A Risky Dinner

“Hello?”

He was home. I felt the butterflies in my stomach. Now this was real on some level, not just a fleeting notion.

“Hi,” I stammered. I hadn’t thought through this very well. It was an idea or a feeling, not a plan. Now I was scrambling.

“Catherine? How are you?” He sounded pleased, and surprised.

“Good” I replied sounding confused, as if the question had been difficult. It was a bit difficult actually and I was confused but about what I was thinking of doing, not his question.

“I’m about to get off work, do you want to have dinner somewhere?”” I continued after a short but awkward silence. It felt like an hour passed. I tried to sound casual. We’d hung out many times but he had always initiated it and I’d never sensed intent behind any of his invites. That was what made me so nervous. This could blow up in my face in terrifyingly embarrassing fashion.

“I’ve actually already started cooking, do you want to just come over?” he asked. As always, there was nothing to read into it. He sounded so at ease. It was mildly infuriating.

“Sure, I mean if there’s enough. I don’t want to impose or anything,” I replied, trying to sound indifferent. As the words left my mouth I knew I was failing utterly in that endeavor.

“Not at all, you’ll just be having what would have been leftovers tomorrow. Just don’t set your expectations too high, it’s not like I’m a great cook or anything. If it’s awful we can go somewhere.”

He had always been pretty self-effacing. Sometimes it came off as a deep, cool confidence, other times insecurity. The end result was that he was nearly impossible for me to read. Today was no different and it was doing nothing to put me at ease.

“Okay, expectations lowered,” I quipped. I’d just sounded sort of normal. Good. “I’m leaving soon, I’ll see you in about 45 minutes?”

“That’s perfect, you may still have time to salvage some of what I might be ruining as we speak.”

He sounded distracted and I was annoyed that he wasn’t sharing in my discomfort but why should he? He didn’t know what I was thinking and I certainly hadn’t given him any reason to suspect. All I’d done was called him. People call their friends all the time to make plans. Not this kind of plan though I admitted to myself. I felt my body temperature drop, my nerves were getting worse.

We got off the phone and I sat at my desk staring at my screen. It was nearly 6:30 and almost everyone else had left. It had been a brutal week. I was coordinating the opening of a temporary exhibit at the museum; a job that required the successful timing and manipulation of a thousand moving pieces. Just orchestrating the deliveries and setup had been a nightmare, now we were working on the lecture schedule and opening night. I needed to relax and that was when I’d thought of this the previous night. Thinking about him like this, in a way I’d never really considered, had made me toss and turn all night; I was now working on about three hours of interrupted sleep.

Procrastinating wasn’t going to make me less nervous and I certainly wasn’t going to be able to concentrate well enough to get anything else at work done so with a deep breath that totally failed to center me, I rose from my desk to head to my car. I was glad that he only lived a few minutes away; it gave me less time to chicken out. I could be about to humiliate myself and ruin a friendship that was valuable to me.

I stepped out of the elevator and realized I was hyper-aware of every detail now. My heels sounded deafening as I walked across the concrete of the parking garage. The walk to my car, not more than a hundred feet, seemed like a journey. Everything in slow motion. Was I was making a huge mistake? Was I just a coward? Maybe and yes but something compelled me to follow through with this.

I started my car and sat there for a moment. I pulled the visor down and looked in the mirror. I’m not a falsely modest person, I look good. I’d never lacked attention from men, if anything I’d downplayed what I had to work with. Today had been tricky. I wanted to make an impression without appearing to care about making an impression. I also had to be entirely professional and office appropriate. I’d chosen a white, silk blouse and knee-length black skirt with black heels. The outfit and my tied back hair made me look like a librarian. A fuckable librarian? I hoped so but it was definitely not over-the-top. I didn’t look like I was trying which had been the goal. I smiled at myself in the mirror, not bad.

With one last deep breath I backed out of my space and pulled out of the parking garage. It was only about three miles to his house, plenty of time to make up an excuse and back out. He wouldn’t even know anything was up. I could still just go for dinner and leave what seemed like an increasingly ill advised idea as just a passing thought. I continued running through the different scenarios in my head until I was parked in front of his house. I had no recollection of actually having driven myself there.

