Black: MM Kitty Play Romance

by Quin Perin

“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” Dima replied with his colleague right beside him; she never even stirred. I shifted, obviously uncomfortable at his answer and her eavesdropping. Or well, spying. “Wait a minute...did we sleep together?” Dima asked, and for a moment, he sounded dead serious. But then he grinned while I gaped. The girl beside him swatted his arms and snickered. What the hell?

  “I should go.” I simply replied; I hadn’t expected this at all. I knew I wasn’t everyone’s type, but damn, he didn’t have to make it that obvious.

  “Wait,” the girl next to him mouthed at me. His eyes were still not meeting mine. I tried, but he made an effort not to face me. What was wrong with this guy? Perhaps my ego had fooled me.

  “What do you want?” Dima offered with a coy-slash-shy smile. I didn’t know what it was about him, but whatever he did or said, I couldn’t place it. As if I was missing a piece of the puzzle.

  “Sorry, I wanted to ask if you’d like to have coffee with me sometime,” I offered bluntly, making the girl next to him widen her eyes. She squeezed his arm, but Dima snorted.

  “That’s not what I was going for. I meant chocolate cake, blueberry muffins, apple crumble…cupcakes.”

  All right, I was done playing this game. I wasn’t sixteen anymore. If I wanted something, I asked for it. Which is exactly what I’d done. I pushed myself off the counter, irritated.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Wait,” the girl called, swiftly grabbing a muffin from the display.

  I paused in my steps, watching her shove it onto a plate before she rounded the counter. Dima retreated to the back when she approached me and told me to sit down. I shook my head in disbelief but sat down on a chair like she asked me to.

  “Dima’s...Dima. Stick around a bit longer, ‘kay? He’ll come around.” She topped her grin off with a wink. “Eat,” she said before she went back to her spot behind the counter.

  Dima

  “Dima!” Zoe snapped before I’d even gotten back into the kitchen. In fact, she grabbed me by the back of my apron and wouldn’t let me keep walking. She always managed to sound like my mother when she spoke Dutch. Which was weird because my mother wasn’t Dutch. “Doe toch niet zo moeilijk.” Don’t be so difficult.

  “What?” I huffed, turning around as her grip fell from me. “I’m not obligated to sleep with every guy who walks into the café. Just like half.”

  She snorted, and her thudding footsteps started to pace around behind the counter. I felt her sweep by me, heard the cling of the metal cup on the counter, what I assumed was milk being poured in. A burst of steam, grinding of coffee. “You’re making him a drink?” I asked, leaning against the end of the counter.

  “Yes.” She huffed. Porcelain thumped down, and liquid poured. It smelled amazing. “And you are going to bring it to him.”

  I sighed overdramatically and stomped my foot faintly. “Why would I do that? It’s not my job.” I sulked. Sometimes I helped out in the dining room when it wasn’t too busy—I wasn’t too good at functioning when it was crowded—but normally I was in the back. I wasn’t what you’d call a people person, and Jan liked making money too much to put me in the front often.

  “Doesn’t matter if it’s your job or not.” Zoe snorted. “Dude is...way hot and still can’t stop staring at you. You’d like him.”

  “Meh.” I didn’t want to acknowledge that she was probably right. Zoe liked playing matchmaker for me. She knew my type well enough, and the man did have a decent voice, but...after that thing with Tim, I wasn’t sure about dealing with someone else. Not so soon anyway. Let the frustration die down a bit.

  “Don’t you be apathetic,” she said. She tapped a finger against the back of one of my hands, and I held them out for her to put the cup and saucer in them. “Now go. He’s at the third table from the door.”

  “Yes, boss.” I snarked. I started to turn around and then paused and cocked my head to the side. “How do I look? Not messy?”

  “There’s a little bit of flour on your cheek, but you can totally work it. It’s cute.” She laughed and nudged me gently. “Now go.”

  Sighing, I stepped out, head down, and counted my steps to the table. I didn’t bother to look up; I knew the place like the back of my hand. “Something that Zoe made for you.” I offered once I reached the table and carefully set the cup down.

