The next several days pass hearing nothing from Sebastian, which makes a part of you worry that he's forgotten about you, and part of you hope he changed his mind. You promised yourself all those years ago that you wouldn't be taken in like this again, and here you are Friday afternoon, assisting your boss with a day of family portraits, planning on breaking your promise to yourself. Possibly. If the man would ever call.
That's when it dawned on you: you never gave him your number.
After the final family packs up and herds their whining children to the elevator, you and Marcus settle in for a late lunch break, right as the the office phone rings. You're both crossing your fingers, silently wishing for no more family appointments as he answers,
"Shuttered Photography Studio, this is Marcus." He braces himself, then looks puzzled, "Yeah, one second, she's right here," he hands you the receiver, "it's for you." You frown as you press the phone to your ear,
"Hello?"
"I kept calling to make arrangements for tomorrow night, but then I realized you probably couldn't hear me unless I used the phone." You snort, almost not recognizing Sebastian's voice,
"Yeah, voices don't carry too well to to Astoria all the way from the East Village, do they?" He chuckles,
"Do you have any idea how long it took and how much I had to barter with my agent just to get the name of your studio?"
"I just figured you were trying to keep me on my toes. Or that you forgot about me. That was a definite possibility in my head." You tease him, trying to ignore the unamused look Marcus was trying to hide.
"Never." His tone is only half teasing, making you either giddy or uncomfortable, you haven't quite decided yet. "So I was thinking, I could pick you up at your place tomorrow at 7."
"Oh don't worry about it, I can meet you wherever." You're met with a long silence.
"You are kidding, right?" He finally asks, "You think I'm going to let you take a cab or a subway, or both to meet me for a date? How lame do you think I am?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?" You try to ensure your joking tone gets across,
"Oh, ouch," he laughs, "fair enough. However, the night of the party aside, I am actually quite the gentleman if I do say so myself." Marcus is apparently eavesdropping since he frowns at the last statement, his gaze flickering up to you momentarily.
"I'll be the judge of that."
"Please do. Now, if you could text me your address, and 7 works for you, I'll leave you to the rest of your day, which I hope I'm not interrupting too terribly..."
You tap his number into your phone as he relays it, and text him your address and some minor directions before saying goodbye. Once you hang up, you expect to get the third degree from Marcus, but he keeps his eyes glued to his plate in front of him, and his mouth too full to talk.
Something is weird with him today.
.
.
.
It's finally Saturday night, you've just finished pinning up your hair and you're taking one last look in the mirror, shifting your black, knee length dress, smoothing out the skirt one more time when you hear your door bell.
You take a few steadying breathes before buzzing him into the building, then gather your phone, purse, and a shawl. You jump when Sebastian knocks on the door, 'here we go...'
You open the door to find him in a sleek looking suit with no tie. His eyes brighten as he looks you up and down, a small smile slowly spreading across his face,
"You're beautiful." He says quietly, staring; finally he shakes his head to make himself focus, "Shall we?" He offers his arm and the two of you make small talk on your way downstairs to the car, but you finally have to ask,
"Where exactly are we going?"
"Dinner." He replies, "Well, dinner and drinks."
"Drinks?" You ask, cocking your eyebrow, "Do you really think that's the best idea after last time?" He laughs,
"I think we'll be able to handle it. A friend of mine found this pub on the edge of Central Park, Tavern on the Green. Came highly recommended." He opens the car door for you and you climb in, trying your best to be graceful in your heels. He slides in beside you and signals to the driver to head out.
"So then, tell me your biggest dreams and worst fears." He says, not a trace of joking in his eyes. You look back at him, confused, feeling a little uncomfortable. He sees you shift in your seat,
"I'm kidding." He laughs, "I do want to know more about you, but how's about we start with easier questions? For instance: favorite color?" You smile, relaxing a bit,
"Red. You?"
"Blue. Favorite food?"
"Lobster ravioli."
