Hearth & Home

I could feel my face heating up at his subtle reference to the last time we'd done that and I laughed as I touched my glass to his, "Absolutely."

We walked around for a little bit, looking at some of the art, commenting to one another about the apparent skill Lydia possessed, and chatting with acquaintances. After an hour or so, Nick said, "Okay, I think we've been here long enough. Let's go to The Orleans."

Normally, John would have rounded out our group, but he was tied up with Lydia, so I agreed. After all, I couldn't turn down The Orleans. I love that place.

Take great food, super cool musicians, smooth jazz and a sexy atmosphere, and you have The Orleans. There's something absolutely intoxicating about the place – and I don't mean the liquor. Nick and I got a booth near the back of the restaurant, where it was still possible to see the band, but also possible to carry on a conversation.

I was feeling a little tipsy since I'd consumed three glasses of champagne and only a few hors d'oeuvres at the gallery, so Nick insisted that we eat. After the crab cakes and garlic shrimp – washed down with a margarita – I felt much better. I skipped an entrée in favor of the Crème Brulée, and closed my eyes, savoring the smooth texture of the dessert along with the smooth music.

A bit later, when our food was all gone, and the band was taking a break, Nick broke the easy mood, "So, are we going to talk about the other night, or just pretend that it never happened?"

What a time for my cocktail glass to be empty. "...Now?" I asked, looking up at him.

He smiled, "Seems like a good time, since we're both here..."

I reached for Nick's tumbler of Jameson and, without asking, took a belt. "Well... okay then..." I'd done a bunch of thinking about this, but what I said when I finally spoke was not exactly what I'd planned to say. "Let me just say, Nick, that I'm glad I was with you, and not someone else."

"Why's that?"

Yeah, why? Because you're an awesome kisser and if I was going to screw up, at least I have some fond memories? Not a good answer.

I went for the almost honest, protect-the-heart response. "Because someone else probably wouldn't have walked away. You said I'd thank you, and I do. I mean," I was babbling now, "I certainly wasn't very happy about it at the time, but I'm glad we didn't...you know...if it wouldn't have meant anything." I tried vainly to swallow the huge lump in my throat. There. I'd put the thought out there – that it didn't mean anything. Why did that hurt so much?

"Oh, it would have meant something," he replied quietly.

My stomach flipped and my throat went dry. I wanted to slam the rest of his whiskey, but that would have been rude. "And what would it have meant?" I managed to ask, finally.

He didn't have a glib answer. He didn't say anything for a minute, looking down at the table. Then he smiled, a little self-consciously, "A dream come true?"

Ah, a joke then. "As evidenced," I interjected with a healthy dose of irony, "by the fact that you just walked away from what would have appeared to be a sure thing with the woman of your dreams."

Nick frowned and slid across the booth until he was right next to me. Then, tucking one hand behind my neck, he lowered his mouth to my ear, making sure I heard every word he said above the din of the restaurant. "You think I'm kidding, Martie," he murmured, "But I'm not. I think you're beautiful, and sexy, and it took every ounce of strength to walk away from you the other night."

I attempted to pull away from him to look in his eyes and gauge his sincerity, but he wouldn't let me. "I walked away because you're my friend, and I love you, and I didn't ever want you to doubt me. And you would have. You're even doubting me now."

Closing my eyes, I tried to absorb what he was saying. I could admit it. I did doubt him. I did doubt this. "Nick..." I protested weakly.

"Martie..." he echoed. "You have been a good friend to me. A great friend. I don't ever want to lose that, so if you want me to back off and pretend none of this ever happened, I will. But I don't want to."

He loosened his grip and let me look at him then. My pal Nick, with all those Greek good looks, and European charm; Nick, whose eyes held a glimmer of something I didn't recognize. What was he telling me?

I heard myself ask, "What do you want, Nick?"

I could tell he was thinking hard about how to answer that question, but he was brave enough not to look away from me. Finally he answered, "More."

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. He didn't really need to. I understood exactly what he was saying. Somehow my fingers found his, and I squeezed them reassuringly, my throat aching.

"What do you want Martie?" he asked softly.

How could I tell him? He probably didn't want to hear that I wanted to have his babies... "I'm not sure," I hedged. "You know we always have a great time together, and God knows you're an incredible kisser..." Now why did I say that? "...I...would it be okay, if we just played it by ear?"

