CHAPTER 10

"Alright, I'm heading off now," I shout out towards my daughters bedroom while grabbing my car keys. Anastasia follows a step behind me as I race into the kitchen, my mind frantic. I don't even know how I am going to survive this frankly.

I turn to glance at Anastasia with a forced smile, my palms already sweaty and my fingers shaking as she leans by the kitchen wall with a shoulder, biting her thumbnail. It's funny how Anastasia is always there to be relied on, whereas my daughter disappears and is nowhere insight when I need her support the most on this.

But then, to my relief, my daughter clambours down the stairs and my heart lifts.

"Good luck, dad," she says, opening her arms to me. I step forward, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tight, resting my chin on top of her scalp. Looking past her head, I see Anastasia still standing where she is, by the wall. Only this time she's inspecting her fingernails heavily, somewhat embarrassed or like she's afraid she's invading on our sentimental moment. "Like I said, I'm so happy for you. Just relax, okay?"

"Okay," I murmur.

She separates from me, and then, surprising me, Anastasia pushes off the wall and, next thing I know, her long arms are around my waist and she's hugging me as well. I was not expecting that from her, honestly. I had hoped for it from my daughter, but... I wasn't expecting it from her. Am I that fucking obvious with how nervous I am? Probably.

My hand goes up to the back of her head, my fingers squeezing into the back of her soft hair, chin resting against her warm hairline. She smells clean, fresh, like shampoo. Again, because she's not my daughter or anything remotely close to it, it feels... sexual. I don't know what it is that makes me feel that way exactly.

"Good luck, Christian," she murmurs softly into my sweater. "You'll do great."

Awkwardly, we pull apart, Anastasia clearing her throat loudly.

"Alright," I mutter again, glancing between the two girls. "I shouldn't be too long. You both know where everything is and what my number is if there's an emergency."

"There won't be an emergency, dad," Kate assures me. "Take as long as you need."

Inhaling in deeply, I check my watch, pulling up my sleeve. Fuck, if I keep standing here, I'll be late. With one last smile at the girls, I head outside the front door, strolling to where my car is parked in the garage. I get in, starting to the ignition. Then I check my jean pockets, making sure I've brought both my phone and my wallet with me. I have, thank God. I'm all good and set to go.

I can feel myself perspiring heavily beneath my sweater as I pull out of the driveway.

How pathetic. I can handle easily being in a room with multiple staff or investors. I can handle public speaking to an entire board, without even so much as breaking out in a sweat.

I was present and supportive during the birth of Katherine, while her mother was in labor, crying out and moaning in pain. I was there holding her hand as she held it extra tight in a death-grip, I was even there to cut my daughters bloody umbilical cord without passing out.

I've survived those difficult teen years of raising a daughter as a single father. A few times, I've managed to line up in a grocery store with several packets of tampons and didn't even blush when the person behind the counter noticed them.

I can handle all of these challenging things, yet why am I so nervous and sweaty now?

Surely, a first date with some woman is easier compared to all of these numerous things?

Hitting a red light, I slow down, reaching down to wipe my moist palms over my jeans. I breathe in and out deeply through my mouth, trying to keep calm as I wait. Then I switch on the radio, pressing 'play' on the CD I have in there.

Frank Sinatra's blissful voice comes out of the speakers, surrounding me, easing my mind. When all else fails, Frank Sinatra's always there to pick me up again.

As the lights turn green and I'm free to go, I try to focus on nothing else but the lyrics and words to his music, muttering them to myself, using it as a distraction from my nerves.

I hear my phone go off in my pocket with a text, but if I pull over now to check it, I'll risk being late. I'll have to wait until I get to the restaurant first. If it was anything serious anyway like an emergency with Kate, she'd call rather than text. Clearly it can't be something too important.

Putting on the blinkers, I turn right into the restaurant where I will be having my 1st ever date with a woman. Since I met Katherine's mother in school, we hadn't needed to date much. We always took advantage of our lunch breaks or afternoons to spend time together.

Finding a space, I ease into it, shutting off the engine. Then I burrow my phone out of my jean pocket, opening the text.

Another unexpected surprise. It's from Anastasia.

Remember what I said, my little 'piece of dating advice' before. Just be yourself, because the real you, it's amazing. Trust me.

After the writing, she's added a little face with red cheeks.

