Damian (11 page)

***

I looked over at the tiny clock hanging in my bathroom.

Crap!
I was already running late. Damian should be stopping by in a few minutes for our date. I looked at myself in the mirror.
This is as good as it’s going to get
, I thought.

I had spent the last hour trying to do my makeup. But the problem was, I rarely wore makeup. So even after an hour of trying different things, I still had not successfully recreated the look the girl at Sephora had taught me to do when she gave me a complimentary makeover. Instead, I had washed my face at least half a dozen times to remove my failed attempts of looking effortlessly stunning. Somehow I had managed to make myself look like a hooker, a goth girl, and a clown, but nothing remotely close to anything “effortlessly stunning.”

I would never admit it to anyone, but I wanted more than anything for him to find me attractive. So for this date, I’d wanted to make some effort to look amazing. In fact, I had even gone to a salon and got a Brazilian wax. It had been my first time, and it had fucking hurt. I hadn’t liked the idea of removing all my hair though. It made me feel naked. So the waxologist had suggested a landing strip.

So there I was, staring at myself in the mirror that was hanging in my bathroom, wearing a green shell top with a beige cardigan, a pair dark-washed skinny jeans, and black stilettos, and yet, I felt more naked than I’d ever felt.

This is not you, Alexis!
the rational part of me screamed inside me, reminding me of all the red flags that have popped up when it came to Damian.

And yet, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from wanting to see where things would go with him. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from hoping that maybe there was something special between us. So even though every sign told me that Damian was one of those bad boy player types and nothing good could come out of spending time with him, I couldn’t help but want to get to know him. I couldn’t help but want him to also get to know me.

Just then, my doorbell rang.

He’s here!

I took one last look at myself in mirror. “What a waste of an hour,” I said with a laugh and shook my head. I looked pretty much the same as I had before I’d spent $125 at Sephora. I had on a light dust of blush on my cheeks, some mascara, and some Chapstick.

When I got to my front door, I took a deep breath before opening it.
Just see where it goes
, I reminded myself.

I opened the door and my heart stopped as I saw him standing there, looking effortlessly handsome in a simple grey t-shirt and jeans.

When he saw me, his piercing blue eyes lit up and seemed to twinkle. A mega-watt dazzling smile spread on his face.

“Hi,” I said breathlessly and smiled back. There was something about him that always brought a smile to my face—something beyond his undeniable sex appeal and charm.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He pulled me into him for a hug and I allowed myself to sink into his warm, hard, protective chest. I inhaled deeply, hypnotized by his scent—a mixture of aftershave and sweat with a hint of Tide.

As I felt him pull me closer into him and bury his face into my hair, I thought I was going to melt in the simple perfection of this moment.

“What are you wearing?” he whispered in my ear as we finally pulled away from one another.

I frowned and looked at him uncertainly. “Umm. I’m not sure. Gap, I think,” I said self-consciously as I looked down at my clothes, wondering if I should have worn something else.

He chuckled. “No, I didn’t mean what clothes. But good to know. I knew there was something different about you that I liked.”

I looked at him in confusion.

“You’re probably the first girl I’ve met that didn’t seem to care about what they’re wearing. It’s really refreshing,” he explained as he studied me. “And you look beautiful,” he reassured.

“Oh.” I gave him a small smile as I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “So what did you actually mean then?” I asked quickly, trying to change the subject.

“I meant, what perfume do you wear? You always smell amazing.”

I blushed and felt flattered by his comment. “Um, I don’t wear any,” I admitted.

“Unbelievable,” he said as his jaw tightened.

“What?”
Can he be upset by that?

“Nothing. It’s just… You have no idea the things I’d like to do with you,” he teased as he gave me a suggestive smirk.

I giggled. “Well, behave yourself. I never agreed to be one of those girls you sleep with. You’re taking me out on this date—nothing more, nothing less,” I said firmly.

He laughed. “I make no promises,” he said with a deep husky voice. “If the mood strikes you, just let me know. I’ll have you against a dark corner, no matter where we are, in a hot second if you were okay with it.”

“And look at you. Such a gentlemen.”