I’d known Mark for three years. When we’d met I was dating his friend Richard; Mark had become a third wheel for the year that had lasted. He was immediately easy to talk to and when the three of us went out to dinner Mark and I had carried the conversation while Richard mostly focused on when his next drink would arrive. I’d always preferred the nights the three of us went out as opposed to the long evenings with Richard filled with awkward silences and a general failure to connect outside his bedroom. I wish I could claim my relationship with Richard was abnormal but it would be more accurate to describe it as my pattern, good-looking men who I had little in common with.

Mark rarely dated and attempts I’d made to set him up with a couple of my friends had been borderline disasters. The ease he carried himself with when he was out with Richard and I disappeared as soon as another woman was present. I knew he was a good listener, funny and charming but with my friends, he’d used his humor to keep them at a distance to the point where it had been off-putting. The day after the “dates” they’d both asked me if he was serious about anything at all, he’d never asked me a thing about either of them afterward. Richard claimed Mark had “a fear of intimacy” and that he’d been through “some shit with an old girlfriend” but was scant on the details. He may not have known any particulars; Richard was not an inquisitive person and most of the men I’d known didn’t talk too deeply to others about whatever was troubling them.

Mark called me about three weeks after my final blowup with Richard and said he “wanted to stay in touch, I told Richard I wanted to reach out to you and he didn’t mind.” As if I gave a shit what Richard thought, he was balls-deep in a girl who’d attended our weekly beach volleyball games the weekend after we split.

In the two years that had elapsed since then Mark had gone on the occasional date but nothing ever seemed to pan out. He did have an actual girlfriend for a few months but broke it off before I even met her. I asked him what had happened and it turned out they’d gone out to dinner with Richard. She lived out of town and he’d asked her what she’d seen here and she’d replied “Mark’s ceiling.”

“That’s actually kind of funny,” I’d laughed wishing I had the brazen confidence to talk to someone I’d just met so openly.

“Not really, you should have seen how they were looking at each other, she was trying to be intriguing,” he’d replied. “She was trying way too hard, it was painful.”

“Like your non-stop jokes with Kristin and Gina?” I shot back.

“No, in those cases I probably wasn’t trying hard enough. Or I was trying too hard to not try hard enough. It was bad but you know that, you were there.”

I’d continued my streak of relationships with good-looking men I couldn’t have a decent conversation with. The most recent was John, who I’d been seeing for almost three months. I’d done this enough times to know it wasn’t going anywhere and I finally ended it last week. I hadn’t spoken to Mark since it happened and I was over-thinking how I was going to tell him. I couldn’t recall us having spent time together when we were simultaneously single. Now that I thought about it I didn’t even know if he was single. I felt a drop of sweat roll down my side from my armpit. I opened the car door and walked up his porch. Clearly things were not going to improve by sitting there stalling.

I rang the bell and heard footsteps approaching. I had officially committed to dinner at least. He opened the door.

“Jesus, I feel underdressed!” He exclaimed looking me over. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans.

“I came straight here from work,” I replied, trying to sound as if I hadn’t spent an hour debating what to wear.

“Men where you work must not accomplish much.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d complimented my appearance but it was the first time I’d felt the weight of his compliment. I hoped it didn’t show but decided he wouldn’t have seen it if it had as he’d already turned his back to me and walked back into the house.

“Come on in, food is ready,” he called out with his back still to me.

I followed him inside toward the kitchen. He had three burners working; I noticed an already-set table. It had been a long day at work and I’d added to my own stress level thinking about seeing Mark the entire time. When he handed me a glass of wine it was as if he’d read my mind. I took a long sip of what turned out to be a dense red. It tasted expensive.

“What is this? It’s really good.” I asked as I sat down.

“The quality of the Bordeaux is meant to offset the mediocrity of the food,” he said smiling at me as he turned off the burners. “Kick your shoes off, you’re not at work anymore. Those can’t be comfortable.”

They make my legs look great, they’re supposed to be sexy you imbecile, I thought to myself.

He noticed my hesitation. “Don’t worry I mopped the floor before you got here,” he assured me.

