Eli breathe
The city was humming outside his window, but Eli barely heard it. His bedroom looked like a fashion crime scene with shirts draped over the bed, pants tossed across the floor, and one tragically over-ironed button-down he’d already decided on made him look like someone’s tax consultant. He tugged on a black fitted tee instead, checked himself in the mirror, and frowned. He still didn’t look like the kind of guy someone like Damien flirted with so easily. But maybe that was the whole point.
Eli quickly picked up his phone and texted his bestfriend. He needed fashion advise and he knew the right person to ask.
Eli
What do you wear to a maybe-date with a man who sends shirtless selfies and talks like sin?
Janice
Tight jeans, no expectations, and maybe carry lip balm🤗🌸.
Eli
That’s not advice, that’s a warning.
Janice
Then let me say it plain: be hot, don’t overthink, and if he’s a dick, text me the safe word.
Janice
Great. Now put your phone down and go dress to kill😏😘
Eli
Haha okay ma'am. Your wish is my command🤗
He checked the time and it was only 7:00 PM. It was both too early to leave and too late to back out. The black fitTed tee clung nicely across his chest, but something about it felt safe, too casual, too forgettable. Eli exhaled through his nose and pulled it off, tossing it onto the heap of rejected outfits on the bed. His hands ran over the rack of shirts again. He wanted something that said he hadn’t tried too hard while still making Damien look twice. His fingers paused on a silky, grey button-down tucked near the back. He hadn’t worn it in over a year. It was just snug enough across the shoulders, with sleeves that hugged his arms when he rolled them up. Sexy, but not screaming for attention. He slipped it on. Unbuttoned two from the top. Then three. He looked at himself in the mirror. Better. Still him, but with a little more bite. He sprayed cologne, not too much, then ran his fingers through his hair for the fourth time, trying to tame it and pretending not to care that he was trying so hard. The nerves wouldn’t go away, but at least he looked like someone who had it together, even if his stomach was twisting in slow, electric knots.
His thumb hovered over Damien’s contact. He told himself it was just a confirmation. Nothing more. Not desperation. Definitely not. But the truth pressed heavier than he liked to admit. All day, Eli had been replaying every message between them, searching for signs that maybe he’d read too much into it. Damien was charming, flirtatious, impossible to pin down. What if this was just another game to pass the time? What if Eli showed up and found himself alone at the bar, some kind of punchline to a joke he didn’t get? The thought made his chest tighten. It wasn’t just nerves. It was the quiet fear that maybe, just maybe, he wanted this to matter more than he should. He tapped out the text before he could think better of it.
It sent before he could talk himself out of it. He put the phone down. Picked it back up. Put it down again.
Three dots appeared. Then stopped. Appeared again.
Damien
Yeah. We are still on.
Damien
Although I must admit. I almost thought about canceling.
Damien
Because I want to see what you look like when you’re nervous.
Eli bit his lip, half a smile tugging at the edge.
Damien
I know. And you like it
That was indeed the truth. Eli liked it way more than he was supposed to.
Damien
Anyway, I am leaving home soon. Wear something that makes you feel dangerous.
Eli
Too late. I already look like someone who overthinks everything and probably smells like vanilla.
Damien
Then I’ll just have to find out what vanilla tastes like.
Eli choked on his own breath.
He grabbed his jacket, told himself to breathe, and stepped out into the night, heart racing. Club Reverie was waiting. And so was Damien.
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