  “Mm. Thanks,” he grumbled. Not too happy about my dismissal of him, I imagined.

  “You’re very welcome,” I said with a grin on my face. I slipped my hands into the pocket of my apron. “And you’re welcome to be graced with my presence again.”

  I heard a short grunt of laughter, probably unwilling, and the cup clattered against the saucer. “Whatever,” he finally said. “You don’t have to pretend to be nice.”

  “I’m not pretending,” I scoffed. “I’m making polite conversation with you. There’s a difference.”

  “You know how to be polite?” He sounded surprised.

  I couldn’t help the laugh that fell from me. I shook my head. “Not often,” I admitted. I could be charming, but I didn’t see the need to put on an act for most people. “You do realize it’s kind of silly to ask someone who works at a café to get coffee, right? Like, I drink so much coffee all day during work, and then you want to put more coffee in me? Plus, you really don’t wanna drink a lot of coffee before sex.” I lifted my hand in an exasperated gesture.

  “Well, what should I ask you out for?” he asked, and I heard a faint hint of amusement trickle back into his voice.

  “Don’t know. Be creative.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said.

  The door dinged open again, and I turned my head toward the sound as I stepped back from the table.

  “Benji, no!”

  “Dima! Watch out!”

  Two voices intermingled, but it was much too late. Something very solid and very large connected with the back of my legs. My knees gave out almost instantly, and I toppled over, flat on my ass in an uncomfortable sprawl with something big and fuzzy nosing at me. My cheeks heated up. This rarely happened anymore. “Oops. Guess I didn’t see that coming,” I said, reaching out and finding Benji’s ears.

  Tony

  It all happened so fast. One second, Dima had turned to look away from me; the next, he tumbled to the floor. I shot up from my seat, the table rattling as it clashed with my thigh. My cup skidded on the table, and I was pretty sure my coffee had spilled, but I didn’t care.

  Dima laughed, shaking his head while he patted the dog in front of him. I held out my hand to help him up, but he didn’t take it. Jan had emerged from somewhere and instantly placed his hands around Dima’s wrists. I stepped away and watched him help Dima up.

  I was so utterly confused. Why wouldn’t he take my hand or look at me? The girl from before had stepped around the counter with a towel in her hand, heading toward my table to wipe away the mess I’d made. Dima brushed his hands off on his apron, the most beautiful cheeky smile on his lips, pink on his cheeks. He was playing it off with grace. I’d give him that.

  “He doesn’t see,” she murmured beside me. I glanced at her, then back at Dima, who put one foot before the other, hand grabbing Jan’s shoulder.

  “Doesn’t see what?” I asked dumbly, gazing at her as I waited for an answer.

  “Anything,” the girl replied softly. “He can’t see.”

  I blinked repeatedly. What?

  “But he doesn’t...he doesn’t have a cane or anything like that, how…”

  She sighed as I started to list why this was nonsense. Although, oh. He hadn’t looked me in the eye, not once. He’d not taken my hand when I wanted to help him up. I’d assumed he was being rude. Jesus. Why hadn’t Jan told me?

  I cast a glance at the man in question and opened my hands in a what-the-fuck manner. Jan understood and gave me a sad smile, leading Dima behind the counter, near the espresso maker. As Jan spoke to him, Dima faced him, listening. How was this possible? He looked so incredibly put tog
ether, eyebrows groomed, hair perfectly styled, his clothes fashionable...I didn’t…what?

  The girl walked past me, but I snatched her arm and gently pulled her back. People in the café were still looking, and the dog—whose name was apparently Benji—had been caught by the old lady from outside. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have found out.

  “How can he walk around so freely without a cane?” My question was beyond rude, but I still hardly comprehended that this man, this incredibly beautiful man, didn’t see...anything? Not me, nor the sea or his surroundings.

  She sighed once more and looked back at Jan and Dima behind the counter. “It happened two years ago. Dima lost his sight slowly, a sickness, and memorized every street, every square, every corner of this café by counting his steps. We haven’t changed the position of the tables or the shelves or anything to help him out.” I nodded, watching Dima wave Jan off in an it’s-okay-leave-me-alone fashion. “We are a small community here. We all know and look out for him.”

