Colorado Game - 7. Chapter 7

We returned to the chalet around five, finding it empty. The mugs were gone though, so we knew the others had been back at some point. A note lay on the bar, telling us that they'd gone to one of the other chalets for dinner. We were asked to join them.

"How about we don't join them but instead go out?" Ross said, looking at me expectantly.

"Out?" I asked, frowning. He nodded, and tilted his head, waiting. "Sure... should we leave a note?"

"Nah... we're all adults here."

"Alright, but first I wanna get rid of these clothes and take a shower."

I went upstairs, stripped and got into the shower, relishing the warm water after spending an entire day in the outside cold. After, I dressed into a new pair of jeans I'd taken along, and a new sweatshirt with a T-shirt underneath for warmth. When I came down, Ross was waiting and he seemed refreshed as well. He wore dark cotton pants, a white outside seam shirt and a black tumble leather jacket. I raised an eyebrow at him. How the heck had he managed to...

"I took a shower in the room next to ours," he explained. "Our cubicle is too small for the both of us."
He shot me a wink, triggering a picture in my mind of the both of us in said cubicle, doing something other than showering.

I shook my head; I had to get rid of these thoughts because they were coming more frequent. I mumbled something and put on my own jacket, avoiding his eyes. But as the evening progressed, it became obvious that something was starting to happen between us.

It began in the restaurant, where we were seated in a secluded space at his request. He ordered a bottle of wine, after asking me if I liked that beverage. I answered honestly and told him I never tried it before; I'm more a beer kind of guy. He ordered some French sounding wine, making me promise to at least try it, and a beer for me. When the menu for dinner came, I ordered an assorted platter of meats and he ordered smoked salmon. I made a face at him and he asked why I was doing that.

"I can't stand the smell of fish," I explained, "so I'm warning you up front; if I leave the table in a hurry, it's me getting a waft of the smell, my stomach protesting and me having a strong urge to hurl."
He smiled and nodded.

"Noted. So you don't like fish; what else don't you like?"

"Anything with a bone in it; I'm not a dog, I don't gnaw and the sight of people doing it makes me physically sick." I shuddered and he laughed.

"What else?"

"What is this; 60 minutes?" I asked, grinning to take the edge off the remark.

"I'm trying to get to know my date."

"This is not a date," I said, frowning. I could actually feel the red creep onto my cheeks when his eyes slowly traveled up, stopping when they reach mine.

"Yes, it is," he replied softly. He kept my eyes locked with his and a hand of his, which rested on the table, came forward.

Luckily, the wine and beer arrive just then, and I yanked my hand out of reach (I'm such a chickenshit, I know). But the mood sure had gotten a lot tenser and he shot me a knowing smile. His eyes definitely were sending me all sorts of silent messages; he knew I felt the attraction.
He continued to ask me all sorts of questions until dinner arrived. I wasn't all that hungry really, which was weird; I usually have a healthy appetite. But now I had a knot, where my empty stomach was supposed to be.

"Eat it," Ross said, frowning. "There's not a bone in it, is there?" I shook my head, smiling.

"No, it's fine. I'm just not very hungry," I answered, pushing the plate away.

"You haven't eaten since this afternoon. Come on, Mark... eat." He reached over and took a piece of meat from my plate with his fork, making a little show of it when he brought it to his mouth. "Mmm... it's good."

Then he took a little from his own plate and held it in front of my mouth, making train sounds like people do when they feed small children.

"Here's the locomotive... tsk, tsk, tsk..." He waved the fork in front of me and I couldn't help but laugh. I took it in my mouth and ate it. "There's a good boy," he cooed, "yes, that's a good boy. Here's comes the train again...tsk, tsk..."

"Oh, knock it off," I said, taking my own fork and pulling my plate back in front of me. "Moron."

"Wow, I really am rising in your opinion of me; bastard, moron..." When I glanced away because of last nights' subtle reminder, he grinned. "My nephew likes it when I do that. The train sound. I guess it works on you too. And you ate fish, just now." I hadn't even realized it. It didn't taste bad, actually.

