by Quin Perin
I almost felt nervous. I understood the need for the date, but to me, it was more a formality than anything else. Tony was intent on it, so I’d let him do it, but I would have been fine with skipping past all that and getting to the good stuff. Ah well, it would be interesting to see what he came up with.
TWELVE
Tony
I had spent the entire afternoon going over the edits for my new book. My editor had already sent me three reminder emails, which I’d successfully tuned out. I knew I had to get this done—after all, my next paycheck was on the line—but the longer I ignored the task, the larger it grew and the less willing I was to tackle it. My thoughts kept spiraling back to the date with Dima tonight He was a feisty little thing, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether he would like to bite, nip, or suck when his lips were on mine. The sharp sting of teeth digging into my bottom lip or bite marks on my neck; the mere thought of it made my body temperature spike.
I wanted to do something different. Like eating Oreos with seagulls sailing above our heads. I could have watched him eat those cookies for hours. And by the end of our pre-date, I had to fight down my desire to kiss away a crumb sticking to the corner of his mouth. We’d barely touched, but I could have sworn he was made of iron, whereas I was a magnet.
It was past 9 PM when I rang the doorbell to his apartment, tracing my finger from his neatly printed, faded name to the buzzer. He lived up the street from the café, which surely made it easier for him to get back and forth. It was quiet, except for the wind howling through the streets. It wasn’t cold though, not yet anyway. I could see a TV flicker through the window downstairs, but upstairs, there were no signs of lights or anyone living there. I walked along the front door, wondering whether he’d heard me ring. But then again, he wasn’t deaf. He was blind. I fidgeted with the keys in the pocket of my jeans, staring down at my shoes.
When I wasn’t wearing flip-flops, I wore the same old white sneakers I’d been wearing for years. My jeans were tattered at the ends and knees. Not because it was stylish, but because I hadn’t really worn jeans in months. Normally—since I spent most of my time in warmer regions—I wore shorts. The jeans were my go-to for more formal occasions. As I pondered over my fashion choices, I almost missed how the door creaked open and a very presentable Dima walked out.
Holy hell.
I’d seen him before, but this time, he looked like he’d actually made an effort to look...different. A loose knitted sweater brushed against his jean-clad knees, the pants tight enough to look painted on. The sleeves of his sweater covered his hands to the knuckles. It was kind of adorable. He kept his eyes down when he closed the door quietly and stepped forward.
Clearing my throat, I stalled for a moment. This wasn’t a normal date. I didn’t have the luxury of seeing how he’d react if I leaned in for a kiss or a peck on the cheek. And so I stepped in front of him—so he could feel me there—and smiled. “Hey, Dima,” I said, which made him angle his head back. He wanted to look up at me, but I didn’t think he could tell how big I was compared to him. He was so petite, delicate.
“May I, um, touch you?” I asked, unsure about any etiquette when it came to dating someone who was blind.
“Yes,” Dima whispered
So I leaned in to kiss his cheek and placed my hand on his lower back, moving to his side. “You look incredible.”
Dima snorted at my compliment, walking in unison with me. “Right. Where are we going anyway?”
“It’s a surprise,” I told him, excited to see his reaction once we were there. I had no idea if he’d like it, but I wanted to do something special. Anyone could do dinner and a movie. Well, in his case, the movie wouldn’t have been an option. Or would it? But would that be rude if he couldn’t actually watch it? I’d have to ask someone about that.
“You’re going to kidnap me, aren’t you?”
I grinned at that and kept my hand on his back so he knew where we had to go. As we walked down the street, the cobblestone pavement almost made him trip. I fisted his sweater when he swayed and pushed his hands against my side.
“I think any kidnapper would gladly return you as soon as they fetched ya.” I chuckled as he regained his balance.