It's like the words she has written in the message alone are enough to make me feel immediately better. Suddenly, just like that, my tense shoulders relax. That knot in my stomach eases. I'm smiling at the little face icon she's added, which has made me feel oddly relaxed in turn. Again, it's so nice, the fact that someone has faith in me at the very least. Anastasia has confidence in me, she believes in me. Sad that it had to be her and not my daughter that is sending me reassuring words of encouragement, but clearly that is where Anastasia is different. She's thoughtful. Like I told her one time-intuitive.

I realize, lately, during our past conversations, Anastasia has truly been the only one holding me up, the only person really encouraging me, praising me. Telling me I'm 'amazing', that I'm apparently not boring. I don't know whether she's simply doing that to be kind, but seeing as she's been consistent, it truly must be the way she feels about me. And the fact that she does, the fact that someone does, it's definitely inspiring.

I think about last weekend, on The Grace, how things happened involuntarily. My bodies reaction to her.

It hasn't happened since then, thank fuck. But it's always constantly there, playing in the back of my mind, how she caused a sexual reaction out of me, out of my body. How, in order to jack off to completion, I'd thought about an extremely vivid, attractive vision of a young woman, who so happened to be her.

It hasn't actually been uncomfortable around her while, knowing at the back of my mind, I'd had such a physical reaction from her. I believe I've berated myself enough for it, frankly.

I type back quickly out of politeness: Thank you.

I shove my phone back into my pocket, making quick attempts to make myself look more attractive. I comb my fingers through my hair, check that I don't have any food on my face or toothpaste. Then, bracing myself, I force myself out of the car, locking it up. Unfortunately my hands feel sweaty again as I enter the restaurant, though something about Anastasia's message has given me a small rise of courage.

Be myself. Yeah, if only it was that easy?

"Can I help you, sir?" The woman behind the reservation desk asks once I get in.

I stop at her question, breathing for a moment. Act like your in a business meeting. How hard can it possibly be?

"Actually, I made a reservation last week under the names Grey and Matteo?"

"Oh, yes. Your date has already arrived." She points out my table and I see her, sitting there, this woman that Gail assumes will be good for me. The woman, Gia, sits up straighter in her seat, waving at me. Then she stands up from her chair, just in case I never saw her the 1st time, I suppose. She's got short blonde hair, and she wears a tight white blouse tucked into a grey skirt. She may as well be another one of my assistants at work.

I can do this shit.

"Good evening," I say once I reach her, and we do that awkward cheek-kiss thing.

I get a whiff of her perfume. It's as though she has doused herself in it; It's too strong, it stings my nostrils. I try not to cough as I help her back into her chair. It brings me back to how Anastasia smelled tonight when we hugged, for some reason. The way she smelled, it was not offensive. It was pleasant, natural.

"So glad you could make it. You must be the infamous Christian Gail has spoken to me about?" "

"I'm not entirely sure what it is that Gail has told you about me exactly, but that's right. Christian. Christian Grey."

"So nice to meet you at last!" There. There's that voice again, like the voice she had on the phone. Grating, annoying. Overly sweet and light, like she's trying to sound younger.

Immediately, I get the unnerving impression that this will not go down so well. Men, just like women, base their 1st impressions solely around a physical attraction to the other person. With Gia, while she's well-presented and beautiful, I just don't feel that often preached about 'spark' when meeting someone. If I compare it to say, Anastasia for lack of a better example, something's... missing. A feeling of pleasure and personal fulfillment when speaking to her. A certain lack of... excitement, of pleasure to be around that person; something I've strangely come to develop around Anastasia.

But it's judgmental of me, I know, considering I have only just met the woman and laid eyes on her. I shouldn't be comparing her, especially not to... a young girl, of all things. It's baffling that I even am, that it even crosses my mind.

I should really give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, I'm certainly no lottery prize myself.

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

After heating some popcorn in the microwave, Kate and I have retreated to the couch, watching a movie. We're both equally as distracted though, with glancing at our phones; Me, to see if Christian will write anything else to me while I hesitate with indecision on whether to write something else. And Kate; texting someone that I don't even know the name of.

"Who are you texting?" I ask her curiously as I grab a handful of popcorn.

She smiles at me while crunching on a mouthful of popcorn herself. "Paul," she admits.

"Paul? As in Paul Clayton from school?" I'm shocked. I had no idea they were even texting each other.

