Tempted (30 page)

Before I can respond
,
he is back on with me and divines from my shy, breathy tittering that I have seen his message.
 
There are so many sides to him.
 
One moment he is deep and philosophical.
 
The next
,
he is a cool dude, all man and, as he says, “bad ass.”
 
The next, a sweet gentle love-bug, or a nerdy, geeky goofball.
 
And then there is that erotic side that is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered:
 
so raw, so unabashed, so incomprehensibly sexy.
 
You put it all together, and he is nothing short of irresistible to me, literally.
 
I find myself drawn to him like a tractor beam.
 
It unnerves me.
 
And I love it.

We talk about everything:
ou
r pasts, our tastes, our hopes and
d
reams –
the usual.
 
During the conversation
,
I cross a line, telling him something th
at I fear will be misunderstood –
but it is something that bears addressing.
 

As a bottom of the heap celebrity (a talk show host), I have a
small number of rabid fans –
a very small number.
 
Regardless of the paltry statistics, there are several men who confess to me on a regular basis that they are ‘in love’ with me.
 
What’s more, they believe I am in love with them, even though I’ve usually not done so much as kiss them.
 
I’ve certainly never done anything to lead them on.
 
At least I try not to.
 
I’m not exactly a flirt.
 
The first few times this happened, I took it to heart, and was pretty upset by it.
 
I would never want to toy with someone’s
emotions
.
 
At the time
,
April set me straight, telling me that it was them, not me, and that I am not in any way a tease.
 
She said these imaginary roma
ntic relationships were in the men’s
own minds
,
and were their problems.
 
Gad, how I miss that girl.
 

These days when those three little magic words get thrown my way
–
I love you
–
I simply chalk it up to being a public figure, t
hough a very private one.
 
The ‘I love you’s
tend to ebb and flow, but at least once a year I receive a bonafide marriage proposal.
 
And I don’t mean from wacko fans.
 
I’m talking about from men I work with, men I know socially.
 
I just don’t get it.
 
I’m not a twenty-three year old hard body.
 
I’m a maturing homebody.

I am uncomfortable telling Alex all this because I fear I must sound like a megalomaniac, or egomaniac
,
or some sort of maniac.
 
Even so, I really enjoy him and don’t want our budding relationship ruined by his getting all gooey over me, as is so often inexplicably the case.
 
He takes it all in stride
,
and with a laugh, tells me not to worry about such things.
 
I am relieved beyond measure and excuse myself to go make a quick cup of tea.

I come back to find he ha
s cut the tension I was feeling
by zipping me a speedy, flirtatious text:

ALEX:
 
Meanwhile, imagine me pinning you up against the wall by your hands, pressing you with my body, and kissing you like I MEAN it

All I can do is smile and gleefully keep talking.

Later in the day, chores done and feet up, we have a candid talk about our love lives.
 
I tell him all
about David, i
ncluding the bit about him staying here.
 
Alex is unfazed and clearly not the jealous type.
 
I like that.
 
While we are talking, Geronimo calls
,
and for once
,
I actually want to speak with him.

“Hi, Nimo!
 
Just the man I want to talk to.
 
How are you?”

“Hi, babe.
 
What’s shakin’?” he asks.

“Just getting ready for a houseguest.
 
How ‘bout you?”

“Houseguest?
 
What houseguest?
 
I didn’t know anything about that,” he complains.

“Hahahah well of course you did
n’t.
 
I haven’t told you yet.
 
It just came up spur of the moment.”

“I see,” he says curtly.
 
“Well
,
I was going to invite you to dinner, but
...
”

“I’d love to go!” I exclaim.

“Excuse me?”

“I said I’d love to go.
 
When were you thinking?”

“Umm...
tomorrow night?” he suggests.

“Wonderful!
 
What time’s good for you?”

“Seven?”

“Sounds great.
 
I’ll be ready.
 
See you then
,
Nimo.”

He ends the call, “Uh, ok.
 
Bye, sexy.”

I’
ve been thinking that I really should tell Nimo that I am becoming involved with someone, and going out to dinner tomorrow seems like the perfect opportunity.
 
It’s something I’d rather do in person, not electronically.
 
He deserves that.

After I get off the phone, I race to Trader Joe’s just before closing
,
in order to pick up some things I think David might like.
 
I love ha
ving houseguests.
 