  “I had no idea,” I stated, the news still sinking in.

  “Most people only notice when he doesn’t shake their hand or look them in the eye, but he’s gotten really good at fooling them. I think he likes it.”

  I scoffed a laugh. No shit. Shaking my head, I sunk back onto my chair and took a big sip of the rest of the coffee she’d prepared for me. She looked at me for a long moment before she said, “If you want to leave, leave now. Dima’s not really good with rejection.”

  The expression on her face was serious, harsh. Genuine concern. I could hear it in her voice. I didn’t know him one bit, but for some reason, I needed to.

  EIGHT

  Dima

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  It was probably the twentieth time Zoe had asked me that question, and I was getting sick of it. I understood her concern. It had been a while since I’d taken a tumble like that and hit the floor. But I was fine other than a bit of bruised pride and a sore ass. It was more embarrassing than anything else.

  “I’m fine.” I sighed, going to wash my hands. It was late, and we’d shut everything down about thirty minutes ago. Most of the cleaning was done, I assumed, and I’d tidied my little area the best I could. Slipping off my apron, I switched it out for my sweater before heading from the kitchen.

  “Positive?” she asked.

  I stopped in front of the counter and slapped my hands down on it. “Yes, I’m su-oh! Oh God! Zoe, Zoe!”

  Her hand shot out, and she grabbed my wrist from across the counter. “What’s wrong?” Concern dripped from her voice.

  “I’m blind!”

  There were several beats, and then she whacked me hard against the shoulder. “That’s not funny,” she snapped. “I am genuinely worried about you.”

  I grinned. Not funny to her maybe, but definitely funny to me. Despite what she thought, I wasn’t made of porcelain, and I wouldn’t break so easily. “I fell. That’s it. And that was hours ago. I think if I were really hurt, we would have known by now.”

  “Mm. You’re right,” she admitted, footsteps thumping as she walked around the counter. Her arm linked with mine, and we started to head out together. “You know that guy…”

  “Zoe-e-e,” I whined. She was like a dog with a bone.

  “I really think you should give him a chance.” She sounded too casual. That same high-pitched, quick voice that my mother used when she said she knew a man who had a gay doctor son. “He seems nice. And he was really concerned when you tripped.”

  “I didn’t trip. I was taken down by that dog,” I protested.

  “He was really concerned when you were taken down by that dog.”

  I didn’t need to see to know she was rolling her eyes. It carried in the tone of her voice. “And you know. He’s pretty sexy. I mean, you should at least talk to him to the point where you can touch him and see for yourself.”

  My turn to roll my eyes. “I don’t need another guy getting attached to me.” After Tim, I was going to be a little more conscious of my decisions when it came to one-night stands. I didn’t want a repeat.

  “Just think about it, Dima,” she reasoned. The door dinged, and we filed out. She dropped my arm, the lock clicking behind us. The keys rattled as she put them away, and she let out a sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Tomorrow.” I nodded. Her soft lips pressed a kiss to my cheek, and she took off in the opposite direction.

  Luckily, my place was right up the street from the café, and I knew the way home better than the back of my hand at this point. So I wouldn’t need my cane. I counted the steps and stayed close to the buildings until I got there. If necessary, I could graze my knuckles against the bricks to make sure of where I was. Before going blind, I had memorized both sides of the street. There were a bar and a couple of little shops on the left side, a bank and a restaurant on the right. It took me about ten minutes to get to work. At first, I had to use my cane quite often, but I didn’t like it too much. It made me feel as if people were always staring at me. As if I was different.

  Navigating the apartment complex was harder than the streets. Sometimes people left packages outside. One time a neighbor decided they wanted to put a plant outside. I’d cut my hand open on a nail or something when I fell that time. This evening there were no obstacles, and I was able to make my way up into my apartment, my fingers held out but slightly bent so I wouldn’t hurt myself. Key in the door, the lock twisted, and then I was in.