"Yep. We exchanged numbers last week and have been texting ever since."

I know Kate has told me that she thinks he's hot but I had no idea they were at that stage of texting each other in secret. "Wow. So what have you guys been texting about?"

"Just stuff. Just the regular getting-to-know you stuff. He asked me just then if I was a virgin."

My eyes widen as I laugh out loud at her words. "Really? And did you tell him?"

"Well, I couldn't lie, could I? So of course I told him I'm a virgin. He just said that he's fingered a girl before and felt her up."

"Nice," I murmur through a crunch of popcorn, wincing.

"I definitely hope he'll ask me out," she continues, her fingers tapping rapidly on the buttons to reply something to him. "I'm really bored of being single, you know? I mean, aren't you?" Before I can answer, she goes on, "Everyone these days at school practically have a boyfriend, they're all coupled-up. I'm sick of missing out."

"Well, I don't think I like any of the guys at school," I admit to her, though I'm not sure if that's treading on thin ice. "Some of them are good-looking, sure, but... sometimes they lack stimulating conversation."

"You talk to Jose a lot though?"

Jose Rodriguez is another guy in our year. I do talk to him a lot, I suppose, but mainly on a friendly basis. Sometimes he is too hard and distracted to talk to.

"I tried to talk to him about this assignment we have coming up in English and he ignored me and started talking about something else instead," I explain to her in frustration. "He did that when I started talking about Revolutionary Road, the book your dad lent me. It's so hard to speak to him about serious things sometimes."

"Well, we're young. We have all the time in the world to start being serious, right?"

I fall silent after our conversation, feeling like Kate doesn't truly understand. I turn my eyes to the screen instead, watching the movie. Then I check the time on my phone. 30 minutes has gone past since Christian left for his date. I wonder how it's going?

I feel a little depressed honestly, and as though I'm caught in a desperately hopeless situation. It feels super selfish of me, but there's a part of me that hopes his date tonight goes horrible and that he doesn't like the woman. I know it's horrible, because another part of me know he deserves to be happy and to find someone. I just feel sad because I know that person could never be me.

He obviously will never see me in the way I want him to.

I just feel like it's a lost cause. I should try to give it up, to get over him, because it will never happen. But it's difficult when I see him every weekend and literally spend every minute here talking to him, which is something I really enjoy. I love talking to him and having conversations, no matter what they are about. He's never boring to me, he's always interesting and exciting and charming.

Even last weekend, in the car when he drove us back after sailing on his boat, I'd confessed about liking someone. He didn't even get the hint that it may have been him. Which, really, I am glad that he didn't, because it would be embarrassing and he would have only rejected me anyway. God, I feel so lost. I don't know what to do.

Tonight, he looked so good in all the clothes he showed us. If I was the lucky woman and he came to our date wearing even just boxers and his single white golfing glove on his hand, I would still find him to be the most attractive and fascinating person in the room.

My heart just feels constantly heavy and I can't seem to concentrate. Not on the movie, or Kate, or anything. I keep counting down the minutes, fretting about what he's doing right now. Are they hitting it off? Are they laughing while drinking wine? Are they already making plans to see each other again? I felt it all today, it was such a weird mood to be in, all because I knew he had a date tonight and that he would be seeing a woman.

I've never been in this situation before, obviously. It's so difficult and confusing and frustrating and heartbreaking. I want all these things, yet I don't want them, because a part of me wants to be always nice and supportive and selfless.

I just don't understand why I can't be like Kate, in some ways. Why can't I just have a crush on some guy from school instead of being in such an impossible, hard situation like this? Why can't it just be easy, and I like some guy at school who I can actually be with, who actually is my age and he isn't my friend's father? Why do I have to be consumed with thoughts, fantasies, hopes about him, of all people?

Why can't it be someone else instead?

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

"I am so glad you opted for dessert. I should be watching my calories but one night won't hurt, will it?"

Already, we've gotten through our entrees and are onto main course. This woman, Gia, I find, is a fast talker. She talks so fast, so animatedly. About her son, about her profession, about how she's watching her weight. I can almost feel a headache growing.

I reach for my wine, taking in a sip. She let me pick the wine, at least. I'm good at picking wine. The only thing I'm probably really good at.

