering nearly every available surface.

“Tea’s fine,” he said, entering and taking a look around at my sparse decorations.

The space was perfect for me, but with him in there, it felt small. Cramped. Awkward. Given his new BWM and stylish clothes, he probably had a nice house—a house on an acreage, surrounded by blueberries. Having been in his spotless car made me wish I’d cleaned up a bit more before heading out for the day. I moved to the fridge for a glass of wine and turned on the electric kettle.

If Dev was uncomfortable in my apartment, he didn’t show it. Instead, he looked at the photos I had displayed on a bookshelf next to the TV, where I also stored my DVD collection.

“Silence of the Lambs, Pulp Fiction, Seven… I expectedThe Notebook, not murder thrillers.” He smirked over his shoulder at me. “I should have known better. You’re the girl who caught myFight Clubreference.”

I poured myself a glass of cheap pinot gris and screwed the lid back on, not mentioning howThe Notebookwas, in fact, still in my DVD player from the last time I’d watched it, and my collection of other sappy movies was in a drawer below the TV. I’d let him believe I was too cool for chick flicks for the time being. “It’s an unhealthy obsession, I guess. I’ve watched all of the murder shows on Netflix, too.”

“Do you listen to that podcast?”

“With the two girls talking about murderers?”

“Yeah, that one. My sister listens to it all the time. What’s with our society’s obsession with murderers?”

I took a sip, more comfortable with the glass in my hand, and leaned against the counter while I waited for the kettle to heat up. “I have no idea, but it seems like it’s pretty common. Maybe we just want to understand people who are different from us.”

Dev picked up a frame. “Who’s this?”

I walked over to him and brushed my shoulder against his, electricity jumping with the brief contact. The photo was me in a bikini on a beach with a tall, muscly, topless dude covered in tattoos. I could see why he might have been concerned and stifled a smile. “He’s my brother. I went to visit him in Australia, right before my tour of southeast Asia.”

“What does he do there?”

“He’s a petroleum engineer.”

“Damn. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds impressive!” He laughed. His gaze shifted down and met mine. Our eyes locked, and I could feel the heat from his body as an unspoken mutual lust grew between us. We inched closer, my heart racing, the hand on my glass an anchor to the real world as my head swam, lost in his presence. He lowered his face to mine, and—

The kettle whistled. I jumped, startled, and headed back to the kitchen. I set my wine on the counter and swallowed, trying to focus, searching the cupboard for tea. “I only have earl grey and chai.”

He came up behind me, his chest brushing up againstmy back. I tilted my head to the side as he lowered his mouth to my ear, his warm breath sending a tingle down my spine. An involuntary gasp escaped my lips as his mouth lingered by my neck. I turned my face towards his.

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