I slid my shoes off and took another long sip of the wine. It actually did feel good to get my shoes off, I raised my feet a little and stretched them out to try and loosen my calf muscles. I looked up at Mark and he was definitely noticing my legs now. It was a confidence booster and I needed it.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were going to be dressed so nice when I made this,” he said while putting chicken tikka masala on my plate. “Do you want to borrow a shirt or something so you don’t stain yours?”

I looked down at my blouse; the silk was clinging to me in a way that really highlighted the shape of my breasts. I’d had enough conversations with men where direct eye contact was never made to know that I have great tits yet I ‘d never caught Mark looking at them. It was looking as if that streak was going to continue tonight; I may as well have been wearing a fucking poncho. At least he’d looked at my legs.

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” I said looking up at him again. I was annoyed and hoped my tone didn’t give it away.

“T-shirts are in the top drawer of the dresser,” he said while going back to the stove for the side dishes.

I scooted back in my chair loudly and picked up my glass of wine as I rose. “Thanks, you were right too, it does feel good to get the shoes off.” I turned away from him and stretched again rising to the balls of my feet. I looked back to see him staring at my calves. Okay, so he likes legs. I can work with that. “Be right back,” I said stupidly. Where the hell else would I be going to?

His bedroom was fairly sparse; a queen bed, a nightstand, the dresser and a chair with a reading lamp next to it. The walls were decorated with large prints of photos he’d taken while travelling. He had a good eye for composition. I liked it that he didn’t have a TV in his bedroom. Bedrooms are for sex and sleeping and from what I knew of his social life, he wasn’t doing much of the former.

I opened the dresser and made a conscious decision to pick out the tightest t-shirt he had. Mark was a lean guy, more into running and swimming than weights so there was even an outside chance I’d find a t-shirt that was too tight on me. I found a solid black tee in a small. That ought to do it. Since he’d been looking at my legs, I decided to save my skirt from his saucy chicken too. I opened drawers until I found the one he kept his running shorts in. I picked out a blue, nylon pair that appeared to be the shortest ones.

I unbuttoned and removed my blouse then unzipped and stepped out of my skirt. I looked at myself in the mirror on the back of Mark’s bedroom door. I had chosen a white, lacy bra and matching panties. You could see the tops of my areola through the lace. I liked being in his private space but even more so now stripped down. I wished he’d just walk in the room right now. I was standing four feet from his bed. My nipples stiffened while I fantasized about it for a moment.

“You okay in there?” I heard Mark call from the kitchen.

“Yes,” I yelled back. “I’m just having trouble tearing myself away from the porn stash I found in your dresser. There is some really exotic stuff here!”

“Bullshit! I hid all of that in the garage before you got here!” He retorted without missing a beat.

“Maybe you missed something!” I called back as I removed my bra. I looked in the mirror again. My nipples were still hard and my areola had shrunken to half their normal size. They were darker when they were hard but very pink normally. I like my nipples, they stuck out far enough to notice when erect but not so far that they could poke an eye out. He must have wondered what my tits looked like naked at some point, he was a guy. I hoped he’d thought about it. I wondered if he’d ever jacked off thinking about me in the privacy of this room. It turned me on to think that maybe he had. Feeling hedonistic, I gulped down the rest of my wine.

I pulled the t-shirt over my head and stepped into the running shorts. A quick turn in the mirror revealed that my nipples were very noticeably hard; the shirt clung to me tightly enough to curve under my tits. Gravity has been kind to me. The shorts went just past the curve of my ass. My legs were on full display as was the time I’d spent at the gym for the past couple of years. I never would have worn this in public but tonight it was appropriate dinner attire. Most of my friends focused on the parts of their bodies they hated; I was glad I liked mine. If the fuckable librarian look hadn’t piqued Mark’s interest, perhaps the fuckable girl at the gym look would?

“Is there more wine?” I asked as I re-entered the kitchen. Mark was busy putting roasted vegetables on our plates but looked up for a moment. I held my empty glass out in front of me, squeezing my tits together a bit and batted my eyes at him while arching my back for maximum effect. It worked. Mark was momentarily speechless.

“Umm… yeah… the bottle is on the counter,” he muttered sheepishly. He was now nowhere close to direct eye contact unless my eyes had inexplicably relocated to my nipples.