"What does that mean?" he wanted to know.

I waved my hand vaguely, and admitted apologetically, "I don't know." And then, honestly, "I'm just afraid that if we start dating or whatever that something will get fucked up and we won't be friends anymore."

"It's already fucked up, honey," he told me. "I will never again be able to look at you without remembering what happened..."

He had a point. From this point on, I would know what it was like to have Nick's mouth on mine. Could I ever really forget that?

"It's a gamble, Martie," he continued. "And there aren't any guarantees. Not with anyone."

I thought about that for a moment. I thought about a lot of things, and Nick was patient enough to let me, his fingers laced with mine. "It might be very nice..." I mused finally.

His voice sounded strange as he answered, "Yes." He raised my hand to his lips and kissed my palm.

Did I mention Nick was unbearably sexy? Or was I just now realizing that – because there's a major difference in thinking that someone is "hot" and thinking someone is sexy enough that your internal organs liquefy when he looks at you.

We didn't stay much longer at the restaurant. As we walked to his car down a street filled with young, tattooed club-goers, Nick kept my hand firmly in his. One of the hazards of Deep Ellum is the late night inhabitants, and I was relieved to see Nick's Audi in the same place he'd left it.

It was late when we got to my apartment. Neither of us had said much on the drive there, but the tension in the car was palpable. His hand never left mine, which I liked. In a way, it felt reminiscent of holding hands with a high school boyfriend. How long had it been since I'd had a boyfriend?

It felt very high school when he walked me to my door – only there were no parents peeking through the windows, and I could actually invite him inside without the neighborhood going berserk. I tossed my handbag on the coffee table and said, "Would you like a drink or something?"

"No..." he stepped forward and grabbed my hand, dragging me towards the couch. "Let's sit for a minute."

I complied, kicking off my high heels and tucking my feet up under me.

"So..." Nick began, running his fingers through his hair, a habit he has when nervous. "We've barely said five words since we got in the car. Are we okay?"

I smiled shakily, "I'm still trying to absorb all this and figure out how to act. I mean, half an hour ago, we decided to...what? Date? All of a sudden, I feel like a teenager with her first crush. 'Is he going to ask me to the dance? Will he try to kiss me goodnight?' I just...cannot figure out how to be cool about this whole thing!"

Nick laughed, and then I did too. God, I'm such a nerd!

"I don't want 'cool Martie'," he smiled. "I want you."

"Did you just insult me?" I asked with a half-smile, knowing full well he hadn't.

"No," came the answer, as Nick slid his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. "I'd never do that."

He held me close for a moment, looking at my face – just looking – and then he kissed me. Softly, tentatively, the first time. "You okay with this, honey?" he murmured against my mouth.

Just the way he said 'honey' made me melt. "Yes..." I breathed, willing him to kiss me again. And he did. Gently at first, until, hussy that I am, I touched his upper lip with my tongue. Nick shifted slightly, slanting his mouth over mine, increasing the pressure, the heat, the wetness, until all I was conscious of was the sensation of his lips and tongue, sliding over mine.

The main difference, as I see it, between necking with a boy when you're sixteen and when you're my age, is the boundaries. As a teenager, the boundaries had been pounded into my head; there was a whole litany of things that nice girls did not do. As a grown-up, however, the boundaries were no longer concrete – merely faint gray lines, somewhere in the subconscious, that could be easily ignored.

His lips left mine and skidded along my jaw line towards my ear. My eyes closed and my head fell back as his tongue traced the shell of my ear and his lips fastened on the lobe. I shivered with delight, and arched towards him, sighing, aching. Then suddenly, his hands were on my arms, moving me away from him.

"What... what's wrong?" I asked as I tried to drag air into my oxygen-deprived lungs.

He shook his head, "Nothing...I...just need a minute..."

My eyes followed him to the kitchen where I heard him open and close the fridge. Something was wrong. When he heard me approaching, he turned towards me, an opened bottle of water in his hand. "Sorry Martie..."

I placed my hand in his outstretched palm and tried to smile, "So...what's up?"

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. I smiled for real this time, never having seen Nick so tongue-tied. I tried to lighten the mood, "Do I kiss like your Aunt Martha?"