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yeah, you’re cheeky as hell. They wouldn’t wanna put up with you for long. Promise.” Then he laughed, actually laughed. The joyful sound bounced off the buildings, our footsteps following swiftly. I beamed like an idiot. It wasn’t like anyone saw me. The town was empty and quiet. We walked in silence until Dima almost tripped again. I’d tried to choose another, smoother path, but we didn’t have another option. This area was more rustic, artsy. The place I wanted to go was only a few streets away, so it would have to do.
“Come,” I said quietly, ushering him against my side and holding his sweater between my fingers. Dima shifted, carefully stepping forward as I led him down the street. It was almost as if I had my arm around him. Almost. But not quite. I was guiding him.
“You’re really freaking tall,” Dima said as I spotted lights and heard music waft from the open doors of the club.
“Or you’re really freaking short.”
By the way Dima moved from me when we approached the venue, I knew he was aware of where we were. Jan had told me Dima used to hang out at this salsa club, so I assumed he enjoyed the music, the pace, the people. Like I did. I’d danced quite a bit on my journey through South America. I was far from being an expert, but I knew how to move my body to the rhythm. We were the only people at the front desk of the club, but from what I could see, it was pretty crowded inside.
Dima shed his sweater and draped it across his arm. He shifted closer toward the entrance, although out here, the music already pulsated through me. Making me hum and smile. The song was loud and fast, and I fucking loved it.
“Really? You’re taking me here?”
“You know where we are?” I grinned, my tone cheeky.
“Duh,” Dima scoffed and scowled at me. “I’m blind, but I can hear fine. Do you know how many places around here play salsa music?”
“Would you like to check in your jackets as well?” The tiny woman interrupted our conversation, eyeing both of us.
I nodded and smiled, carefully taking Dima’s sweater from him. “I am gonna check it in so you don’t have to hold on to it,” I said. “Any important belongings in there?”
Dima shook his head, patting the front of his jeans pocket as if implying everything he needed was in there. His attention was now clearly dominated by the drumming beat coming from the next room, foot tapping to the rhythm.
I turned around and took off my jacket, letting my eyes trail across him once more. Black boots, grey jeans, and a long-sleeved black shirt showing off his collarbone. He looked effortlessly gorgeous. As if he wasn’t even trying. I felt like I was on a date with a goddamn model. I swallowed and tore my eyes away. Jesus, what he did to me. I paid for everything, then tucked my wallet into my back pocket, placing my hand between his shoulder blades.
“You did your research.” Dima refused to move for a moment. I looked down at him, at his glinting eyes, almond-shaped and as dark as the sky at night.
“I need to warm you up,” I reasoned with a slight shrug. “You got this whole ice cube vibe going on, but I have a feeling I’ll like what’s underneath.”
Dima grinned, surely ready to reply with a sassy remark when I put my hand on his shoulder and urged him to enter the club. I wondered if he liked the way my hands felt on him. And if he was comfortable with me.
Without another word, Dima turned from me and walked inside, right into the club without any kind of guidance. Tentatively but determined, hands spreading out a little at his sides. He really fucking amazed me.
Dima
Fuck.
Tony was good. Too good. It really wasn’t fair he was able to milk Jan for information about me, especially when I couldn’t do the same. He was hitting all the right notes. Pressing my buttons and weak
ening my resolve. Bit by bit. Chipping away at the wall I’d built up around me, waiting for it to crack.
I hadn’t been to the club in forever. Not since I’d fully lost my sight. Places like this, with all the noise and sensory information coming from everywhere, weren’t good for me. Packed with people, everything constantly moved and changed. For someone who relied on things being orderly and in the same place, it was hard to deal with.
People don’t pay attention. They dart around, and without someone to help navigate, I’d be a mess. Last time I went to any kind of club by myself, right before my vision was completely gone, I ended up tripping over a chair someone had suddenly pushed out and sprained my ankle badly. I didn’t feel like a repeat, although I did want to impress Tony. A least a little bit.
Keeping my eyes fixed forward, I placed my arms at my side and held my hands out parallel to the floor. Not quite as efficient as my cane, but it would at least help a bit. Though I could still run into someone straight on. I really, really hoped I didn’t. I’d already fallen once in front of Tony, and I really didn’t want to do that again.