And
knowing
it’s someone I have cared for so deeply, and will finally get to spend time with in person, warms my soul and fills me with gratitude.

Once home
,
I unpack everything and try to find places for it all.
 
Persephone thinks her toy box is a good place for most of it
,
and she grabs whole packages in her jaws and attempts to abscond with them.
 
Jasper sits silently on the counter.
 
I think I caught her shaking her head once or twice.
 

When the day is finally done
,
I collapse on the large U-shaped leat
her sofa in the family room –
a place I rarely sit unless I have company.
 
It feels good to be horizontal and I’m sore from cleaning, having used muscles in places I didn’t know existed.
 
With great effort, I manage to lean over to the coffee table to grab m
y laptop.
 
I can’t wait to see
if there is a message from Alex, and if so, what it might be about, what scandalous proposition he might make, how he might detail his ravaging of me.
 
I’m thrilled to find his message.

10:15pm

Alexander Armstrong

When I write to you, I speak to you directly from my heart. With no added eloquence or forethought. I think you feel that, you intuit it, and correctly. Most are overwhelmed by that sort of honesty and directness, but you glow in it. You crave more. And I think you're falling in love with me because of it. But you and I are alike in one absolutely crucial way: neither of us wants to have the world fall in love with us. We both want the people we reach to fall in love with themselves. And that, Cariña, along with countless other aspects of you, has me falling deeply in love with you.

Shit.
 
Et tu, Alex?

I love San Francisco.
 
It feels like a movie soundstage to me.
 
You can be on the wharf with the fishermen plying their fresh seafood, then blocks away
,
be in the largest Chinese community outside of China, and then, just another few blocks in the other direction, you can be immersed in Italian culture.
 
So, I was delighted when Nimo suggested we go to Trattoria Contadina in North Beach for dinner.

He picks me up without too much discomfort on my part.
 
I always dread having him place his hand on my lower back when we are trying to get from point A to B.
 
The drive to the restaurant is pleasant
,
and we are having fun listening to 90’s music, although our tastes are very different.
 
I am an inveterate Grunge lover.
 
His choice is Pop.

Miraculously, we find parking right away, and though we are very early for our reservation, the restaurant is able to seat us now.
 
They even give us a great little table by the window.
 
We split a Caesar salad and some bruschetta
,
and I order the Valdostana: sautéed chicken breast, layered with smoked mozzarella cheese, prosciutto, oregano and sage, served
with a Madeira wine sauce, saut
e
e
d vegetables and garlic mashed potatoes.
 
Yum!
 
Nimo changes his mind so many times that I have no idea what he actually ends up with.

Once our entrees come
,
I broach the topic.
 
I am interested in someone.
 
His reaction is not what I expect.

“So let me get this straight.
 
You’re telling me that you can’t see me anymore because of a guy you met on Facebook who you’ve only talked to on the phone a few times and who lives across the country?” he asks.

Suddenly I feel very small, and equally as foolish.

“Yes,” I squeak
,
almost inaudibly.

He just shakes his head and smiles and changes the subject.
 
The rest of our dinner is light and genial
,
and you would think I’d told him that I’d decided to get the Torta di Cioccolato instead of the Tiramisu for dessert.
 
That’s how much weight the bomb I dropped carries.
 

A welcome buzzing tells me I have a text.
 
I hope it’s from Alex.
 
While Nimo is chatting it up with a couple at the next table
,
I
steal a glance
at my phone:

ALEX:
 
I am down in my dungeon, the basement office space I use for writing, and thinking of you. The dungeon has a gravity inversion machine, and I love the idea of strapping you in, flipping you upside down and naked, and doing lovely, naughty, loving and passionate things to you, with you.
 
Enjoy your dinner

I’m enjoying it now, I think
,
with a satisfied smile.

During the ride home
,
I proceed to tell Nimo about David staying with me.
 
His reaction to this news is substantially different
than his reaction
to hearing about Alex
.

“That Italian guy who cheated on you?”

“He’s not Italian, he’s American and was living in Italy.
 
And he didn’t cheat on me.
 
He had a girlfriend there.
 
It’s not like I slept with him or anything.”

“No, cuz you only knew him online.”

Zing.

“Still, I don’t trust him,” he adds.

“Well I trust him, Nimo.
 
And it’s my house he’s staying in.
 
He’s a really good person.”