by Quin Perin
“I know. So you’ve said.” Zoe sighed from the phone. “But haven’t you considered that he might have had a good reason to leave?”
“No.”
I was off work today, and Zoe had called me when she finished her shift to hear about my evening with Tony. She was a little less than thrilled to find out I wasn’t gushing over a passionate night.
“Dima…”
“He was literally on his knees in front of me and then…” I growled in frustration, tossing my spoon into the bowl of cookie dough and edging my way to the sink. I rinsed my fingers off, drying them. “It’s because I can’t see. That’s what it is.”
“He knew you couldn’t see when he asked you out,” she reasoned.
I clattered the tray into the oven, shutting the door a bit too hard. I set my timer, then placed it by my bowl. “That doesn’t matter,” I mumbled, turning to lean back against the counter. “Plenty of guys think they can handle it, and then when it comes to sex, they freak out. Like my eyes being broken means the rest of me is too. Like I can’t fucking take it.”
“Dima.”
Her tone was sympathetic, but I ignored it. “A date is perfectly fine, but then they get upstairs, see my apartment, and it strikes them that I’m not the same as them. That I’m different.” My cheeks burned, and I knew I was splotched with red. It made me angry how Tony had treated me. How people had treated me.
“You don’t know that’s what happened,” she protested. “Maybe he’s a prude or something.”
“He was grinding his dick on me in public,” I countered. “He fucking picked a dance club and then picked a dance he knew was going to be sexual. He’s not a prude. Not to mention. He. Was. On. His. Knees.” I shouldn’t need to stress that point. Tony was not a prude.
“I...I don’t know.” She sighed.
I was silent for a moment, my throat tight as I swallowed. I hated being treated as if there was something wrong with me. My world might be different from most people’s, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t like everyone else. I had desires. Needs. A need for a thick, meaty cock to play with in particular.
“I freaked out. Killed the mood,” I admitted.
“What do you mean?”
“He tried to take my keys from me so he could put them up, but I couldn’t let him do that.” I should have told him where to put them, but that would have somehow ruined the moment too. And if he’d put them somewhere else and then left when we were done, I would have spent all night looking for them. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
“Well, he’d be stupid if he left because of that,” she said.
“I guess. I just...I dunno.” I sighed. “He felt really hot.”
That made her giggle. “It might be worth letting him call you,” she said. “‘Cause he is really hot.”
“Tell me about him again?”
Talking to Zoe hadn’t made me feel better, but it had made me hungry. Or maybe that was my frustration and sadness. I always got the munchies when my mood dipped, and sought out comfort food. Once I’d hung up with Zoe, I called my favorite Chinese restaurant and ordered the most sodium-filled dish they had on the menu. It wasn’t good for me, and my stomach would probably hurt by the time I finished—I’d ordered enough for three people—but at least that would distract me from more incorporeal pain.
The sound of the alarm alerted me that my cookies were done. I grabbed the mitts, opened the oven, and took them out. I felt around them, burning my fingers as I made sure they were finished. Faintly crispy at the edges and then soft and gooey in the middle. Perfect. If my Chinese fix didn’t make me feel better, I’d start in on the cookies.
I left them to cool in the kitchen, heading into the living room to grab my wallet and count out my money. It was special. Everything compartmentalized with my ID in a transparent holder on the back. I kept it near my keys; everything I needed for the morning in easy reach. When I slipped my fingers into the bowl, all I touched were my keys. A frown crossed my face, and my heart twinged. I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. I had probably set my wallet on the table, and it had fallen off of the edge or something.
But my search brought up nothing. I touched the entire surface and even got down on my knees and felt behind the table. Nothing. I stayed on the floor, crawling in a semi-circle that gradually widened as I felt for the soft fake leather of my wallet.
Still nothing.
