He smirks. "I think you know what I was looking for."
I stop outlining the top of my cup and pull it to my lips before saying, "Just looking to try something new … just a taste." I take a sip of my vanilla latte.
I totally wanted caramel. It's my fave, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. I'd rather satisfy him in other ways. "Mmmm. Vanilla. Some people like that kind of thing, but I imagine you're not vanilla at all, are you?"
I see desire in his eyes. Being able to read that much in them builds my confidence back up. He can beat around the bush all he wants, but the only thing he wants to be beating on is my ass in the sack.
I bite my lip. "Come on, Jackson. I didn't wear this jockstrap for nothing."
The way he clenches his jaw, I can tell I got to him and in my mind, we wouldn't even be able to make it out of this Starbucks. He'd just take me to the bathroom, and we'd make use of the condom I stuck in my pocket before leaving the condo.
My gaze shifts to his big hand that's resting on the table. I imagine Jackson's hands moving up and down my body. How aggressive they'll be because of how long he's gone without fulfilling this desire of his. I imagine those lips kissing across my face as he pushes his fat cock inside me.
And now I'm hard.
"You're doing it again," he says.
"What?" I'm pulled out of my fantasy, which I'm kind of annoyed about since my version is so much better than what we're doing right now.
"Making it about sex. Like that's all there is to you."
Goose bumps race across my flesh.
"I know that's not all there is to me. I just don't need anyone else's approval." My words come out harsh, even harsher than I intended, but I want to make that perfectly clear. "I don't ask for my parents' validation … or anyone else's."
I don't like that I just lost my cool.
I'm used to being in control of my emotions, of my responses to people, but Jackson seems to have a way of catching me off guard. Making me feel off balance.
Maybe because I can tell he's paying attention to what I say, what I do. Most guys are so busy trying to get laid that I could be about to burst into tears and they wouldn't give a crap. I know since one of the times I need to fuck around most is when I get sad.
"I'm just honest about what I want," I add, trying to lighten the mood again.
"Which is sex, twenty-four seven?"
"Maybe twenty-two seven." I wink at him, but he's eyeing me suspiciously. Like he has some sort of secret that he's not sharing with me.
"And that's fine to want sex. I'm not saying you need other people's validation. I just want to make sure you know I don't think that's all there is to you. I'm not sure if anyone has ever told you that."
"Well, it's a pretty good part of me. Just saying." Flip as I am about his comment, I can't help but acknowledge the truth in it, too. That really is how most people see me. It's something I've learned to live with. Better they see that side than the other crap in my life.
"Now, tell me more about your uncle."
"What?"
Of everything we've talked about, I can't imagine how that was the thing that stood out.
"Everything okay?" he asks.
"I'm fine. Nothing much to say."
I'm thinking he'll let me leave it at that, but he continues with, "You said he was there for you when you were younger. How?"
I thought this was going to be a fun get-together where we made pretend conversation before we went back to one of our places for a quickie. Not this.
I play along, figuring if I try to ignore it, he'll catch on to my issue about the subject and push even more.
"I stayed with him for a while during college. He was cool. Showed me around to the gay bars. Made me feel really good about who I was, which I didn't really get from my family. Or anyone when I was growing up. Randy's a big movie fanatic. Loves old comedies like Bringing Up Baby and Auntie Mame. They have these classic nights at the drive-in theater, and he used to take me there for the double feature."
Shit, what am I doing?
I was just trying to say enough so I wouldn't sound like I was avoiding the subject, but once I got started, memories of the good times with Uncle Randy raced through my thoughts. Of our times at the movies together. Working on jigsaw puzzles together. Eating pizza at our favorite pizzeria down the street from his house. These were the things we shared before the Alzheimer's set in, before the little clues of casual things he would forget to the much more serious panics that came from not knowing where he was. Now he's a man who sometimes looks at me and doesn't even know who I am.