Confounded: Part III - 6. Chapter 4

--==Mitchell’s POV==--

That thought lingered for a long time as I sat there waiting for Tomás to return. There were a lot of thoughts that entered my mind. Thoughts like how much I enjoyed this dinner. The effortless conversation. The absence of the need to impress which, perhaps, fell to the previous connection I had with him, but that connection had never been like this; on equal footing. A man speaking to another man. Previously, I had been ‘the father’ speaking to his son’s boyfriend. A boyfriend who had been far younger then, certainly not as emotionally developed as he was now. He’d been a kid, and a complicated one at that.

Tomás was a far cry from that kid now. I liked calling him that in my head, alternating between the two. Tom. Tomás. Tom was the boy, Tomás was the man. A new person with current problems, thoughts, ideas, and wishes that resonated with me. Rather interesting, that was. I hadn’t expected that.

Playing with the stem of my glass, I looked up and saw him making his way back to our table. With his confident stride, always looking ahead, not down like many do, he appeared to exude a feel of ’you want something? Ask, and I’ll decide if I engage’.

Apparently recognized by someone, he gave them a wave hello but he didn’t stop or divert his course back to the table.

“Ugh, long line in front of the men's room. Sorry about that. It’s your fault, you know!”

“Mine?” I echoed. “What did I do?”

He tapped the empty wine bottle. I hadn’t asked for another; two bottles was far more than enough. “Trying to get me drunk?” He smirked, “I’m onto you, man. Oldest trick in the book. Get me sloshed and take me back to your shag palace, have your wicked way with me.”

It certainly would be wicked.

God, where did that thought come from? It popped into my head as soon as he said it, and what’s more; my mind didn’t immediately go into rejecting that idea. The opposite, rather; I felt myself reacting to the prospect. Luckily, Tomás couldn’t see and I took a quick sip of wine to hide any discomfort I might be showing. I was glad it was semi-dark in here, it felt like my cheeks were reddening.

“Darn, you caught me,” I answered, smiling, then looked up when someone approached our table.

“Was everything to your satisfaction?” Our host asked, and we both nodded.

It had been a very enjoyable dinner and quite frankly, it had gone by far too quickly; I didn’t even notice the time until she asked if we wanted dessert. I glanced at Tom, finding him stealing one at me. I smiled when he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Lava Cake, please. You have that?” They did. Oooh, someone has a sweet tooth, same as me!

“You trying to kill me?” I groaned, feigning reluctance, then eagerly nodding when she turned to me, making him snicker.

“Not before we’re married; I need that will signed, first.”

Ass! Even the girl chuckled at that one and he grinned at her, winking.

“You’re a cute couple,” she winked back at him.

I liked the feeling it gave me; I felt no need to correct her. Nor did Tom.

“Sweet tooth?” I asked when she left.

“Uh-uh,” he grinned. “I’ll run an extra two miles tomorrow for this sin.”

“You still run?”

“Oh yes. Every morning, at least 10 miles. You?”

I held up three fingers. “Three times a week. Five miles.”

His eyes raked over me. “Fitness? Still do that? I remember you did work out.”

“Twice a week,” I nodded and he clearly approved.

“It shows. You’re looking good, Mitch.”

The compliment felt nice. Very nice. “Thank you.”

“You lost weight. You should eat better though.”

How did he know that? I have lost weight in the last few years; about 30 pounds. My doctor had also voiced concern, recently.

“I mean it; there’s a lot of guys who let it slip. Good to see someone who cares about his body enough to stay fit. Just eat better.”

He might be right about the eating, but it had been a long time since anyone had commented on my physique. I couldn’t remember anyone except my doctor. The last one had probably been Taylan.

“What’s with the frown?” Tom asked.

Ah, he caught me.

“The last one who commented on my body was Taylan…”

He looked at me and for a few long seconds; I was afraid he was going to ask me that question. The dreaded -How are you doing?- which I’d heard so many times that my response was pure automatism by now. But he didn’t ask.

“I’m not Taylan.” He stated, giving me a challenging stare.

I paused, then replied, “I know you’re not.”

Tom gave a curt nod. “Good.”