Now panic set in properly. Tears burned, clinging to my lashes, and my throat clenched. My chest was tight. It was hard to breathe. Hard to think. I stayed on my knees, sitting on my heels. My hands balled into fists before I slammed them down my thighs, again and again. Bruising them. Trying to keep the panic at bay. This was bad. So bad. If my wallet wasn’t there, I’d set it somewhere by mistake. Probably after Tony had left. I hadn’t been thinking clearly, so I must have put it somewhere else.
I raked my fingers through my hair and whimpered. It was such a small thing to get worked up about, but I felt so powerless. Reminded me of my limitations. I could find my way around this city as if I still had my sight, but if I misplaced my fucking wallet, I was helpless.
I hated it.
FOURTEEN
Tony
Do you know those people who say when you meet the right person, you’ll want to take it slow? Well, I’d claimed bullshit whenever I heard that phrase. But now—now—I knew what they were talking about. I didn’t want to dive in head first. Not with Dima. I wanted to take it slow. Get to know him first. Which was why I’d fled his apartment last night.
Sixteen hours later though, I was still beating myself up about it.
I had tried to get back to my editor about the changes they requested, but instead, I’d ended up sitting at my sister’s kitchen table, staring out across the sea. Dima hadn’t been to the beach today, and I hadn’t contacted him. Because he didn’t want me to. I was such a goddamn idiot. I shouldn’t have left.
But I shouldn’t have stayed either.
It was all too fucking confusing.
“What’s up with you?”
“Mh?” I turned my head to look at Sara, who had entered the kitchen to make a sandwich for Leslie.
“Nothing...thinking,” I mumbled and glanced back at the recurring waves sliding across the wet sand. During the afternoon, I had made a few notes for how I could make the requested changes in my book, but that was it. I was one lazy ass. I wanted to be right now.
“You’ve got your thinking cap on.”
“I what?” I deadpanned, arching an eyebrow.
“Whenever you had a problem to solve, you’d sit at Mom’s kitchen table with that expression on your face. Don’t you remember?” Sara snickered. I really didn’t remember. I sighed and let my head fall against the cold window behind me, tapping my fingers on the kitchen table.
The look on Dima’s face still haunted me. As if I’d physically hurt him because I hadn’t stayed to fuck his brains out. I really shouldn’t have led him on. In my defense, I’d been really fucking horny and this close to throwing my let’s-take-this-slow approach out of the window. Another sigh left me as I rubbed my hands over my face. I needed to apologize. Fuck, I really had to. A low, frustrated growl left my throat, and my sister stared at me like I’d grown horns.
“Oh boy.” Sara laughed as I got up and brushed past her. “Hey, wait, where are you going? You’re on dinner duty.”
“Dinner duty?” I asked over my shoulder but still reached down to grab one of my shoes. I had to see Dima before I lost my mind. “Is that even a thing?”
“Uh-huh,” Sara fake-scolded and abandoned the unfinished sandwich for a moment.
“What’s that, then?” I nodded toward the sandwich as I pulled my second shoe on, grinning.
“A snack.”
“Right.”
Sara crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at me. “Tony, all joking aside, please don’t make things worse with Dima.”
I shook my head at that, avoid
ing her gaze. I wasn’t going to make it worse. “Promise.” I pulled my hair into a small bun, fixing my hoodie over my head. I looked down at myself. Grey jogging pants, black hoodie. I’d wanted to go jogging after lunch but decided that without something to look forward to—which would have been seeing Dima on the bench—there was no point. Not the greatest outfit, but it would do.
With a nod and a crooked smile, I slid out of the apartment and headed down the hallway. It was cold but sunny outside as I jogged down the street. I decided to check the café first. Time dragged as I made my way through the small town, the cobblestones under my feet reminding me of last night. How he’d pushed me into the wall and seduced me. A master of seduction without seeing one thing. The memories made a surge of arousal zip south, igniting that greedy tension between my legs.
I rounded the corner to the café, mildly out of breath from running. I looked through the window but couldn’t see Dima in the back. A young blond man served a customer. Jan was supposed to be around, but I didn’t see him either. He was probably in the back. I pushed off the frame of the window before my breath fogged up the glass and took off again.