"You know, some of the Mom's at Leo's school have told me that some of the other boys in the older grades call me a M.I.L.F," Gia goes on through a mouthful of her salad. She was adamant on ordering salad, but she'll have one bad meal tonight- she'll allow herself to share dessert with me. Her words, of course.

It's hard to keep up. I swallow my mouthful of wine, staring over at her in confusion. "I'm sorry. They say you're a-what?" I haven't even heard the term before. I have no idea what she's talking about.

"A M.I.L.F," she explains eagerly, leaning over the table. "You know, as in... a Mother you'd Like to..." Here she lowers her voice, her eyes bright with manic excitement, like we're sharing something naughty, "Fuck," she mouths at last.

I almost choke on my second mouthful. I was not expecting her to say that at all.

She leans back in her chair, beaming, like it's an honor to be thought of in that way by children. "Yeah, it's true. I couldn't believe it myself. But you must get that yourself, right? Especially when you take your daughter to school and the little girls see you?"

"I... I'm not so sure I understand?"

"A D.I.L.F," she carries on, using her right hand animatedly, fluttering it around her chest. "You know, the male version? Daddy you'd Like to Fu-"

"-Oh, I think I get it now," I cut over her, not entirely comfortable on what she's speaking about. Where did this topic of subject even come from?

"I imagine that you do." She winks at me. "I'd certainly put you in that category myself."

I am not coy by any stretch of the imagination, but Jesus Christ. I stare at her as she shovels a mouthful of grated carrot into her mouth, taken aback by her bluntness. Is that really how it is nowadays? Is this how dating is? It's so... forward and vulgar now, with sexual intentions made implicitly clear after only just a few hours?

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

The movie ends, and we change it to another one instead.

Kate's distracted, texting Paul on her phone, but to be honest, I'm not exactly paying any attention to the films myself.

I keep wondering what he's doing. An hour has gone by now. A full hour and 20 minutes.

CHRISTIAN POINT OF VIEW

Finally, our dessert arrives; A neatly arranged chocolate pana cotta with strawberries on the side and two silver spoons. The waiter places it down in between us, and I watch Gia lick her lips as she inspects her dessert hungrily.

"Mm, looks delicious," she murmurs in happiness.

"Doesn't it?" I'm still frankly trying to move past the MILF and DILF comment that she made.

We each reach over, grabbing a spoon each. Then there's a moment where we stare at each other, her blue eyes peering into mine, filled with uncertainty, with a certain mischievousness.

"So who goes first?" she asks as if it's an exciting game between us.

"You," I urge her. "Ladies always first." And she's all too happy to evidently.

Licking her lips again, she breaks the edge of the chocolate pana cotta off with her spoon, then meets my gaze again. She holds eye-contact as she scoops the small bit of dessert into her mouth with a moan. Is this her attempt at seduction or something?

"Yummy," she moans, and as she brings out her tongue again to lick her lips, I see her tongue and teeth are brown due to the chocolate. "I don't believe I've had pana cotta before. It isn't sickly sweet, either."

"I don't have desserts much myself," I admit, and leaning both elbows on the table, I reach over, getting my spoonful, pulling the center apart. "Considering how I have a teenage daughter who loves her sweet things and her chocolate, you'd think I would, though."

Gia stares at me as I pop my spoon into my mouth. As I drag it out while meeting her watchful gaze, I think she looks a little embarrassed for once. She averts her eyes back to the pan acotta as she gets another spoonful, her cheeks flushing slightly. Then again, it's hard to tell. I think she's wearing a lot of make-up, I don't know why. And she's right; The dessert isn't too sweet, thank fuck. I hate too sweet things.

"As I told you on the phone, my divorce with my ex husband was finalized just 3 weeks ago," she begins through her mouthful, her voice dropping it's sweet edge. She sounds shaky with bitterness. "I didn't think I'd even be here, sitting here right now, especially with another man so soon."

I stare at her for a moment, cocking my head to the side. Perhaps we aren't so different after all?

"Me either, to be honest. Though it has been 3 years for me, as I said."

"Bastard," she spits out, her eyes narrowing. I'm assuming she's speaking about her ex and not me. "I caught him with her. He was supposed to be out working early, and I had gone to the shop to get some groceries. I came back and..." She pauses, her eyes filling with tears, "I heard these odd sounds. Stupid me, I'd thought someone had broken into the house."

