arms crept all the way up to his shoulder. I’d never liked tattoos. I’d always seen them as a sign of heroin dependency, excessive moodiness, and a tendency to throw TVs into hotel swimming pools. But on Damian they were—dare I say it—sexy. As he turned around, I saw his T-shirt said READ BOOKS, NOT T-SHIRTS . I smiled to myself; that was so Damian.
His hair was different, though; it looked like a small child had taken a pair of scissors to it and created a strange lopsided Mohawk. It was weird and irreverent and wouldn’t have suited anyone else but him. By this stage his facial hair was more than just a five-o’clock shadow, which only added to his dark mystery. His thick black eyebrows accentuated his big, wide-set black eyes, and I stared at him trying to figure out who he looked like.
But there was no one; his look was completely unique. It was gawky yet confident, definitely weird and naughty, sexy and sweet all at the same time. And right at that very moment, he looked dark and broody and dangerous.
Oh my God. He suddenly turned and looked straight at me, and I knew I had an embarrassing look plastered across my face. He waved tentatively, and I waved back. A moment later he was standing at my table.
“Hey…so…um…yeah, nice hair.” What a stupid thing to say. But it was all that had come to mind.
Damian smiled and ran his fingers through it playfully, twisting it and creating a kind of spike that stuck straight up for a moment or two and then flopped back down. Why did I find that so cute? “The guy in the kitchen insisted.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve been washing dishes here, and he said it was too long. So he attacked me with scissors and a razor.”
“Why are you washing dishes?”
“Need cash.”
“Oh, of course. I forgot about that.”
“I can’t. Trust me. The image of that guy coming toward me with a plastic glove will be burned into my brain forever.”
We laughed, and when it tapered off, I knew I had to say it.
“Look…I’m really sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have screamed at you like that. I’m really sorry.” Our eyes met.
“Me too. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about not getting married. I had no right to.”
We smiled in mutual acceptance of the apologies.
“Well…” He started turning away from me. “Enjoy your meal and the rest of your vacation.” And then he walked away. Just like that, he was heading for the door.
Anxiety gripped me; I’d lost him once today and now that I had seen him, I was overcome by this feeling that I didn’t want to lose him again.
“Wait!” The word flew out at a volume that was entirely inappropriate for a public place; fellow diners turned and stared at me.
“Where’re you going?”
“I’m going back to town to get something to eat and then I have a thing tonight.”
A thing ? That sounded very mysterious and my mind was conjuring up all sorts of images. Frankly, I was afraid to even ask.
“Why don’t you have lunch with me?”
“I’m afraid I can’t afford a meal like this on a mere dishwasher’s salary. But thanks for the offer.” He started walking away again.
Stop walking away. Stop walking away. I wished I was telekinetic now, and I could make him turn around with the mere power of my thoughts, instead of having to open my mouth again.
“I’ll pay.” The volume and the pitch were all over the place once more, and he turned back to me. “You can pay me back sometime. I know you’re good for the money.” I’m sure I must have looked at him with pleading desperation in my eyes, and I mentally kicked myself for this, too.
“Sure,” he said quickly, like he really hadn’t needed that much convincing. He sat down with a smile.
Up until now our relationship (or whatever you call it) had been characterized by awkward moments. Awkward silences, strange smiles and looks (or a lack of looks). But from the moment he sat down at the table, the conversation just flowed. We ate, we drank, we
His hair was different, though; it looked like a small child had taken a pair of scissors to it and created a strange lopsided Mohawk. It was weird and irreverent and wouldn’t have suited anyone else but him. By this stage his facial hair was more than just a five-o’clock shadow, which only added to his dark mystery. His thick black eyebrows accentuated his big, wide-set black eyes, and I stared at him trying to figure out who he looked like.
But there was no one; his look was completely unique. It was gawky yet confident, definitely weird and naughty, sexy and sweet all at the same time. And right at that very moment, he looked dark and broody and dangerous.
Oh my God. He suddenly turned and looked straight at me, and I knew I had an embarrassing look plastered across my face. He waved tentatively, and I waved back. A moment later he was standing at my table.
“Hey…so…um…yeah, nice hair.” What a stupid thing to say. But it was all that had come to mind.
Damian smiled and ran his fingers through it playfully, twisting it and creating a kind of spike that stuck straight up for a moment or two and then flopped back down. Why did I find that so cute? “The guy in the kitchen insisted.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve been washing dishes here, and he said it was too long. So he attacked me with scissors and a razor.”
“Why are you washing dishes?”
“Need cash.”
“Oh, of course. I forgot about that.”
“I can’t. Trust me. The image of that guy coming toward me with a plastic glove will be burned into my brain forever.”
We laughed, and when it tapered off, I knew I had to say it.
“Look…I’m really sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have screamed at you like that. I’m really sorry.” Our eyes met.
“Me too. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about not getting married. I had no right to.”
We smiled in mutual acceptance of the apologies.
“Well…” He started turning away from me. “Enjoy your meal and the rest of your vacation.” And then he walked away. Just like that, he was heading for the door.
Anxiety gripped me; I’d lost him once today and now that I had seen him, I was overcome by this feeling that I didn’t want to lose him again.
“Wait!” The word flew out at a volume that was entirely inappropriate for a public place; fellow diners turned and stared at me.
“Where’re you going?”
“I’m going back to town to get something to eat and then I have a thing tonight.”
A thing ? That sounded very mysterious and my mind was conjuring up all sorts of images. Frankly, I was afraid to even ask.
“Why don’t you have lunch with me?”
“I’m afraid I can’t afford a meal like this on a mere dishwasher’s salary. But thanks for the offer.” He started walking away again.
Stop walking away. Stop walking away. I wished I was telekinetic now, and I could make him turn around with the mere power of my thoughts, instead of having to open my mouth again.
“I’ll pay.” The volume and the pitch were all over the place once more, and he turned back to me. “You can pay me back sometime. I know you’re good for the money.” I’m sure I must have looked at him with pleading desperation in my eyes, and I mentally kicked myself for this, too.
“Sure,” he said quickly, like he really hadn’t needed that much convincing. He sat down with a smile.
Up until now our relationship (or whatever you call it) had been characterized by awkward moments. Awkward silences, strange smiles and looks (or a lack of looks). But from the moment he sat down at the table, the conversation just flowed. We ate, we drank, we
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