Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but it’s definitely inappropriate. He’s married to my mom, for fuck’s sake. End of story.
It’s about damn time I find someone I’m more compatible with. Someone available. Someone to have fun with—and not just sex. If watching that movie with Zeke showed me anything, it’s that wecanco-exist civilly. So, this meet-up—or date, whatever it’s called—is the right step to ensure it stays that way.
And I’m a twenty-two-year-old college graduate. I need to allow myself to have more fun. So, with that decided, I pull back up my Grindr app and type out a message.
Me: Let’s do it. Name the place and I’ll meet you there.
It doesn’t take him long to respond.
NerdyBoiSwitch: Lowrey’s on Fifth Ave. I’ll be in a black button down and khaki slacks (sorry, coming straight from the office), and I’ve got dark brown hair and black-framed glasses. I’ll meet you at the bar.
A grin splits on my face at his detailed description. One thing about apps like Grindr, profile pictures are rarely ever selfies. NerdyBoi’s picture is of his bare chest. It’s a nice chest, but I wouldn’t be able to pick him out at a bar based on it.
Me: Cool. I’ve got no idea what I’ll be wearing yet but I’ll find you. My name’s Eli, by the way.
NerdyBoiSwitch: Jay.
Thirty minutes and one Uber ride later, I’m sitting at the bar beside Jay, who very much looks like he just left back-to-back business meetings.
But he’s cute. Really fucking cute.
“So, where did you go to college?” he asks, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
“Duke.”
The bartender walks up, and we order two rounds of tequila shots and a couple of tequila sunrises. I’ve never been to this place before, but for a weeknight, it’s pretty busy.
Jay turns to face me. “Why’d you move back here?” He has to raise his voice to be heard over the live band that just started playing. They’re not half bad; almost like a mash up between country and rock.
“There’s nothing for me in North Carolina anymore,” I reply as our drinks get dropped off. “Plus, my mom really wanted me to move back home for a little bit, so I did.”
He licks the spot between his thumb and forefinger before applying salt and passing it to me. I do the same. Lifting his shot glass in the air, he says, “Alright, here’s to meeting new people. Cheers!”
We toss the shots back one after another before sucking on the limes. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve done tequila shots, and they tend to make me extra flirty, so tonight shall be interesting.
Jay leans in, bringing his mouth to the shell of my ear. “Wanna dance?”
Nodding my head, he takes my hand, leading me to the middle of the dance floor. He turns me so my back is to his front, his hands coming to hold my hips as our bodies move to the beat. The song playing isn’t fast, but it’s also not a slow one either.
The dance floor is packed with sweaty bodies, everyone seeming to be feeling themselves as they move around the room. Turning to face him, my arms go around his neck as he pulls me closer. Our bodies are flush, and his scent surrounds me. He smellsgood.
I don’t even know how long we dance for, but song after song changes, and by the time we walk back to the bar, a sheen of sweat lines the back of my neck. We talk for the next hour or so. He tells me how he works in the import/export industry, and when I tell him about my jobs, his eyebrows shoot to the ceiling—not necessarily with judgement, but shock, for sure. He asked very minimal questions, but seemed fascinated by it, which isn’t surprising. Whenever I tell people, especially people who have never done sex work, they are always amazed—or horrified—and have a million and one questions.
Around eleven, we decide to call it an evening. I’m about to order an Uber when he offers to drive me home. I probably shouldn’t be showing people where I live, especially since it isn’t my home, but fuck it. It’s better than paying for a ride. And Jay seems normal enough.
And he’s nice.
Nice is good.
He drives a really fucking sweet lime green Shelby GT500. It’s impressive and also surprising. I didn’t take him as a car guy, but it’s hot. Sometime between the dance floor and us leaving, he’s rolled his sleeves up, and the way he’s gripping the steering wheel as he drives has his forearm muscles bulging.
It’s making my mouth water. Not even gonna lie.
He turns the stereo up asGreeceby DJ Khaled and Drake comes on, and with the system he’s got installed in here, the bass sounds fucking amazing. I can’t even imagine the amount of money he’s put into this car.
Pulling into the driveway, he turns the music down, eyes widening. “This is your house?”
“Well, it’s not mine technically, but yes.”