“Thanks,” I said as I sauntered over to the counter and began to pour myself another glass. I let myself gaze at him as well. He was lean but muscular and I admired the way the white t-shirt clung to his pecs and biceps. His jeans were just the right level of tight. He brought the pan back to the stove and sat it down with his back to me. I took the opportunity to stare at his ass. I realized I had underappreciated swimming as a sport but was now seriously appreciating the results of his participation. Mark was hot. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? I was still lost in thought as he turned around and asked for another glass of wine. I had been staring at his ass and now I was staring at his crotch. I blushed as I poured the rest of the bottle into his glass, totally busted.

He’d been so busy ogling my tits that he now had a puzzled expression as he finally took notice of the shorts. “I decided to save my skirt from your dinner too seeing as you apparently think I’m such a slob.” I explained needlessly.

He managed a stammer and finally made eye contact. “I figured the red wine and chicken tikka masala were dicey for that outfit.”

I met his gaze, “Well we’re both plenty casual now.” I took another long sip of wine already feeling a buzz more from the tension than the alcohol. “Is there another bottle of this? It’s incredible!”

“I’ll grab it, sit down and start eating before it’s cold,” he replied as he hurriedly exited the room. I looked down and smiled, my nipples were still hard and the shorts rode up to mid-thigh. I sighed deeply as I smelled the food and took another sip of wine. My nerves had finally given way, I was comfortable, or it was the wine.

Mark returned to the kitchen, pulled the cork on the second bottle and dimmed the lights before he sat down with me.

“I’m glad you called, it’s nice to see you,” he said as we began to dig in.

“You were full of shit earlier on the phone, this is delicious!” I told him enthusiastically. The food, wine and company were beginning to make this seem really, really right.

“I actually enjoy cooking,” he confessed, he seemed embarrassed. “I’m 31, it would be weird to not know how to cook a little.”

“You shouldn’t hide this skill Mark, women like to eat food and you’re evidently good at making it.” I smiled at him as I peeked over my wine glass taking another sip. I liked teasing him.

He smiled back and we didn’t say anything else for awhile, just enjoyed the meal, stole glances at each other and drank wine.

“What’s new with you?” I asked. “I haven’t spoken to you in weeks.”

“Not much really, I’ve been working a lot and trying to figure out where I’d like to travel next once things slow down.”

“Are you still seeing Anna? That seemed to be going alright.” I tried to sound aloof. I hoped it was working.

“No, crashed and burned pretty quickly.”

“What happened this time?” I asked, sounding harsher than I meant to. He didn’t seem to mind.

“She was a loud chewer.”

“You’re joking. That is so petty!”

“I’m not. It was excessively loud. And sometimes she talked with her mouth full. It was actually kind of disgusting. I started taking her out for soup because it was the only thing I could think of that wouldn’t allow either bad habit. Eventually I figured out that I didn’t want to continue just eating soup forever and it was over.” He didn’t appear to be kidding.

“That’s your worst excuse yet.”

“It’s not an excuse, I have standards,” he declared. “What about you? How is John?”

“That’s over.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I’m sorry?” he asked trying to read me. I shook my head no. “Okay, I’m not sorry. Good riddance then,” he said raising his glass. I raised mine and tapped it, then we drank. The tension from earlier was dissipating rapidly over the course of the meal and I wanted to recapture it. He wasn’t looking at me like he did earlier. I thought he’d been trying to set a mood earlier when he dimmed the lights but now I thought maybe it was so he wouldn’t see me quite so clearly. Like he’d reached a line he was afraid to cross and was now in retreat mode.

We finished the meal and I helped him clear the table purposely brushing myself against him a couple of times. I managed to catch his eye again once and we both smiled. We moved to the living room with our glasses and the remaining wine and sat on the couch. I sat with one leg cocked so he could see most of my inner thigh but the dimmed lights weren’t helping my cause.

“How is work going?” he asked genuinely interested.

“Honestly, the stress is getting to me. The new exhibit is pretty high-profile and there is a lot of pressure.” I began to massage the back of my neck and leaned my head down. “My neck has been killing me.” I was internally mortified at how obvious I was being.