The dance floor should be straight ahead if they hadn’t changed anything, and the bar with a minefield of tables should be to the left. If we were going to do this date thing, I had the feeling Tony was going to do it right. I didn’t quite know how I would get through the tables without getting bruises, but I intended to try until a strong hand connected with my shoulder and a waft of Tony’s cologne tickled at my nose.
“Want a drink?” he asked.
“No. I was walking in the general direction of the bar on a sightseeing tour,” I countered. It was a force of habit to look toward his voice, even if I couldn’t see him. Now, after having his arm around me while we walked, I knew I should direct my eyes upward more. I loved our height difference. He felt as if he could pin me down or lift me up without even flexing a muscle.
“Right, what do you want to drink?”
His touch was firm as he walked me toward the bar. He didn’t lead me, which I liked. Instead, he nudged me away from any possible danger whenever I got close. It was nice. I still didn’t trust him entirely, but there was enough there that I didn’t feel he was going to play a trick on me or something. Also, if he was going to harm me, I had faith Jan would have kept us from going out instead of encouraging his behavior. Jan could be scary when he got mad enough.
“I want a rum and cola,” I said. The bar did very nice fruity drinks, but the last thing I wanted while on a date with an—assumed—hot guy was to drink something neon pink with whipped cream. Plus, that kind of drink stained terribly if I spilled it. “Please.”
“Hey, look at that. You do know how to be polite.”
“Oh, well, maybe I should cut back on that. I don’t want you to get used to it and start expecting it,” I mused, rolling my eyes. I rested my hand on the bar, leaning on the edge as Tony stood next to me.
“And there we go, back to normal,” Tony replied before ordering my drink and his beer. I wondered if he was smiling. His words were lighthearted, but I wanted to know what his face looked like. He sounded as if he’d have a nice, cheeky grin and bright eyes. But of course, I’d been misled by voices before.
A few moments later, I heard the thunk of glass on the bar in front of me, and I slid my fingers across the wood to find it. “This is mine, right?” I asked Tony.
There was silence and then. “Oh. Yeah. It’s yours.”
“You nodded, didn’t you?” I danced my touch up the sides of the cool glass and found the straw.
“Maybe,” he admitted.
“Mm.”
I let the silence stretch around us, guiding the straw to my mouth. Almost sickly sweet, the drink burst over my tongue, and I gulped it down eagerly. Nothing wrong with a bit of liquid encouragement to get through the date. Not too much though. Didn’t want to ruin our first and only date with whiskey dick.
We weren’t touching yet, but I could feel Tony near me. A spot of warmth at my elbow. He was hovering, and while it was kind of annoying, I was grateful for it. If he stayed there, it would be hard for someone to approach me without me knowing it. The thought of it was comforting.
“What do you do?” I finally burst out. My drink was maybe about halfway gone, and the liquor had hit me, pooled comfortably in my stomach.
“What do you mean?” Tony shuffled beside me, and I reached out, touching him. With my hand on his forearm, I could guess he was facing outward, resting against the bar. Watching the dancers on the floor most likely.
“Like...what do you do?” I repeated. “For a living. For a job. What do you do?”
From what Jan had said, it sounded as if he had been somewhere in Asia before coming to the Netherlands, but he never mentioned what he’d been doing there. Hopefully something productive.
Tony hummed, tapping his finger against the glass of his bottle: tap, tap, tap. “Whatever I can,” he said honestly. “But right now, I’m finishing up a book about my travels. In between all of that, I take whatever job I can when I need money. I’ve been a tour guide in Phuket and worked at a hotel there too. Last month I scored a job at a sailing school, but then Sara made me come here.”
I grimaced. Oh. Tony was one of those people. Perpetual wanderers. Living for the moment. A romanticized way to live for sure. One that I could not even comprehend. The idea of traveling used to appeal to me. I was a child of multiple countries after all; that was how I ended up here in the first place. Now though, I wanted to stay put. Be somewhere I was comfortable. The complete opposite of him. “That sounds...interesting.”