“Okay, don’t tease me like that,” he warned playfully. “I don’t think I—or my other half for that matter”—he gestured down to his crotch—“can take it much longer.”

“Well, you’re just too easy,” I teased back. I loved how comfortable and natural I felt around him.

“Okay, come on. I have a cab waiting for us downstairs. Let’s get going now before I stop being a gentleman and punish you for teasing me for this long and just take you now against your front doorframe.”

There was something in the hoarseness of his voice that seemed to flip on a switch inside me, igniting a raw desire that I hadn’t known existed. A part of me wanted him to follow through on his threats to punished me. A part of me wanted him to grab me and take me hard against the doorframe.

I blinked and shook myself back into reality. “Yeah, sure. I’m ready.”

Fifteen minutes later, we had been dropped off in front of Swan’s Oyster Depo on Polk Street. It was a small, brightly lit shop with a blue awning with a swan logo. From the outside, it looked like an unassuming old-fashioned fish market that sold fresh local seafood. Visible at the window display in the front of the shop were trays full of various raw and cooked seafood selections, and half of the items I didn’t recognize.

Damian looked over at me and laughed as he saw the uncertain expression on my face. “They serve some of the freshest clam chowder and lobster meat.”

“Oh. So it’s not just a market?”

He chuckled. “No. Come on. Do you really think I’d offer to take you out and take you to a raw fish market?”

I struggled but smiled at him. “Well, with you, I can never be too sure,” I teased. “Also, it looks so tiny,” I noted. The shop took up no more than ten feet of the street.

“Big enough,” he laughed. “Now come on. Let’s go in. I see some people getting up to leave inside.” He motioned to the small front door.

As we squeezed into the front door to replace the two customers who had just paid and walked out the door, I smiled. The place was filled with excited chatter and packed with people. He was right. The place was much bigger than it looked from the outside. It was a long, narrow space that went back at least five times the length of the front of the shop.

There were five waiters bustling around, each of them dressed in fishmonger attire with long white aprons over t-shirt and jeans. As my eyes darted around the shop, one of the waiters nodded at us and directed us to the only two empty stools that lined the long marble counter. We sat down and I looked around in awe from the large swordfish hanging against the wall to the numerous posters of different fish to the various signed football jerseys that hung on the walls. My nose registered the fresh smell of the sea that permeated the place, and I inhaled deeply and welcomed a rich savory aroma of what I could only guess to be the clam chowder Damian had mentioned.

“What do you think?” Damian asked as he studied my reaction.

I smiled up at him. “This place is amazing! This is so different from what I expected.”

He looked at me expectantly. “And what exactly did you expect?” he asked with a smirk.

I laughed. “Well, to be honest, something more…trendy? Or maybe something more like a dark, seedy bar?”

“Ouch. I’m starting to understand what type of person you think I am.” Something in his voice made me wonder if there was a hint of seriousness in his comment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I…” I looked at him. “You’re just so flirtatious and cocky. I think I just thought you’d pick something that fits that personality more.”

Then his expression became more serious. “You know what, Alexis?”

He left the question hanging and I immediately regretted my comments.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you that way. I …” My voice trailed off when I saw a gleam in his eyes that betrayed his serious look.

“You know what, Alexis?” he repeated, waiting for me to respond to him.

Okay, I’ll bite
. “What?”

“I’m more than just a pretty face,” he said as he burst into a fit a laughter.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “And this is why I judge you.”

Just then, one of the waiters came by to take our order.

“Oh, I haven’t even looked at the menu,” I admitted as I looked at the simple menu that was posted in front of us on the wall.

“Do you like beer?” Damian asked.

“Of course.”

“Perfect. I like a girl who drinks beer.” He then looked at the waiter. “Two Achor Steam Boats please,” he said as he pointed at the beer on tap.

He leaned toward me and I caught a whiff of his cologne. “It’s an SF beer and has been around since the late 1800s. I think you’ll like it.”

“Oh, cool. Thanks.” I then looked up at the wall to study the menu.

“What can I getcha?” our waiter asked as he placed our beers in front of us.