I settled into a comfortable rhythm of my feet against the ground, my heart thudding loudly in my ears—more from anxiety than physical exhaustion. I looked up at Dima’s window as I approached. I pulled the hood back from my ears and stopped right in front of the apartment building. My entire body tingled, excited and somewhat worried about what would happen next. Would he tell me to leave him the fuck alone? Yeah, he probably would. And I’d deserve it.
Once more, I looked down at myself. At my pathetic outfit. Although I doubted he’d care. I sniffed my armpits to check how I smelled after my little exercise. Not sweaty, thank God. I smelled like...me, I guess. I heaved in another breath. Don’t fuck this up. I rolled up the sleeves of my hoodie and was about to ring the doorbell when an older white-haired woman opened the front door and let me walk right in. I thanked her, only to realize I didn’t know any Dutch. Did Dima speak Dutch? Was he fluent? What about Korean? I climbed the stairs to his apartment while pondering his language skills, taking two steps at a time and grabbing the railing to haul myself up.
There I was again. Same place. In front of his door but this time without him grinding against me. Those memories sure made my dick grow chubby. I palmed my growing hard-on, closing my eyes to make it go away. I couldn’t let my dick take the reins again. Not this time. Think of baseball. Or something. Gotcha.
There were key scratches around the lock—something I hadn’t noticed last night. Oh, Dima. I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly not so sure about going through with this anymore. I didn’t want to hurt him. I walked in circles in front of his door when it suddenly cracked open. Like magic. I looked up from my feet to Dima, whose eyes were red and wet with tears. He held the door open, leaning against it, the sleeve of his sweater wiping away a tear. He looked positively adorable and pathetic at the same time. His sweater was one of those bulky black ones with a black-and-white picture of a cityscape on the front. His feet were bare, and his knee poked out of a hole in his pajama pants.
“Dima,” I whispered and stepped forward. He stiffened at my voice and sniffed a couple of times, composing himself. I was about to ask him what happened when footsteps came from beside me. A man with a big box walked up to us; it looked like Dima had ordered in.
“Apartment B, Chinese order?” the guy asked, his question directed at me.
“Yes,” Dima breathed out, his voice breaking. “I—” I looked between Dima and the man, who straightened out the receipt on top of the box. “I can’t find my wallet,” Dima mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He looked like a mess. Eyes wet, hair flopping onto his forehead. Gone was the vibrant, cheeky smile and his snarky remarks. It was just him, vulnerable, needing someone to pick up the pieces.
“How much?” I asked without thinking twice about it.
“17,90 Euro,” the man responded. I took out my wallet and gave him a twenty-Euro bill.
“Thank you,” I said and took the box from him. I shook my head as he fumbled with his wallet to return the change. “Keep it.”
He smiled and nodded, jogging down the stairs. Dima stepped aside without another word, letting me carry the box inside. Last night, it’d been dark, and I’d been preoccupied, so I hadn’t really looked around. Now, I let my gaze travel across the couch and the coffee table. No TV. No books. Just...so many photos scattered across the wall.
Woah.
I gaped. Like a fish. Thank fuck he couldn’t see me. The pictures were incredible. In half of them, Dima posed like some kind of fashion model. Lips slightly apart, head angled back, shoulders falling forward. My God, he looked good. And so fucking poised. The others were pictures of female models in ridiculous outfits. Perhaps pictures he’d taken?
As I looked back at him, he still stood at the door, his fingers clenching around the handle; he looked ready to yank it off any second now.
“What were you doing in the hallway?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” I lied.
“Mh. Okay, but also...you didn’t have to do that. I would have paid him,” he said with a tinge of ice in his voice, as if he hadn’t opened the door with tears in his eyes. Paid him how? I didn’t want to ask. I stared at him for a moment, at those perfectly chiseled cheekbones and his slender neck. I bet his cheeks tasted salty from his tears, and I wanted nothing more than to make those dimples reappear...shit, don’t go there. Clearing my throat, I placed the heavy box on the empty coffee table.