Tony laughed. “Yeah, I can see you’re impressed.”
“Why did Sara make you come here?” The question had been on the tip of my tongue for quite some time, lingering in the back of my mind.
Tony didn’t speak right away, and I worried I’d offended him. “We’re making up for lost time or something like that. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.”
“Ah, I see,” I murmured.
Tony hummed and squeezed my elbow. “So,” he started, “Jan told me you used to dance here…”
Uh-oh.
I knew what was coming. “A long time ago, yes,” I said softly.
Not one second later, his hand engulfed mine, and he stepped away from the bar. “Well then, come and dance with me.”
Tony
I probably looked like an idiot. Because I couldn’t help but smile the entire time we talked. The conversation with him was refreshing and surreal at the same time. A week ago, I’d been in Asia, swearing off all kinds of relationships because it wasn’t worth the trouble, and now I was here. With Dima. A gorgeous man who made me feel alive without having to travel across the globe. It was new, exciting.
I couldn’t wait for him to touch me.
So, of course, I’d listened to the club’s songs, getting a feel for the playlist of the evening. I’d also kept track while we talked: three Salsa songs, then two Bachata, followed by one Kizomba song. They did this on purpose, of course. Salsa usually started off with the couple standing fairly far apart; Bachata made them inch closer. And well, when it came to Kizomba, one could choose between grinding against one another or getting off the dance floor. Back in Cali, Colombia, I’d learned the basics of all three dances. However, I liked Kizomba the best. It felt like floating when you danced with the right person. A feeling similar to sex.
By the time the second Bachata song started, I was starving for his touch. The dance floor was crowded but thinned with the new song starting. Tú sin mí by Dread Mar. I knew it well. Knew it the effect it could have.
People left and picked new partners. I held Dima’s hand tighter, keeping him close to me. His fingers squeezed mine when I weaved through the remaining couples and then picked a spot for us in the middle of the dance floor. I stepped in front of him, placed one of his hands on my shoulder while I nestled the other one safely in mine. He was quiet, shifting slightly from side to side as his eyes flickered
as if he was trying to see around him. My free hand snaked to his shoulder blade so I could guide him. The song was slow, a soothing rhythm for bodies to rock together, for eyes to close and minds to let loose. To dream.
I placed my feet alongside his right foot and moved sideways, softly urging him to follow. Dima settled into a comfortable rhythm, but I could tell he was nervous. His head bent down. When he skipped a beat and tripped to keep up, I slid closer. Our fronts brushed together. His hair was right in my face, smelling of cinnamon and something that could only be described as Dima.
My heart throbbed, and with him so close now, I knew he could feel it. How it filled my chest and beat twice as fast as the song around us. I shifted my hand to the middle of his back when his fingers trailed down my shoulder. Our other hands were clasped between our bodies, keeping us apart.
The song lulled me into closing my eyes and feeling him. “You okay?” I whispered after a few moments; he nodded in response, and when I checked, his eyes were closed too, a soft smile on his face. Biting my bottom lip, I took his hand from my arm and then lifted his hands above his head. Dima laughed, catching on to my intentions instantly. And so we continued dancing as he turned on the spot. I kept the movements mellow, but he seemed to enjoy himself. It was easy to see he was a good a dancer, and I wished I could have seen what he’d been like before. As soon as he turned fully, he loosened his hand from mine and guided it back to me. Then, he squeezed my arm tightly.
“What are you doing?” I chuckled, leaning down to speak into his ear.
“I’m feeling you up,” Dima replied. “I need to know if you’re as hot as Zoe says you are.”
I laughed, but before I had the chance to say something, the beat of the music changed into a stronger one. Kizomba. It was different, sexy, sensual but not as smooth and romantic anymore. Just what I’d wanted. Dima stilled against me, obviously unsure of what to do. He was so incredibly adorable when he got all shy and blush-y. I welcomed the change.