I nod for her to continue, my mouth full of pana cotta.

"But no, he'd just brought her back, thinking I'd be away for longer." Her voice drops to a bitter, low hiss. "They were fucking in our bedroom. Can you believe the nerve he had?"

"That's rough," I mutter. I know better than to say how sorry I am. I hate it when people apologize when you announce you're getting divorced.

"I'd brought a knife up with me to the room because I assumed it was a robbery or home invasion, and I was scared." She stares down at the dessert plate, her hand shaking as she grips the spoon tight. "It's terrible but... when I realized what it really was, the 1st thing that went through my mind was..." She shakes her head, covering her mouth. "I wanted to chop his dick off, honestly! Just slice it right off!"

ANASTASIA POINT OF VIEW

It;s just reached 10.00 in the evening when Kate decides to call it a night. I still feel wide awake and too restless to sleep, so I hug her goodnight, instead deciding to make myself a warm mug of tea while waiting up.

I don't even know what I'm doing, really. I should go to bed too. I shouldn't be waiting up for Christian to get home, but I can't help it. I really am anxious to know how his date has gone. Anxious and dreading whether he's come bearing news that he really likes her, not that it should be any of my business.

I head into the kitchen, grabbing a teabag and mug. I lean against the breakfast counter while I wait for the kettle to boil, my arms crossed over my chest. I can't help drumming my fingers over my ribs nervously.

If he ends up coming home with her, I cannot deny I will be devastated. I know it's selfish of me, but it's true and I can't stop myself from feeling that way. Maybe I'm a horrible person?

The kettle finally stopping, I grab the handle, pouring steaming hot water into my mug, letting the bag defuse. Then as I go to grab milk out of the fridge, I hear the startling noise of the front door unlocking then being shut and locked back up again.

Heart failure. He's home now. What's the verdict?

I hear a weird banging noise, which makes me suspect he's tripped over something in the living room. It wouldn't surprise me if he has. Kate and I left the lights off with only the movies we were watching on. It's sort of hard to see and I hadn't bothered switching a light on before I thought of going into the kitchen to make my tea.

I pour in my milk, listening carefully.

Then I hear a sound that makes my heart sink. Oh, no. Is he crying again? Is he emotional?

Without a further thought, I head out into the living room. I can only just see him, lounging on the couch. As I move over it, the light reflecting from the TV illuminates him somewhat. He's got his head in his hands. But then he makes that noise again, and fortunately, it sounds more like laughter than crying. He's laughing in a sort of... shocked way?

"Hi," I mutter, making myself known.

"Jesus." He jerks on the couch like he's startled, his head turning into my direction. "Anastasia, you scared me. You could have given me a heart attack!"

"You're too young to have a heart attack," I point out, nursing my warm mug in both hands carefully.

"What are you doing up so late? Where's Katherine?"

"Kate went to bed early and I, um, I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd make myself a cup of tea." I help myself, sitting beside him on the couch. My shoulder accidentally brushes up against his warm sweater, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against my pajama bottoms. "How did your night go with your date?" I can't even hide how eager I am to know. I sound so overeager it's embarrassing.

I glance around the room, double-checking she's not there as he buries his face in his hands again, laughing again; his chuckles muffled in his palms. It's terrible how relieved I feel that the woman hasn't come home with him. Does that mean the date didn't go so well?

"What?" I demand curiously with my own smile when he laughs to himself again. "Why are you laughing?"

"Oh, God." He runs both hands through his hair, sitting up. "You really want to know how it went?"

"Yes, I do."

"It was a..." He shakes his head, like he's searching for the right words. "It was a sheer... disaster."

Disaster. My stomach does somersaults in glee. "What makes you think it was?"

"It really was." Christian sighs heavily as he drops his hands into his lap, shaking his head again. "I should have already known. She was 3 weeks. 3 weeks fresh from a divorce."

"So what happened?" He probably doesn't even want to talk to me about it but I persist anyway. I really do want, and need, to know. "Tell me the details."

"No, she was nice. I could... sympathize and understand what she was going through completely. The anger, the... hurt."

"So you liked her then?" I ask, but then I cringe at how high my voice sounds, how paralyzed I feel at what the answer might be.

"She was nice," he says again. "But no. Considering how much of a sheer disaster tonight was, I can honestly say that we won't be seeing each other again."