"Street tacos, but I'm a sucker for a good burger too."
"How many siblings do you have?" You ask
"Ah, only child."
"Same."
The game of twenty questions continues for the whole drive, by the time you make it to the restaurant, he knows that you don't, in fact, drink coffee, Nora Jones makes you cry in the best possible way, you've lived your whole life moving around the outlying areas of New York City, but you've never actually lived in Manhattan, and if you had it your way, you would have at least six dogs waiting for you at home. You found out about his childhood in Romania, how he was teased relentlessly in school, that he went to Rutgers for college, and that he is generally a massive dork by default. When you arrive at Tavern on the Green and find a corner booth, ordering dinner and your first round of the night, the atmosphere comfortably allows the conversation to take a deeper turn.
"Do you remember anything from the party?"
"Honestly, not really. The entire night is a blank after our near-set-up, I think I was dancing at some point? All I know is that I had way too much to drink."
"You were dancing, I was pretty drunk by then too, but not so far gone that I blacked it out. I remember that couldn't take my eyes off of you, though." He blushes, looking bashful as he trails off,
"What about you?" You want to shift the subject, "What about your 'no thanks', you weren't exactly gung-ho for anything that night. What happened there?" He presses his lips into a thin line, considering his words a little longer than you feel is necessary, but he finally looks up, straight into your eyes.
"You happened." You know the line is cheesy, and as a pick up line it would never work on you, but in this instance, you feel like you might actually believe him. "I was with my last girlfriend for two years, we had even talked about where we were going, and we both seemed to want to go the distance, I never saw the break up coming. I was thinking two weeks is a bit soon to be out there again... But when I woke up and the first thing I saw was you... I thought maybe George was right." Your throat goes dry with nerves at his sincerity and take a long swig of your wine,
"No, I didn't mean it like that." He chuckles, seeing the way you're eyeing the exit. "Or maybe I did, but you know... You asked."
"You're right. I did... But come on, we haven't even known each other for a full week."
"True..."
"Nothing against you, really, it's just..."
"A lot. I get it, don't worry." You drain your glass, trying to think of a different direction for the conversation.
"So... What made you take the role in that movie?"
"What?" He asks, confused,
"The movie. "Mira", right? It seems like someone who played a main - and according to Amy, a beloved - character in a Marvel movie wouldn't have to take jobs with indie directors, however up-and-coming they may be, so I figured there must be a reason behind it."
"Oh, well part of it is that work isn't always available, so you want to do what you can when you can, but that project was just too special to pass up."
He launches into the story of the script coming to him, meeting with the director, the story really sticking with him; and the more he talked, the more animated he got, and you couldn't help but get pulled into his stories. Before long, the two of you had shared several bottles of wine and the conversation has covered past work that Sebastian had done, your intentions for opening your own photography studio, books, music, and now you've somehow started pitting various superheroes against each other in ridiculous scenarios, like whether Deadpool or Aquaman would win a Brussels-sprouts-eating contest.
When you hear last call, your head is fuzzy again, and you and Sebastian have drifted closer throughout the night, and were now pressed close to each other in the booth, your voices low, words slurring from too much wine, laughter muffled. The conversation pauses and he catches your eyes, leaning toward you slowly.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, making you jump.
"Sorry," he laughs, maybe a little too much, but at that point you would both laugh at anything. "Car's here." He slides out of the booth, steadying himself against the table before offering his hand to help you to your feet.
You probably shouldn't have had those last couple of drinks because throughout the entire ride home, you're so relaxed, your thoughts are increasingly muddled, and with Sebastian's hand resting on the outside of your leg, your only thought in the front of your mind is how easy it would be to kiss him. You're sitting so close, his breath skating across your cheek. Your eyes drift shut.
.
.
.
You wake up with a familiar pounding in your head, and an unfamiliar warmth wrapped around you. At the stirring of the body behind you, your stomach sinks,
"Oh no... Not again."