"Is your nephew twenty-five as well?" I grinned, pulling my plate closer to me to stop him from taking any more, but he simply leaned further over the table to get at it. "Hey... stop that."

"What, now you want it? Tough... besides, I'm much taller than you; I need it." He probably was correct; he stood half a head taller than me and his chest was almost twice as massive as mine. "He's four."

"Brother's kid?" I asked, guessing that he was talking about his brother Andrew, the company vice-president. I had heard, in the last few days, that he had kids.
He nodded.

"He's the oldest of my elder brother, Andrew. I also have an older sister and a younger brother, Marcia and Steven. Do you have any brothers or sisters?" I shook my head.

"Nope, I was the only child."

"Oh, I see," he said, sticking out his tongue as he successfully evaded my fork as I was trying to stab his hand, and stealing another piece of my plate. "Your parents didn't want more children?"

"My dad walked out on us when I was five. Mom never remarried."

"I'm sorry..." he said.

"Why does everybody say that? You didn't know him. You don't even know me. Why'd you be sorry?" I answered, sitting back.

"Because it's the polite thing to say," he said, "and I'm trying to get to know you. I found out that you didn't grow up with a brother or sister, which explains a few things."

"Like what?"

"Why you don't like sharing," he groaned, when the teeth of my fork finally contacted hard with the back of his hand. "Ouch, that hurt."

"I don't mind sharing, as long as people ask first," I grinned.

"Right. Tell me... have you had a boyfriend?"

"Sure," I answered. "Several."

"I meant whom you’ve had a real relationship with."

"Define ‘real'..."

"Not just sex but living together..." I shook my head, glancing away again; this conversation was getting very personal.

"In that case; no, I haven't," I answered. "How about you; you have a boyfriend?"

"No. But I've had one such a relationship, once."

"May I ask what happened?"

"Sure. Kyle... left me for someone else, three years ago."

"Why'd he leave you? I mean... was he insane?"
He smirked.

"No. Why do you think that?"

"Well... I mean... hello? You're very good looking, rich..."

"Thank you. No, he said because I was never home. He wanted more than me coming home in the middle of the night and leaving early."

"How long were you together?" I asked.

"Seven years."

"Wow..."

"I was a fool. I should've been more careful; I practically drove him into the arms of that other guy. I should have seen that he was unhappy. But I was busy with the company. If I ever get into a relationship again, than that's not going to happen."
I was surprised at his openness about it.

"It takes two to tango, you know," I said.

"And who made you Dr. Phil?" he asked. “You’ve never had a relationship, by your own admission, but you’re giving me advice?

"You, basically," I answered. "And maybe I haven’t been in a relationship but I do know a thing or two about guys. I’m just saying that it’s a two-way street; you can't expect your partner to just give and give, and not give something in return. I wouldn't accept it, that's for sure."

"You wouldn't, huh? What would you do?"

"I'd demand his attention. That he'd spend time with me, and with friends and family. No talk, I walk. I'd leave him in a heartbeat."

"Mmm..." he replied. "So no matter how much you love him, you'd just walk? No second chances? I don't believe that for a second. Then you don't know love at all or never experienced it."
I was about to confirm my opinion again resolutely, but thought about it a little longer.

"Alright, I don't know. I said that but now that I think about it; if he's the one, and he's screwing it all up, then I'd tell him and give him a chance. Wouldn't you?"
He nodded.

"It's not only your life; it's mine as well. I'd definitely do something, anything, to keep you and make up for whatever it is that I'd done. Or make you make it up to me."
He spoke in a way as if we were together and I became a little uncomfortable, especially with the smoldering look that had begun to show in his eyes.

"Well," I said, sitting back and breaking eye contact, "if I ever get into a relationship, I sure as hell wouldn't want someone as busy as you. You'd never be home." He sat back as well, shaking his head.

"Oh, believe me, I'd be home. And you don't have a choice. If you fall for someone, you fall; it's that simple."

"I don't agree. I always have a choice."
His expression grew serious.

"No, you don't. Not on this one."