I Will Sing for You - 3. Ignoring the Elephant in the Room

Thursday

Last night before we left the Saguaro Grill Chris and I arranged to meet downtown at the fountain in El Presidio Park at 1:00 pm. He has classes until noon. While I could drive, I choose to take the bus and suffer the necessary transfers in hopes that Chris will drive me home so I can show him where I live. I arrive, finding him standing at the fountain, waiting for me. What I see, though, pleasantly surprises me—or more appropriately, pleasantly shocks me. It’s a far different side of Chris than I ever expected to see; a bolder side of him. He is wearing a cropped black tank-top that bares his midriff up to just below his pecs. His upper right arm and shoulder are adorned with a sanskrit-looking tattoo that means nothing to me except that I find it attractive. His tanned torso is toned and tight, with washboard abs and not a hint of fat anywhere. The biceps of his bare arms further suggests that he regularly works out. Rounding out the look is a pair of well-worn jeans that hug his hips perfectly. He looks so incredibly sexy that my interest in him suddenly takes on a whole new dimension; one of physical desire and lust.

Oh my God… Why is he doing this?

“Hi, Callan.” He greets me with a smile that crinkles his eyes. He has to notice where my eyes are focused, maybe even what I’m thinking.

“Hey, Chris,” I reply. “I must say that I never expected you to look like…” I shrug. “…this. You obviously work out to have a body like that.”

“Yeah, I have a workout room at home that I use regularly.”

“And though I don’t have any myself,” I say, “I really like the tattoo. It’s not loud and obnoxious like so many others I’ve seen.”

“Yeah. I saw it on a male model in a magazine, liked it, and had the tattooist duplicate it for me. I have no idea what it means, though. It just looks nice.”

He looks at male models in magazines?

I shrug again. “Well, as long as you like it, who cares?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he chuckles. “And you seem to like it.”

“I do,” I smile, trying to focus my eyes on his and ignore the incredible landscape of his body, which is quite hard to do.. “So what would you like to do today?”

“Well, there’s a good little out-of-the-way Mexican restaurant near here that serves really great food,” he offers.

“Sounds good to me,” I smile. “I like good Mexican food.”

He heads towards West Alameda and at first I let him lead the way a couple of steps ahead of me, allowing me a view of his butt as he walks. I’m awed by how nicely his jeans accentuate its cleavage, making it about the sexiest butt that I’ve ever seen. Definitely not same the Chris Villar that I met over a week ago at the Saguaro Grill.

From there, we walk east a couple of blocks to North Stone where I notice a small Mexican eatery on the corner called The Little Cafe Poca Cosa. We enter and immediately grab an empty table, since lunch hour rush is over. I notice that the place is really small, which is good that we missed the lunch hour.

“So where exactly do you live?” he asks as we each sip a Barrio Citrazona, a popular local brew, both of us having ordered the Huevos con Machaca.

The Palm Shadows Apartments,” I reply. “They’re on East Speedway & North Campbell, just north of the U of A campus.”

“Yeah, I know where it is,” he says, then takes a sip of his beer.

“So, where did you park?” he asks. “I parked in the lot on North Court across from the El Charro Cafe.”

“Well, the thing is, I took the bus, Chris.” I delay a few seconds, then continue with, “Maybe you could give me a ride home? That is, if it isn’t too far out of your way. I mean, I can easily ride the bus home if I have to. It’s just that way I can show you my place.”

“Hey,” he smiles. “I don’t mind driving you home. I’d like to see where you live.”

“Thanks,” I reply. “We have a very nice pool if you’re ever up for a swim or just lazing in the sun on the pool deck.”

“I’ll probably take you up on that,“ he says. “Probably a lot of college kids living there being so close to campus, huh?”

“Yeah, quite a few,” I reply. “But it’s relatively quiet given that there are.”

“Lots of cute girls?”

Shit! I certainly didn’t need to hear that!

Choosing to think that maybe he’s just fishing for my reaction, I take a risk with my next words. “I just can’t get over what you’ve been hiding behind all that black at work, Chris. I really never expected you to have a body like that.”

“You like it?” Is that a loaded question or not? Of course I like it! I love it!