**********

It was wonderful to experience the banter once again, and Tom was well-versed in it. Not to the degree that it became annoying or went too far; like some do and then don’t know when to quit. Well, he had gone too far tonight. At times, outrageously so, but then pulled it back right away. It wasn’t constant; more dotted in, here and there but in such a way that as a whole, this might be the best evening I’d had in years.

Time had practically flown and I was amazed. When we were leaving the restaurant, I took a glance at my watch to see that it was very late; it was dark as we walked outside. We spent over three hours at dinner!

Tom was looking at his phone and indicated he’d be right there, stepped further away from the entrance, tapping away at the screen. Then I saw why he was distancing himself.

Smoking area.

He produced a cigarette and lit it, then looked up and saw me watching. He mouthed ‘sorry’ and I tilted my head, then walked over and tutted.

“Still doing that, hmm?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I know you hate it.”

I actually don’t? Where that came from, I didn’t know; I never voiced an opinion on it, that I knew of. In fact…

“We all have our vices,” I chuckled, reaching for and taking his cigarette, seeing his eyes widen when I took a drag, inhaled and slowly exhaled.

“Whoa, Mitch…”

“I don’t do it regularly,” I admitted, sending the smoke away from us, “but on occasion, when anxiety or stress gets the better of me, I’ll have one.”

Mischa provided them, usually. He smoked too. Kit didn’t like it and blamed it on him being European.

“Oh, thank you; having dinner with me gave you anxiety, huh?”

I coughed while still exhaling and laughed.

“You were used as a scare-tactic, back in the day; don’t let Uncle M. see you!”

Aha…Taylan then, most probably? He’d hated smoking. I returned it to him and nodded at his phone.

“What are you doing?”

He showed it to me. “Uber app. Trying to get a ride. Reception out here is horrible.”

Standing behind him, I looked over his shoulder, squinting at the small screen and produced my reading glasses from my jacket. He looked up and, grabbing his heart, pretended to feint. “Damn, those are mad sexy.”

“Be quiet, you,” I chuckled softly. “So how does that work?”

He asked for my phone and took it, installing the app for me; his fingers flew over the keyboard. I’d planned on having the restaurant call me a cab since I didn’t know how to contact Uber. He handed it back so I could supply the details asked by it.

“Here,” he said, leaning in close. I felt his hand land on my lower back. “Just link a bankcard to it, and you’re set. Easy as pie.”

Entering the information, I got the app to work. Apparently my phone worked fine, it took less than two minutes to set the whole thing up.

“You can use it all over the world. Most big cities have it. Go on, order one. I’m going the other way.”

“Handy. I own some of their stock,” I commented, then, slowly tapping the screen, I got an alert; I showed him that a ride was on the way by tilting the screen just a little.

“Good investment, I do too. And Tesla. Ah, you got one. See? Easy.” He smiled and removed his hand. I wouldn’t have minded if it had stayed there.

We then got into a conversation about the stock market while waiting for our rides, leaning close together against the wall, sharing his cigarette. I approved of his stock choices and gave some tips; in turn, he alerted me to some to look at. I noted them on my phone and realized that his personality, sharing, open and straightforward, had contributed to an unexpectedly wonderful evening. Not once had there been a strained or forced moment.

“I enjoyed tonight,” I said.

“Me too,” he answered, looking up at the stars.

I hesitated, then asked, “Would you like to have dinner again?”

Turning his head, he smiled and nodded readily. “I’d love to.”

His easy acceptance caused me to return his smile, somewhat relieved. I wasn’t sure why, but once I’d asked, I found myself holding my breath while waiting for his answer.

“How about lunch tomorrow?” He proposed, “We need to come here anyway, to get our cars. We could grab lunch.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that. Good idea,” I agreed, then winked, “if it goes like tonight, we might just do that dinner later.”

He chuckled and that mischievous glint reappeared in his eyes. “Does that include a third-date rule?”

“Absolutely!” What the hell was the third-date rule?

Apparently something funny, because he guffawed at my response but before I could ask, he checked his phone as it buzzed and nodded at a car slowly moving toward us, raising his arm to gain the drivers’ attention.

“That’s me.”

And then we parted ways fast. I was nowhere near ready to say goodbye just yet but he rose on his tiptoes, giving me a short hug, then pressing his lips to my cheek.

“G’night!”

“Oh, right, yes…goodnight! Oh, Tom! Wait! I don’t…” But he was already gone. “...have your number.”