That anxious little bubbled knot seems to loosen in my chest.

"I have no... other way to describe her but... she was a sexual predator, in a sense."

I laugh at his words. "Sexual predator? How?"

"Well, she was very... aggressive. She got even more aggressive by the time dessert was over. She started talking about how at her son Leo's school, all the boys in the higher grades call her a MILF. Then she said that no doubt I must be considered a D.I.L.F as well at Katherine's school."

I feel my eyes bug out, incredulous at what he's telling me. He's right. It's so bad, it's hilarious. "Seriously?" I can't help the laughter that escapes me. "She actually said all that? Even that you were a Dad-"

"-You know what it means, the term?" He asks me in surprise.

"Of course I do."

"Even Katherine?"

"Yes, even Kate! Everyone uses that term pretty much!"

"How did I not even know about that then?" he asks out loud, to himself, I think. Then he laughs quietly again. It sends a delightful tingle up my spine and I shiver uncontrollably at the sound of it, his laugh.

"What else happened then?"

"She told me about how she'd come to divorce her husband, and the... affair he'd had with a younger woman that he employs at his work." I think it's helping him, getting it all out. He sounds on the verge of even more laughter, which is good, especially for him. He needs to laugh it off, because it'll help. "How she'd caught them in bed together, how she'd brought a knife upstairs with her to the bedroom. Then she said all this other stuff, which... I won't repeat for the sake of sparing you the gory details."

I feel hurt at him deciding not to tell me all of it, but I try to get past that anyway. I take a sip of my tea.

"Then while we'd eaten dessert, she'd dragged her chair over to my side of the table."

I stare at him in the shadows, literally hanging off his words while drinking my tea.

"Here's where the 'sexual predator' part comes in. Sitting next to me, she tells me how she hasn't slept with anyone new since the divorce, and she starts massaging my thigh beneath the table."

"Seriously?" Just hearing him tell the story, I feel embarrassed for him myself. "You're right. It was awful!"

"She tried to convince me into coming home with her and, all the while, as she was massaging my thigh, I realized... I was absolutely not ready for that yet. For... attempting to start dating again and meeting someone new." He sighs heavily again, raggedly, through his mouth, resting his forehead in his hands. Now he sounds defeated. Mentally exhausted and defeated. "I'm just not ready for it," he repeats again, his voice achingly sad. "And maybe I'll never be."

"You can't say that," I whisper. "You can't give up just because one night went wrong. Eventually you'll meet someone that... everything will go great with."

I feel completely out-of-my-depths, trying to comfort him. I mean, what could I possibly know? I have no experience or words of guidance that I could give him. I've never gone through what he has gone through, of course.

"I'm just..." He's rubbing around his forehead with his fingers. "I'm not so sure, Anastasia. I'm really not."

"What do they say?" I ask, trying to lighten his mood. "Sometimes 3 times the charm? Maybe the next time, on the 3rd date, it'll be better?"

"Doubtful. Extremely doubtful."

It's probably risky of me, but I reach over, patting his arm. I rub up and down the material of his woolen sweater; it so tight it clings to his skin. I can feel his muscles beneath my fingers, his biceps and the curve of his broad shoulder as I run my hand up, then down again, comforting him.

"It's funny though," he starts in a new tone, like he's just realized something, then stops.

"What? What's funny?"

"It's just funny how... you seem to be someone that I feel completely comfortable speaking to. I'd thought about that on the drive home."

I feel myself blushing at his words as an uncontrollable smile comes across my face. God, I can't help it. "What's funny about that?" I'm still rubbing my hand up and down his shoulder, to his forearm through his sweater, and back up again. If he felt uncomfortable about it, I'd stop within a second, no hesitation. Only he doesn't seem to mind it.

"It's just... ironic." He laughs again breathlessly, making my stomach spasm. "Tonight, with Gia, I felt a nervous wreck. I was... stumbling over my words, fretting everything I do or say. It's frankly the same with my daughter. I always fret, wondering whether what I'm doing is the right thing for her, the right... course of action. But with you..." His voice is a deep, thoughtful mumble. "With you, I feel utterly at ease. It's as if the only real... clarity I get is when I speak to you and when I'm around you. It's funny and ironic to feel that way when you're so... young."