Nick choked on a laugh, "No. Hardly."

I sighed, "I know, I'm a total contradiction, Nick." Why not be honest and see if it generated the same response in him? "One minute, I'm a little freaked out at being involved with you, and the next, I am throwing myself at you. Confusing, I know..."

"Yeah," he admitted. "You're not really sticking with the program."

I raised an eyebrow, "There's a program?"

He looked surprised that I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. "You know...the way you treat a woman you really like..."

I looked blankly at him, "Versus...?"

The beauty of my friendship with Nick was that he almost always answered my questions, regardless of whether he wanted to or not. And it was obvious as he finished my sentence that he really didn't want to say what he did. "...the way you treat a woman you just want to fuck."

I tried not to look shocked. I mean, I knew enough about men to know that many of them would not be averse to a casual...uh...dalliance...with someone they cared nothing for. But Nick?

I shook that thought out of my head. I think I understood where he was heading, "So...I'm not helping you keep your motives pure, is that it?"

He smiled in relief, "Exactly."

Now, I am by no means a slut, but the thought of any sort of purity in our budding relationship – well, it didn't work for me. "The program is flawed - because just maybe the girl you like might actually want you to put your hands on her..."

"Martie..."he pleaded.

I took a step closer to him, and picked an imaginary piece of lint from his lapel before bringing my hand to rest over his heart. "I don't think that it means you don't respect me... You have never treated me with anything BUT respect..."

"And I'm not going to stop that, Martie," he vowed.

"I know that. You're different, Nick." Then I couldn't resist teasing, "Right? I mean, there's no wife hidden back in Greece, is there?"

He smiled, "No," leaning his head forward until his forehead touched mine.

"Excellent..."

"But we're going to take it slow..." he declared, gathering me to his chest.

I was exhausted when Nick left a short time later. It didn't hit me until after he'd gone that I'd been operating under what was probably an erroneous assumption: that Nick didn't want to sleep with me because he was trying to protect my feelings. It had never occurred to me that it was as big a risk for him as it was for me, and he had emotions of his own to protect.

*****

Sophia came over on Saturday and dragged the whole sordid tale from me. "Nick Stavros, huh? You know, don't you, that most of your girlfriends will now hate your guts?"

I rolled my eyes, "Right..."

"No, seriously." She smiled, "If I wasn't your best friend, I'd be scratching your eyes out for taking little Nicky off the market."

I laughed, knowing she was teasing, and shrugged as though I didn't care if she despised me.

"Slut!" Sophia grinned now. "But, I figure you've known him longer than I have, and you've had the hots for him longer too...so maybe you have first dibs."

"I have not had the hots for him," I denied.

My friend raised an eyebrow, "A liar, as well? Tsk, tsk! What would Baby Jesus think?"

I threw a pillow at her to shut her up, then was saved from further teasing by the ringing of my cell phone.

"So..." John drawled, "Did you have fun last night?"

For one dreadful moment, I thought that Nick had told John, but then I realized he was talking about Lydia's show. "It was great," I replied. "She's very talented."

"Yes she is. I just didn't know if you liked it or not, because you and Nick skated out of there so early," there was a touch of censure in his voice.

A wave of guilt washed over me. What lousy friends! We'd gone to help John support his current squeeze, and instead ducked out without even saying goodbye!

"No," I assured him. "We liked it. I just drank too much and Nick took me someplace and made me eat something." Not exactly a lie.

"Oh, okay." There was something just a little needy in John today that gave me pause, "So what are you and Lydia doing tonight?"

"Nothing much. I think we might go see what's playing at the Angelika."

"Can Sophia and I come?" I asked, not bothering to consult my friend before inviting her along.

His voice brightened a bit, "Sure... the more the merrier..."

When I rang off, Sophia demanded, "So what have you gotten me into now?"

I smiled, "Nothing that you can't handle."

It was Saturday, and I had a feeling Nick would call me and want to go out, but I needed to wrap my mind around Nick as a boyfriend before I leaped to Nick as a lover. He had been right about that. I figured that if we were with a group of friends, it would be easier to take things slow. I asked Sophia to invite a few others, and we'd make a party of it.