I wasn’t sure what to get. I’d never had any of these things before—unless you considered Campbell’s Clam Chowder soup.

Damian seemed to sense my apprehension. “Why don’t we order a mixed batch of the dozen oysters?”

“Sure,” I agreed. “I had no idea there were different kinds of oysters.”

He laughed and ordered a whole crab for himself and a dozen oysters for us to share. I ordered a bowl of clam chowder and shrimp salad—two items I was familiar with.

As I nursed my beer, I smiled as I watched him take his first gulp of from his beer and casually comb his hand through his chestnut brown hair that fell back in its perfectly tousled position.

“So why did you take me here?” I asked as we watched our waiter shuck and prepare our dozen of assorted oysters a few feet away.

“Well, this is one of my favorite places in SF,” he explained.

And I’m sure this has nothing to do with the fact that oysters are a aphrodisiac
, I thought sarcastically to myself.

“And also you said that you were trying to be more adventurous and do some exploring. I thought you’d like this place. It’s one of the best fresh seafood places in the city, and I love the vibe.”

I beamed at him and realized that I’d misjudged him again.
He picked this place because of me.

“That’s sweet of you,” I said. “Even if you don’t think you’re a sweet guy,” I added as I saw him about to protest.

He chuckled. “Plus, oysters are good for you. And they’re an aphrodisiac,” he said with a wink.

And there it is.
“Why am I not surprised?” my voice laced with sarcasm.

He laughed. “Actually, you know what? I can honestly say that that thought actually hadn’t crossed my mind when I picked this place. But it’s definitely a plus.”

Then the raw oysters arrived in a round metal tray on top of a bed of crushed ice.

I looked at them apprehensively. “I’m not sure about this.”

“Oh come on. Oysters are just really good. And if you enjoyed sushi, you should definitely try this. I bet you’ve never had fresh oysters before.”

I laughed. “You got me there. Don’t laugh, but I didn’t even know they looked like that until now.”

“Oh, Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore,” he teased me. “Welcome to the city, country bumpkin.”

“Hey, be nice!” I warned. I kept my voice serious, but when I saw the concerned look on his face—wondering if he had fucked up—I couldn’t contain my laugher. “Jeez, I’m just teasing! I know that I’ve been very sheltered and there are a lot of things I don’t know about the world. That’s why I decided to move here.”

“Alex, you really know how to push my buttons!” He playfully nudged my shoulder.

I blushed and my heart skipped a beat when I heard him call me “Alex” instead of “Alexis.” My parents were the only two people who had called me “Alex,” and after they had passed away, I would cringe whenever someone called me “Alex.” But now, hearing it out of his mouth, it felt different than I’d expected. It felt natural. It felt nice.

“So what do we have here?” I motioned to the platter of oysters, trying to change the subject.

“I believe these four are the Kumamoto oysters, these are the Blue Point oysters, and these four are the Miyagi oysters.”

“Oh. And they taste different?”

“Yup. There are a number of different varieties from different parts of the world. They’re all really good. Here, let me show you how to eat it,” he said as he grabbed one of the Miyagi oysters. “So here’s some vinegar sauce. You can use this or one of the other sauces they have. There are a number of ways to eat it. It’s usually some sort of vinegar mix, hot sauce, or horseradish, and then you squeeze some lemon juice on top. Then you use the small fork to loosen the oyster from its shell. Then you tip the oyster shell and let everything fall into your mouth.”

I watched as he prepared his oyster and then tipped his head back as he slurped the oyster out of it shell. There was something seductive about the way he ate the oyster, and I felt a rush of excited energy flow through me.

“Here, you try.” He pushed the tray of oysters closer toward me.

He walked me through the steps as I prepared my oyster. I then paused as I lifted it to my mouth and looked at it uncertainly.

“Go on, Alex,” he encouraged.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and poured the oyster into my mouth.

It took me a few seconds to register the flavors. But when I did, I realized that it wasn’t at all what I had expected. I thought it would have been slimy and fishy in my mouth, but it wasn’t. It was fresh and tasted like a burst of the fresh ocean. The lemon and hot sauce I’d used seemed to bring it all home.