"What does me being young have anything to do with it?" I ask, my own voice weirdly breathy, husky. "It's good, isn't it? Sometimes it's good when 2 people feel comfortable around each other, that they can talk easily. Being young or old shouldn't matter at all." He brings his head out of his hands, turning to face me.

I can see his eyes shining at me through the flickering light of images on the TV screen. I'm still rubbing him consolingly, still drawing a pattern up and down over his sleeve. I wonder what would happen if I went higher, if I dared to touch where his shirt ended, where his neck and throat began. I wonder what his skin would feel like. Would it feel coarser, rougher because of the stubble he's grown? Would his skin feel warmer?

That urge to kiss him comes again. An ache builds within me, that desperate one.

I've felt like this so many times, often when we're alone or he's close. I'll get the urge and need to kiss him, or... do something to show how I feel about him, because obviously he can't see it himself.

Maybe I need to do something extra daring to make him know how badly I want him? That, when we spoke in the car last week about me liking someone, how I was referring to him all along? That it's always been him ever since I first came to the house and met him when Kate brought me here to her house and introduced us?

His eyes remain glistening at me in the TV light. And then, I do it. Maybe not what I fully want to do, but I try something, anything, just to see what happens. Something safer.

My fingertips reaching the top of his shoulder, I go higher, carefully, delicately, placing my hand on his face, feeling the warmth of his cheek and around his jaw, the slight roughness to the stubble on his chin. I hear the loud, uneven inhale he breathes in due to my touch, and I think I see him close his eyes. The TV no longer reflects in them. I could kiss him right now. I don't even think I'm even breathing properly right now. I could finally do it, and be brave, and then he'd know for real now, and it would depend on him whether he would respond or not.

I lean in closer, my eyes on nothing else but the outline of his closed eyes in the dark, anticipation running through me, exhilaration, but then-

Kate. Imagine having to explain it to Kate, how upset she'd probably be. Her best friend making moves on her fragile dad.

But then losing my nerve, I bring my hand away, wrapping it tightly over my mug again, my fingertips still left with the warm imprint of his cheek.

"What have you got there?" he speaks after a while, his voice sounding different. Out of breath, yet detached.

"My tea," I whisper quietly.

"Good idea. I think I may go make a coffee myself."

I stare down at the shining liquid in my mug as he moves past me to get into the kitchen. Then I close my eyes, inhaling in deeply, my breath shaky and slow.

I almost did it, at least. Almost, but not quite.

I WANT TO THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS. AS FOR THE GUEST REVIEWER WHO SAID THE STORY IS GROSS AND THAT CHRISTIAN IS A PEDOPHILE, YOU REALLY DO NOT HAVE TO READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO.

I AM NOT FORCING ANYONE TO READ THIS, PLEASE GO FIND ANOTHER STORY MORE SUITED TO YOUR TASTES IF YOU NEED TO. I'M SORRY IF I OFFEND ANYONE BY THE CONTENT, I AM TRYING TO WRITE THIS AS SENSITIVELY AND REALISTICALLY AS POSSIBLE AS I KNOW IT IS A SENSITIVE SUBJECT TO SOME PEOPLE.

I DIDN'T INTEND TO MAKE CHRISTIAN SEEM AS A PEDOPHILE, FAR FROM IT. I WANT TO WRITE A STORY WHERE A MAN AND YOUNG WOMAN, WHO SO HAPPEN TO HAVE AN AGE DIFFERENCE, CONNECT AND HAVE A MEANINGFUL LOVE CONNECTION. IT'S NOT ABOUT SEX THAT COMES ON SUDDENLY, THOUGH SEX WILL HAPPEN EVENTUALLY AND NOT TOO FAR AWAY.

THAT'S WHY I WANT IT TO BE SLOW BUILDING, FRUSTRATING AS THAT MAY BE TO SOME READERS (I AM SORRY IF ITS TOO SLOW AND GETTING FRUSTRATED WITH ITS PACING!)

SO AGAIN, I'M SORRY IF THE STORY OFFENDS OR DISGUSTS SOME PEOPLE. I AM TRYING TO WRITE IT AS DELICATELY AS POSSIBLE AS, I KNOW FROM PERSONAL EXPERIENCE, THESE COMPLICATED THINGS DO HAPPEN WHERE A YOUNG GIRL FINDS HERSELF LIKING AN OLDER MAN AND A CONNECTION AND RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPS. THANKS FOR READING!