Page 12 of Kissing is the Easy Part

It’s the first time I’ve been alone with him in his car, and I savor every second. I observe the way he checks his mirrors and flips the turn signal. He puts both hands on the steering wheel, of course, and brakes well ahead of time. Even the fake leather seats are endearing in their own way. We’re so close, cut off from the rest of the moving world outside.

He stops at a red light and turns to me. “Want to do something together?”

I rack my brain for second date ideas:

1. Go somewhere for food.No, I’m too jittery.

2. See a movie.But we won’t be able to talk. Plus, he has questionable taste—he thinksThe Avengersis a classic.

3. Wander the bookstore? Visit a gallery?Let’s not pretend to be someone else. No clue how late those places stay open anyway.

I take the bold way out. “My parents aren’t home. Want to come to my place?”

Sean doesn’t respond right away. Passing headlights illuminate his face, emphasizing his presence beside me, and I envision going back to my apartment, alone on a Saturday night. The floor-to-ceiling windows are gorgeous when the sun filters through them, but in darkness, they turn to huge black holes.

“I’m not propositioning you. It’s nice to have someone in the apartment with me, that’s all.”

The traffic light turns green. “Sure.”

Two dates in one day. I’m too lucky. Time to donate to charity to keep my good karma flowing.

* * *

“Hi, Greg, how’s it going?” I greet our doorman as we enter. He not-so-discreetly checks out Sean before pushing the elevator button for us. We ride up, the elevator doors slide open to a hardwood double door, and I turn my key.

Sean halts and sucks in his breath.

Our great room gleams from the coffered ceiling to the marble floor. A see-through fireplace sits on one side as a divider. Behind it, a crystal pendant hangs over the dining area; its pieces set off a shadow of constellation along the wall. Sean takes all this in, then casts his glance at the stainless steel kitchen appliance. “Your apartment is stunning. And huge.”

“Because it’s empty.” I give him the grand tour as we sail past a shelf full of souvenirs from around the globe, rattling off features like a Realtor. The old-world French vibe my mom’s going for in the den (he’s careful not to step on the cream-colored rug). The lacquered rosewood cabinet in the hallway, filled with fine china we never use. A small ink-wash painting, mounted in a gilded frame like a museum piece, positioned with careful negative space around it. Then we stop in front of my room.

“Give meoneminute.” I crack the door open an inch. My god. It’s in its usual state of disarray: an erupted volcano of clothes, shoes, and beauty products. A black bra is strewn across my full-length mirror.

I shake my head. “Meet me back here in an hour.”

“Is there a body behind the shower curtain?”

“Don’t check the closet either.”

He laughs. “Oh, come on. Let’s see it.”

Sighing, I step aside to let him in.

“Wow.” His eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles. “What interior design style is this?”

I eye him with my chin up. “Minimalist. Can’t you tell?”

He laughs again. Tapping on my phone, I select a song from Josie’s band, Fishnets, and her voice comes through the wireless home speaker. Josie’s lyrics are dark, but she sounds like a Disney princess. As she sings “. . .leave before your cat learns the horrible truth. . .”with all the teenage angst she can muster, Sean manages to clear a space on the floor. He sits down and leans his head back against my bed.

“Want anything to drink?” I ask.

“I’m good.”

“How’s the temperature? Too hot, too cold?”

He stretches out his legs. “Nope, this is perfect.”

Now what?I haven’t thought this through. Now that Sean is in my room, his presence impossible to ignore, I’m suddenly at a loss for what to do next.