“Well, it certainly looks good on you,” I smile. “Maybe you have someone you’re trying to impress? At school maybe?” What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, I suppose.

“I just like to show off my body, since I’ve worked hard enough to get it and keep it looking this way.” His smile, however, is telling me something that his words don’t convey. Is he flirting with me? Or maybe he’s skirting the same elephant in the room that I’m skirting.

At that moment our meals arrive, two steaming plates of Huevos con Machaca with seasoned rice and a small colorful salad in true Mexican tradition. Tortillas come on a separate plate. We thank the waiter, spread our cloth napkins over our laps and dig in to a meal that tastes as good as it smells.

“So, I have a question for you,” I say as I scoop a load of huevos con machaca onto my tortilla.

“Yeah?” he smiles as he does the same.

Bringing the tortilla up to my mouth, I slowly chew, delaying for effect. “So now that you’ve heard me perform, when do I get the honor of hearing you do the same?” I follow it with a sip of Citrazona.

“Actually,” he says after he swallows, then follows it with a sip of his Citrazona, “I kind of expected you to ask me that, so I brought my guitar with me today. It’s in the back of my car. And since I’m going to take you home, I could play for you there.”

“Excellent!” I enthuse, excited to actually have Chris in my home. “I’d be honored, Chris. In fact, I can’t wait!”

After lunch we walk the roughly one-half mile to where Chris’ charcoal-colored Toyota RAV4 is parked, then begin the two and a half mile drive to my apartment.

“Nice car,” I compliment along the way.

“Thank you. It’s my first car ever, so I’m really proud of it.”

“You should be because it’s sharp,” I smile, looking askance at him. “It fits you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I smile. “So, where do you live?”

“Arroyo Chico, near Reid Park Zoo. It’s a pretty quick drive to work via S. Kino Pkwy to E. Benson Hwy to S. Tucson Blvd. and relatively easy to get to school via 210 to E. Toole or I-10.”

“And it’s not far from Palm Shadows,” I interject.

He looks askance at me and smiles. “I know.”

Looking sidelong at him, I return his smile. “So we’re almost neighbors.”

He keeps his eyes on the road. “Yeah, almost.”

God! There’s just something about this guy that jumbles my head and makes me tingle all over. It’s something that I just feel compelled to tell him. “You know, this might sound really sappy, Chris…” I train my eyes in the direction that we’re heading again, feeling nervous, expectant.

“And…” he prods, looking over at me when I’m not forthcoming with the rest of what I want to say.

“But over the short time that we’ve known each other, well, I… I feel that I’ve grown really close to you. I like you… a lot.”

He casts me another smile. “I really like you a lot too, Callan. I’ve never had a friend like you. Someone I feel like I’ve known all my life. Someone I feel really close to as well. I know that you’re four years older than me, but that doesn’t matter. You’re like… unique.”

Feeling warm all over as well as a little dizzy, I suddenly want to announce to the world that I’m having real feelings for this guy. But instead I say, “Thank you, Chris. I think that’s the nicest compliment that I’ve ever gotten.”

“You’re welcome.” Was that a tone of disappointment?

I seriously debate the words that I want to say next because they could have the effect of shattering our friendship if I’ve presumed wrong. Nevertheless, I sense a tension, an expectance in him and feel compelled to say it. “Chris, I…” I breathe deeply, nervously. “I’m taking a big risk here, but I need to ask you something personal.”

“Okay…” I hear, maybe the same nervous expectance in the word. He doesn’t look my way this time and I see his grip appear to tighten on the steering wheel.

My heart feels like it’s in my throat when I ask, “Am I… Am I the reason… why you dressed this way today?” Then I sigh, awaiting the fall of the proverbial axe.

He loosens and removes his right hand from the steering wheel and grips my left hand, then moves it onto his right thigh and squeezes it. “Yes,” he replies. It’s a little louder than a whisper. “How do you feel about that, Callan?”

Slowly turning my head, I look at him. “It was very effective, Chris. Right now I feel barely contained excitement, like my heart is going to burst right out of my chest.”

“So you feel the same way I do,” he says softly.

Oh my God… Is this really happening?