Page 48 of Napkins and Other Distractions
“But you’re going on a do-over first date?” Marvin asks, tilting his head as he places a stack of napkins in the center of our table. He always grabs too many, and my heart warms at his thoughtfulness.
“Only to have a clean slate.” I take a sip of my espresso tonic. The bitterness and sweetness mix with the bubbles perfectly.
“A clean slate for what?”
“For working together. And being friends.”
Marvin purses his lips.
“Vincent, I’m sorry, but this story you’re selling … I’m not buying it.”
He wrinkles his nose and waits for a reply.
“Is he sexy as hell? Yes. Do his messy and awkward ways make me cringe? Yup. Can I stop thinking about his lips on mine? Nope. Would I appreciate a repeat of what happened after that horrible first date? Of course.”
“And in the supply closet,” Marvin says. “What? I know the allure of scandalous sex in the school setting.”
He smirks, the straw of his iced coffee between his teeth. I probably shouldn’t have told Marvin everything, especially about the blow job in the supply closet, but I had to talk to someone about it.
“That’s not happening again. For a myriad of reasons.”
“Well, I think a first date do-over is … sweet. As usual, you have my full support.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” I fold my napkin for the third time.
“A second date. That’s a big deal, Vincent.”
“No, a repeat first date,” I say, grabbing a new napkin from the pile. Unlike larger, more durable fabric ones, paper napkins can only withstand a few folds.
“Well, another date. With the same person. Do whatever gay math you want. My math skills top out at the kindergarten level.”
“Yes, another date. With Kent.”
Kent’s warm smile. The way he sat with me while I finished making the corrections in the spreadsheet. Brushing his damn teeth for me. And that delicious long, thick cock.
“When was your last … second date?” he asks.
Marvin knows I’ve never had a boyfriend. Ever. I’m One-Date-Vincent. Because after seeing my OCD in action, there’s never another. The sex is too hard. If the mood doesn’t hit just right, it’s not happening. And it’s barely happened. I can count on one hand the number of sexual partners I’ve had—and not a single repeat customer. I’m like Space Mountain. One ride and you’re done. I know more about sex from watching porn than from actual experiences. At forty, I’ve realized being alone isn’t the end of the world. I’m not unhappy, but would I like more? Maybe. I’m not sure anyone could handle me on a permanent basis. I have my work. My builds. They say money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy LEGO, and that’s kind of the same thing.
“Technically … never.”
“Well, Kent will be your first … second.”
“First re-do.” I correct him.
“Whatever. It’s monumental. Just remember to breathe. Fold your napkins, and for god’s sake, good luck, and don’t fuck it up.”
My stomach clenches, and I take four deep breaths, trying to center myself and not spiral. It’s just Kent. We’re already friends. What could go wrong?
CHAPTER 16
Kent
“Gentleman.” The kind server from our first date greets us with a wide grin. Does the poor woman ever have a night off?
“Val,” Vincent says, his sexy smile illuminating the dimly lit room. He’s wearing his standard uniform … a button-down shirt and slacks, all in solid, muted colors, and brown loafers. The small peek at Vincent’s neck, where his shirt opens at the top, catches my eye, and yup, if it’s not broken, don’t fix it. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him wear anything casual. Does he work out in business casual attire? The image of Vincent running on the treadmill in a tucked-in shirt and his dress shoes flashes in my head, and I chuckle.
Vincent and Val both turn toward my laughter.
