L Witt - Nine-tenths of the Law

“Yes, yes I do.” I bowed out of our conversation and headed toward the auditorium. There was no need to ask which film he was seeing. Only one screen was seating right now. The crowd was thin, given that it was a weekday matinee, so he’d be easy to spot.

As I walked into the dark auditorium, I hesitated. I hadn’t imagined that look, had I? But if he really wanted to see me, why bother going into the movie? Unless he simply saw me with Dylan and wanted me to know he was here without drawing attention to himself.

Taking a deep breath, I continued into the dark room. The short hallway spilled out near the front of the theatre, beside the stairs leading up to the higher seats. The Epidauran had stadium-style tiered seating, plus a few rows close to the front. I scanned the seats in front, but didn’t see him. I didn’t expect to; with the projector light in my eyes, I was damn near blind. My pause was to give him a chance to see me .

I took the stairs two at a time, having long since memorized them in the darkness, and found a seat in one of the vacant back rows. And waited.

With the high seat backs and minimal light, I couldn’t pick him out from the other patrons scattered throughout the small auditorium. My heart pounded, and I silently pleaded for him to come find me.

Someone stood, but I knew immediately that it wasn’t him. Just someone heading to the concession stand or something, probably at the whim of the person with whom he exchanged sharp, terse whispers before storming out.

The annoyed patron reappeared.

Nathan didn’t.

The rest of the lights went down.

My heart rate didn’t.

It was only when the previews had finished and the film started rolling that someone off to the far left stood. I caught his face in profile, with only the faintest hint of flickering light from the movie on the screen, and knew it was him. He paused, looking my way, probably letting his eyes adjust to confirm that it was me.

Then he came up the steps and down my row. He sat beside me and we exchanged a quick look, his face unreadable in the low light. We both looked forward. I wondered if he was paying attention to anything on the screen. I sure as hell wasn’t. I couldn’t think of anyone or anything that had ever been able to divert my attention from a Bertolucci film, but at that moment, I could have been staring at a blank screen for all my ability to focus.

I took a breath and caught a hint of smoke. My heart jumped. He said he only smoked when he was nervous, and I guessed his last cigarette was fairly recent. Probably on his way down the sidewalk to the theatre.

I wanted to ask him why he’d come, why he was nervous, but I stayed quiet. Talking during movies was a huge pet peeve of mine-I’d thrown more than a few people out of The Epidauran for it-so I wasn’t about to disturb the other patrons.

We’ll just have to talk without making a sound .

Chewing my lip, keeping my gaze fixed on the screen, I reached across the armrest and put my hand on his knee. He sucked in a breath, but neither recoiled nor pushed me away. After a moment, the warmth of his hand over mine sent goose bumps prickling up my arm.

The hand on mine told me he wanted to touch me. The tip of his thumb running along the inside of my wrist told me he wasn’t touching nearly enough.

I turned toward him, and he met my eyes. Darkness eclipsed half his face, the shifting light from the screen only sporadically illuminating the other, but the desire in his expression was unmistakable.

His other hand appeared out of the shadows a second before it touched my face. It was surreal, this soft touch of his. There was nothing rough or angry about it, nothing but gentle contact. And when his fingertips drew me toward him, his kiss was just as sensual.

When his tongue gently parted my lips, cool mint tempered the taste of smoke. He was nervous enough to need a cigarette before he came in, but he’d obviously thought this through. He wasn’t surprised to be kissing me now. Whether he knew it would happen or not, he’d hoped it would.

I wondered how much more he hoped would happen.

The longer he kissed me, the less I could believe this was the same man. I had to run my fingers over his goatee just to remind myself that, yes, this was Nathan. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, I was a different person the other night, too.

Even still, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe he was here .

I broke the kiss, but still touched his face. Whispering just loud enough for him to hear me without disturbing anyone else, I said, “You know, it’s a crime to sit through a Bertolucci film without paying attention.”

“Maybe so.” His fingers ran through my hair and he leaned closer. “But it would be sacrilege not to kiss you right now, so I’ll take the lesser of two evils.” And he kissed me again.

A clatter and some muffled voices from the projector room caught my attention, reminding me that I was still at work. I glared up at the window, wondering what my employees were destroying now, then looked back at Nathan.

“I should get back to work,” I whispered.

“What time are you off tonight?”

I smiled. “I own the place. When and where?”

He laughed and kissed me gently. Turning away slightly, he reached into his pocket, then slipped a small card into my hand. In my ear, he whispered, “I’ll be home around seven. Any time after that.”

“I’ll be there.” I kissed him one last time and stood.

As soon as I was in the hall leading out to the lobby, I stopped, taking a few deep breaths to undo all the tension and arousal that Nathan’s gentle touch-hell, his presence -had sparked. I couldn’t believe it. He was here!

With the aid of the small flashlight I carried, I looked at the card in my hand. It was one of his business cards.

Nathan D. Forrester-Attorney At Law

Jesus. Even seeing his name was enough to make my pulse jump. I flipped the card over, and on the back, he’d written his address and phone number.

I clicked off the light and slipped the card in my pocket.

Pre-written card with his address.

Mint to mask the taste of his nerve-calming cigarette.

You planned well ahead, didn’t you, Nathan ?

I took a few more deep breaths, willing myself to be calm until I saw him again. In just a few hours. At his place. In his bed. Soon. Not nearly soon enough.

Zach, calm down. Gotta work. He’ll be there .

When I could finally step out into the light of day without letting anyone know what was on my mind, I went into the projector room to see who I needed to strangle.

Throughout the day, I tried to throw myself into my work rather than think about Nathan, but that was virtually impossible.

His card was burning a hole in my pocket. Every time an auditorium door opened, my heart jumped into my throat in anticipation of his presence even though he’d left hours ago. When I went into the third auditorium to deal with a problem patron, I swore I saw Nathan’s silhouette out of the corner of my eye. I tried chewing a piece of gum to settle my nerves-something I’d always done since I quit smoking-but the mint reminded me too much of Nathan’s kiss. For the first time in years, gum had the exact opposite effect and wound me up that much more.

Good thing Nathan was a smoker. If the taste of a cigarette didn’t have “Nathan” written all over it, I might very well have broken six years of not smoking today.

As the afternoon wore on and the clock inched dangerously close to six, when I intended to leave, my excitement gave way to nerves.

What was this about? Did he just want another one-night stand? Something to get over Jake? Or did he specifically want me? Did this have anything at all to do with Jake?