  It had taken six months after I’d gone completely blind to stop flipping the lights on automatically. One of those habits that were hard to break. Once I did break it though, my electricity bill went down considerably. I didn’t turn on the TV often either. More savings. Of course, a lot of that had gone into things to make my life a little bit easier. A new phone loaded with apps to help me around, special tags for my clothing, so many pieces of tech that talked to me—thermostat, alarm, timer—furniture that was easier to navigate around, and tons of other things.

  I toed off my shoes, nudging them into their proper place beside the door. There were three hooks above where my shoes were; my sweater went on the second one. Between my heavier jacket and my raincoat. Everything had to be in place. If I moved something without thinking about it, it would take forever to find it again. Routine was the major part of my life now, and a part of me resented it. Before...everything, I loved going out and getting lost in new places. I lived by a whim with...him. The first time I’d gotten lost after starting to lose my eyesight was one of the most terrifying things I’d ever experienced. But it taught me a lot too. Like never to go to strange places.

  A heavy sigh and I stepped around the coffee table to collapse onto the couch, face first. Tony. He had said his name was Tony. He wasn’t from around here. He spoke to me in English, and his accent wasn’t Dutch. American. His voice was husky, deep. I tried to imagine what he looked like based on his voice and what Zoe had told me about him. She said he was big. Most men were bigger than me, but perhaps he was even more so. Blond hair. If he had a man bun, it must have been long. I wondered what his smile looked like. If it made his eyes crinkle and glitter.

  Idly, as I rolled onto my back, I wondered what his cock was like. Maybe having a go on him wouldn’t be so bad. I’d have to make myself clearer this time.

  NINE

  Tony

  I spent all afternoon bombarding Jan with questions about Dima. Why he lived in this town. What he’d done before he went blind. How old he was. Where his family lived. Jan raised his hands in surrender when he sat down on the living room couch. He’d told me he didn’t want to tell me any of these things because it wasn’t his business.

  Well, I didn’t care.

  “What are you two on about?” Sara asked, wiping her hands on a towel. It looked like she’d just finished drying the dishes. I slumped down next to Jan on the couch and playfully scowled at him.

  “Your man let me run into an open knife today. I asked one of his employee
s out, and he didn’t tell me he was blind.”

  Sara’s eyes bulged before she flicked her gaze from me to him. “Is he talking about Dima?” Jan nodded, resigned. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  I huffed in agreement. Precisely!

  Jan gazed up at her, lips parting. “Hey! It isn’t my business, alright? You know how Dima is!” he shot back.

  Sara hummed sadly, neatly folding up the dish towel. Her hair was a bit frizzy, and her long skirt fell to her bare feet. Such a contrast with Jan in his black sweater and faded jeans.

  “What do you mean? How is he? You haven’t answered any of my questions.” Jan rolled his eyes at me, but whatever. I demanded answers. I watched Sara cross her arms in silence, neither of them said anything. “Good God, I want to know about him.”

  “Why?” Sara wondered out loud, finding my eyes. I shrugged. She knew I didn’t care about gender ever since she’d caught me printing out a couple of naughty man-on-man pictures when our parents were out. She knew my interests were a little less than a straight line.

  “He’s different, snarky.”

  “That he is.” Jan laughed and dug out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Sara narrowed her eyes at him, but he pulled one out anyway.

  “Dima’s here for as long as he has a work permit. He’s from the UK, England. He used to study photography in Amsterdam and lived here with Eugene, his fancy photographer boyfriend. He’d moved to be with him. But when his condition worsened, Eugene left, and he was basically stuck here. Anything else?” Sara listed.

  “Jeez.” I blew out a breath, sitting up and rubbing my hands over my face. “I figured he was a model or something. I mean, he’s so…” Beautiful. That was the one word that came to mind. But instead of saying it, I cleared my throat and shook my head once more.

  “His friends take good care of him,” Jan chimed in from beside me as he lit up his cigarette and then stood up to open the window. “Zoe, you met her,” he said, dragging on his cigarette and blowing the smoke outside. “They’re very close. She’s his eyes. She cuts his hair, helps him shave. They go shopping for clothes together.”