between them.
But he worried unnecessarily
because, to his happy surprise, something excellent happened instead. They
actually had a good time.
By mutual consent, they opted for
pizza, agreeing that it was the best and most nutritious food on the planet and
only arguing mildly about toppings. He had beer and she had wine. The evening
was relaxed and Phil found himself opening up to her—another surprise, since he
was normally reticent about his personal life.
They began by sharing their likes,
discussing movies, music, what appealed to them and what didn't. She confessed
to an addiction to Rocky Horror and he admitted that old Japanese science
fiction movies could keep him up all night.
They loved classic rock, didn't
always get the current music offerings and disagreed over whether the Beatles
or the Rolling Stones had been the most influential group of the sixties.
By the time they had finished their
pizza, they'd covered traveling—she didn't mind it, he was a home-town type;
politics—neither were committed to anything other than fair play all around,
and food. Thumbs up for pizza and steak, with a modest thumbs up from Casey for
seafood. Phil preferred his entrees on the hoof, and didn't really like fish.
As the evening wore on, more and
more barriers tumbled. Phil found himself opening up and eventually mentioned
the one thing he loved to do to relax. "I sketch."
Casey tilted her head to one side.
"Sketch? Like how?"
"Most often with pencil on a
scrap of paper or whatever's available. Sometimes with charcoal. That's more
when I'm home and I have a picture in my head that needs to come out."
"Wow." She raised her
eyebrows. "That takes talent."
He shrugged. "I wouldn't go
that far. I'm not good. Just something I do when the mood hits."
"You do landscapes and stuff?
People?"
He leaned back in his chair.
"Depends. People are interesting. But so are cats." He grinned.
"See any social network page on the Internet."
It was time to move on. Phil hadn't
meant to share quite so much, but the excitement and pleasure he was
experiencing from this date had kicked away his safeguards. Hopefully she
wouldn't realize quite how much his drawings meant to him or what a unique
thing he'd just done by revealing something so intensely private. He'd never
told any woman he'd ever dated. Or anyone else, come to think of it.
Her next words surprised him.
"I have to confess something and now seems as good a time as any. You do
know I feel bad because it seems like I'm always asking you to do things for
me. It would serve me right if everyone thought I was ten kinds of bitch."
"They don't, so don't worry
about it." He idly moved the salt and pepper shakers into alignment.
"And honestly, I don't mind. If I did I would just say no. The few
comments I have heard, about me being whipped, don't bother me. I figure
being nice to people isn't a fault, so too bad if someone wants to poke at it.
I don't care. And it's been my way of showing you that I was interested. Plus I
hoped you might notice me."
"I did notice. You spoiled me,
Phil. I got used to you doing all those little things. I have a terrible
feeling I've racked up a tab with you. Not sure how to pay it, either."
She laughed. Then blushed a little as she realized what she'd just said.
He remained silent, his gaze on her
face, his mind live-streaming more actively erotic images than the fastest ISP
connection to a porn site could ever handle.
"What?" She leaned forward
and rested her chin on her hand.
"Huh?"
"You had an odd look on your
face like you were thinking about something. Just curious if you'd like to
share what it was?"
He swallowed. "You, Casey. You
in a black leather outfit, hair pulled back, clothes so tight I can see
everything from the points of your nipples to the split between your
legs." Phil blinked a few times. "God." He gulped. "I
shouldn't have said that out loud."
"You silently think that about
all your dates?"
"Um…er…uh…no. It just