I like the Angelika. They feature films outside of the mainstream – foreign, independent or classic films that don't appeal to the masses. That night, the movie was a subtitled Italian film that showed a lot of skin. It was a little more...erotic...than I'd counted on. A very nice date movie, especially if you wanted to get laid afterwards. Of course, I wasn't on a date, and Sophia purposely sat herself between Nick and me... bitch!

Afterwards, our group adjourned to the Irish Pub next to the theatre, and as the drinks were passed around, things started to get a little loud. At some point, John noticed that Nick's arm was around me and I saw him catch Nick's eye and mouth the words, "Dude...what the fuck?"

Nick just shrugged, and smiled, his arm tightening a bit around my waist. It felt really good to have him touching me, and to know that it was because he liked me. Nick liked me!

Sophia and I had driven together in my car, so when she was ready to head out, I had to go too. Nick walked us out, presumably because he was a gentleman. After Sophia was safely inside, he backed me up against my door and spoke quietly in my ear, "Let's go to the lake tomorrow, okay? Just the two of us..."

I nodded, highly aware of the gentle rasp of his cheek against mine and the pressure of his lips against my jaw. And then, just as suddenly as he'd aroused me, he tucked me into the car and closed the door. I took a deep breath. Disappointing, but definitely less frustrating than the previous evening had been.

*****

Nick had a sailboat that he kept at Lake Lewisville. I'd spent many a weekend there, with him and John, and sometimes other friends, skimming across the water, drinking beer and soaking up the sun.

One time, it had just been Nick and me, and I remember him telling me about his dad teaching him to sail on the Mediterranean, and what happened the time they'd capsized. I'd never heard him speak of his father before and I wondered what it would have been like to have a father who wasn't a small town dentist... who wasn't even American. And Nick had told me. Told me about his American mother, who'd died when he was four and his father's three subsequent marriages. Told me how difficult it had been for him to see his father struggle in his search for happiness. He loved his dad - that was apparent. But he loved his mother's family too, and spent part of every childhood summer in Illinois with his grandparents eventually moving to Chicago to attend university.

Over the five years since I'd met him, Nick and I had grown close. We weren't just the kind of friends that hang out and get drunk together, although we'd certainly done that before. We'd confided in each other, encouraged each other, ganged up on our friend John together...

I knew Nick – but sometime in the past four days, since the moment he'd first kissed me, I'd forgotten that I knew him. Being on his boat again, I remembered. I watched him handle the rigging – helped him when he asked, even though I didn't know what the hell I was doing – and remembered.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked suddenly, catching me with my memories.

"Nothing," I replied. "I was just thinking about the time John pushed you overboard. For a few minutes, I thought you were really going to drown him."

Nick laughed, "Sometimes I think life would have been simpler if I had."

My jaw dropped open in surprise that Nick would say such a thing, even in jest.

Seeing my shock, he elaborated, "He called me this morning and lectured me for half an hour about you."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope," he grinned. "By the way, if I ever hurt you, I'm a dead man."

"Ahhh. That's so sweet!"

He laughed, the glorious laugh I remembered, and I joined him. Here was my Nick. He'd been there the whole time - I just never relaxed enough to realize it was him.

We dropped anchor in a cove on the south end of the lake and shucking my cover up, I dove into the water. I called to Nick, who was still on board, "Come on. I'll race you to the buoy."

I began to swim as soon as I saw him reach for the hem of his shirt. I'd need all the head start I could get. I'm good in the water, but can't hold a candle to Nick. I could hear him getting closer as I neared the buoy and shrieked when he grabbed my ankle, pulling me backwards.

"You're cheating!" I accused.

"You started it," he shot back, dunking me playfully under the water.

When I surfaced, I splashed him, "You are so lucky I'm a lady, Nick Stavros, or your swim trunks would be at the bottom of the lake right now."

He threw back his head and laughed, "Right..."

I struck out for the buoy once again, and he allowed me to reach it first. Then, hanging onto the metal structure with one hand, he wrapped his other arm around my waist and pulled me close. The skin on his shoulders was slick and cool beneath my arm, and I said, "You'd better not dunk me again."

"I won't," he promised, kissing me lightly.

Then, with our noses touching, I said, "I'm sorry I've been kind of weird the last few days. I've been trying to figure out how to act around you, when all I need to do is be myself. Right?"