“I wanted to.”
“Right,” Dima snarled, sliding past me to the kitchen. I turned and inhaled through my nose, relishing the amazing cookie scent coming from there. Oh my God. It smelled like Christmas. “Just like you wanted to fuck me last night.”
I stopped following him into the kitchen, halting in the door frame.
“Jesus, what is it with the attitude?” I snapped at him, figuring I wouldn’t get very far by playing nice.
“Hah. You tell me. Weren’t you the one who bailed on me last night because I’m blind?”
The fuck? I watched Dima feel for a tin box in one of the cupboards before he placed it next to the tray of cookies and started putting them inside.
“What the hell? I don’t give the slightest fuck about you not being able to see!” Man, he really irritated me with his cheeky-as-fuck behavior. Dima dropped a cookie into the box and brushed off his hands on his sweater.
“Yeah, whatever. You can go now. I’ll pay you back the money.”
That was my cue to go. To turn around and get the fuck out. Without offering to search for his wallet with him. Without apologizing. After all, I didn’t know him, and he’d been nothing but rude to me. Of course, there had been those little special moments when he smiled so genuinely I knew there had to be a sweet part of him buried below all this bullshit.
“You’re an idiot,” I hissed and stepped behind him. Not close enough to invade his space, but close enough to easily touch him. “Ever heard of taking it slow?”
Dima laughed. As if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. It fucking pissed me off.
“Hey!” I scoffed and grabbed his shoulders to spin him around. Not very gentleman-like, but it would have to do. He wanted to be treated like everyone else? Be my guest. Dima’s shoulders shook with laughter as I pinned him against the edge of the counter, the tin box hitting the kettle that was set behind it.
“You were hard as a rock last night, and you’re talking about taking it slow?”
I scowled at him, only to realize it didn’t make a difference. He was one piece of work. Well, at least he wasn’t crying anymore. “You invited me up.”
“Because I wanted to fuck.”
I groaned, defeated. Here goes nothing. It was only about sex with him, and although a week ago I wouldn’t have minded that one bit, it really frustrated me now.
Dima
I could practically taste Tony’s frustration. It h
ung heavy in the air, coating my tongue. Almost choking me. I could take care of it. Relax him. Make him feel so much better, but he kept pushing me away. Talking about taking it slow. Idiot. Any other guy would be happy to jump into bed with me, no questions asked. Not Tony. Slow-and-steady Tony. It bothered me. I wanted a man. Not a tortoise.
Wiggling against him, I tried to pull away. My food was getting cold, and he obviously didn’t want to do anything fun. He could leave. And I could eat, so I had more energy to cry over my misplaced money. His sturdy hands held me in place, digging into my shoulders. A long sigh left him. “You lost your wallet, right?” He was clearly trying to change the subject.
“Mhm. I don’t know where it is, but it’s got to be somewhere in here,” I mumbled. It was embarrassing to be caught in a weak moment like that. And my attempts at distracting him hadn’t worked. “Should be with my keys. But it’s not.”
Tony pulled away, and I instantly missed his warmth pressed so close. “I’m going to help you look,” he said. Actually, it was closer to a command. Almost made me want to obey.
“You don—”
“Have to,” he cut me off. “I know. But I want to, okay?”
I wanted to say no, but his help was appealing. I would spend hours panicking while trying to find it. And if I couldn’t, I’d have to call Zoe to help me out. Losing things was very complicated for me. I nodded my reluctant agreement. “‘Kay.”
“Good.”
It sounded like his mood had brightened again. “Is...it okay if I turned on the lights?”
“They hurt my eyes,” I deadpanned.
I heard Tony suck air through his teeth. “Shit, Dima. I’m sorry.”
He sounded so genuinely apologetic that I burst into laughter. “Jeez, don’t take it so seriously. I was teasing. I can’t really tell if they’re on or not.” Well, I could hear the buzzing of the light bulbs, and sometimes I felt the heat from them when I was close enough.