Stigma

Chapter 3

Jason

"I wasn't sure you'd show back up."

"I told you I would," I say, glancing at my watch. "It's not even eight yet." I stop in front of him. He's leaning against the side of the building he was standing out front of earlier, his hands in the pocket of his slacks, his hair pulled back in a bun. I haven't seen it down yet, I wonder how long it is. "Jason Dean. That's my name."

He raises his eyebrows at me and the corner of his mouth quirks up. "Jason," he repeats. I love the way my name sounds coming out of his mouth. Smooth and careful, like it's something he's put a lot of thought into saying. "I'm James Pitch."

I can't help but smile at that. "We've got alliteration going for us." I pull a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and shake one out. I offer James one, but he shakes his head. He's smiling now, too.

"Ah, alliteration," he says. "The foundation of any successful encounter. If your name had been Kevin I would've just called tonight off."

"What about Andrew?" I ask, grinning now. "Or Mark?"

"Oh, fuck no. Not Andrew." James straightens up. He doesn't move any closer, but standing over me at his full height, I feel like he's closer. The air in between us feels staticky, like it's electrically charged. That has to be my imagination though. "I like Jason. It suits you."

I light my cigarette and tilt my head back a bit so I can meet his eyes. "You don't even know me."

"I'm hoping to change that." He says this easily, confidently. Almost as smoothly as he says my name. "What do you want to do tonight?"

What a loaded question.

I want to take his hair out of its bun and run my fingers through it. I want to kiss him, find out if he tastes as good as he looks. I want to slide my hands down his shoulders, press my body against his. I want to hear him laugh, watch him smile again. "I thought we'd go dancing." This doesn't make James smile, in fact he's almost frowning now. "What?"

"Uh, I don't dance."

"Because you never have or because you think you can't? Or is this like, some kind of moral or religious aversion to the practice?" James is close enough that it doesn't take much to reach out and touch him, so I do. I hook my fingers into the pocket of his pants and take a step closer to him. I'm not quite pressed against him, but I almost am. I'm close enough to feel the heat of his body and smell the slightly spicy scent of his soap. I can hear his breath catch. "You aren't averse to watching me dance."

James's hand comes to rest on my waist, and I can't help but press my weight into his touch. "No, I definitely don't have a problem with that." He looks embarrassed all of a sudden. "I promise it was worth a hell of a lot more to me than $20. That's just all I had."

He doesn't sound quite so suave and confident now. I like him like this, too. "You can make it up to me another way." I want to press up onto my toes and kiss the soft spot under his jaw.

"By going dancing," James says.

"Yes."

He sighs, and for just a second, his hand tightens on my waist and I think he's going to pull me even closer. Instead, he plucks the forgotten cigarette from my hand and puts it to his lips, drawing from it before blowing the smoke over my shoulder. I watch, spellbound, as his mouth moves, thinking foolishly about how he just put his lips where mine were, like some sort of reverse osmosis will allow me to feel his lips from him taking a drag off my cigarette.

He gives me back the cigarette and looks down at me. "Fine," he says in this resigned way, but I think I can see him mouth wanting to tug into a smile again. "Take me dancing."