Well, it was all positive up until I saw one of Chad’s gay friends start to get touchy with his arm. After being introduced to his friends, I tugged him to the side, whispering into his ear, “You’re married; you shouldn’t act like you’re still single and available.”
He grinned at me, looking tipsy as he pinched my cheek. “Baby, you got nothin’ to worry about with me. I’m good,” he said before he squinted his eyes, frowning. “Something’s different with you…”
If he hadn’t noticed my hair, yeah, he sure was drunk. “New hair,” I said self-consciously as I touched the ends of my perfectly bouncy, blow-dried do.
His eyes bulged out, shocked. “Oh, fuck, you chopped it off! Well, most of it—wow.” He licked his bottom lip while his eyes roamed my new style; more awake compared to a minute ago. “You look fantastic,” he gushed then took hold of my hand and made me do a small twirl.
I was pleased that I had finally had the guts to give myself a new look. I felt different—like I had been reborn and I could be whoever I wanted to be—and not the broken woman who was failing to see that there was a future beyond heartache.
Four champagne flutes later, I was more comfortable in my own skin as I joined in the sexual jokes with Chad and his friends. The things that gay men talked about made women and their sex talk over lunch seem pretty tame.
“I don’t think tea-bagging’s disgusting,” said Braun, the trendy editor at one of the infamous gossip rags in England. “I’m sure it’s like suckling boobs—soft and smooth, deliciously warm and comes in different sizes.”
“Like you’d know anything about tits,” Chad chirped in. “What ya think, babe? Since you have breasts and all?”
I blanched, almost choking on my fifth champagne serving. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t done the whole girl on girl thing, or tea-bagging.” I smiled cheerfully, shrugging before taking another sip.
After the hows and whys, each and every one of them put in their two cents and gave me graphic descriptions of how to make your man happy and sated. Arguing with them that I didn’t have a man to tea-bag with was a moot point, so I listened and took a mental note of everything they told me.
Before Toby, I had only had one sexual partner, a guy from high school who I dated for six months. His name was Oliver and he had no idea how to roam about a woman’s body. His lovemaking had been nothing spectacular, although he’d made up for it by being an amazing kisser and he had never forgotten to bring me coffee every morning. Even though there were perks of having him as my boyfriend, I couldn’t go on being with him and having to deal with restraining myself from screaming my boredom during intercourse.
So after Oliver, I hadn’t considered myself a sexual woman. I mean, everyone had been raving over how great and amazing it was, but I had been left unconvinced. Unsatisfied.
I became one of those women who thought sex was overrated. I had thought about nuns and how they’d joined the convent, probably after they’d encountered the same problems as I had. If one had an uneventful experience such as that, they would’ve been just as convinced as I that they didn’t need it as a part of their lifestyle. It was not that I’d hated sex, but it had only amplified how bored I was with everything related to Oliver. So when Toby had come along and brought about all of my mega crushing on him, I had never thought sex with him would be anything other than exciting. He had proved me wrong—for five days straight.
Thinking back on how he and I had begun brought a sad smile to my face. Even drunk, there was no means of escaping him. My heart ached as I recalled how things had blossomed and unfolded between us.
Dinner in Chinatown had never been that memorable, until now. Toby sat across from me, looking relaxed as he leaned against his chair, noticing everything I did. His heavy scrutiny had put me at the edge of my seat. Though there were other people around us, it was only him I could see and focus on. The man seemed to possess the power to enchant me, inducing all of my senses to only heighten my awareness of him—and the penetrating way he was studying at me…
It didn’t feel intrusive. It wasn’t the kind of look that seemed like he was undressing me; it was more than that. Though we weren’t touching, through his eyes, I felt our palpable connection. Even from across the table, one sweep of his gaze completely electrified me. I felt the electricity enter my bones, shooting sparks of fire all over my body.
For a while, we vaguely discussed school and how tough it had been this semester. Although a couple times I asked him about his parents, he always shifted to a different subject. He’d answer my questions, but he wouldn’t go into detail about them. So I was left even more interested in him.
He was blatant and yet he had his way of being shy, like when he caught me staring at him. He didn’t blush, however he was well aware of what I was doing, so he kept clearing his throat. I wasn’t sure if he was uncomfortable that I was ogling him. Maybe he didn’t like how interested I was with him. Either way, I couldn’t help myself. It was his fault that I found him mesmerizing, like how his lips would curl into a smile or how his eyes would crinkle when he thought something was funny. I took it all in like a lovesick puppy.
I remembered thinking that, if this was the one and only time I had—this chance with him—I’d rather savor every second of it. I wasn’t going to hold back. So when our food arrived, I had to force myself to eat, hoping this minor distraction would help me focus on getting to know him better instead of gawking at him.
At first, we just quietly started eating. Though, when he opened the subject about movies, it got the ball rolling, so to speak. I found out that he was a fan of Godfather, and yet, he also appreciated movies like Schindler’s List and My Big Fat Greek Wedding. We obviously had tons in common. Therefore, during the course of another hour, we chatted about anything and everything.
I was saddened when we had to leave the restaurant and drive back to my apartment in Covent Garden. We were both silent the entire way, left with our own thoughts, reflecting on how dinner had gone. The journey back left me uneasy. I was bombarded with my insecurities, thinking that since he hadn’t said a thing that he regretted taking me out.
Dark with my own thoughts, I consoled myself, saying things in my head such as I probably wasn’t popular enough, not gorgeous enough to fit the bill of being welcomed in his circle, or maybe it wasn’t about me or my physical attributes, and he had taken me out because he’d simply felt sorry for me.