Straight

XXIV

He has done really well, if he does say so himself. He's asked Jill, Jill has said yes. They have practised, and he has managed to behave normally all day. He's even tried to kid himself into thinking he's excited about tonight. 
Fake it until you make it. It'll be his motto from now on. 

"So, you taking Jill to the restaurant?" Brett asks him beigely. 
"Yeah, I figured. Meet you guys at the bar after?"
"Sounds good, bro."
Why does Brett's approval matter so much to him? Why does it make him sad, at the same time? He's made his decisions, right? He shouldn't be obsessing like this. He looks at Brett's back as he walks away, back to a practise room. Brett never looks around. 
"Eddy!"
He turns around and manages to beam at Jill. 
"Jill! You ready to go?"
"Absolutely."

They walk to the restaurant, chatting safely about romantics versus impressionism. Eddy is a firm fan of the latter, of course, but he finds out that Jill favours the big well known concertos. Bruch. Mendelssohn. Tchaik, the one Brett is practising. She is entertaining, smart, and funny. 
And pretty, right? He lets his eyes glide down her body a little as she sits down on the chair opposite him at the restaurant. She's wearing a white blouse today, tight enough so her beautiful breasts strain against the soft material. He thinks he can see the shape of a small nipple as a breeze pulls through the restaurant. 
Yeah, she's definitely pretty.
"What would you like to eat?"

The conversation flows easily, and he's starting to gain confidence. 
Maybe he can do this after all? And after he pays and she gets up from the chair she smiles at him, sweetly, gently. 
"This was lovely, Eddy, thank you."
He smiles back. 
"It was. Maybe we can go again some point."
"I'd like that." she says, almost coyly, and suddenly she takes his hand. 
He wants to pull it away, like an instinct, like her hand is biting, but he stops himself just in time, manages to keep it there, smile again and intertwine their fingers. But his heart is in his throat. 

The bar is crowded, even more so than last week, and it takes him a while to find him in the sea of faces. 
Brett.
"Hey!" Brett calls lithely when he sees him. His eyes flit down at his hand, still in Jills, and his eyebrows rise slightly. 
"Hi."
"Nice dinner?"
"Yeah. All good here?"
"Yeah."

He quickly drinks several beers for as much Dutch courage as he can get, then takes a deep breath and pulls Jill onto the dance floor. He grins at her as he lets loose. She comes close, closer. Her breath washes over his face as she shouts in his ear.
"I prefer the Tchaik to this shit!"
He laughs out loud and nods.
He can finally forget about everything now, about all the shit that has gone on these last few days. They dance to the pounding beat and he relaxes more and more. See? This was exactly what he needed to do!
When a slow song comes on she puts her hands on his shoulders and bats her eyelashes. He smiles and puts his arms around her waist, his hands resting just above her hips. They dance, slowly, girating. Her face is close to his again.
"You having a good time?" she asks in his ear, in a voice that is suddenly all hoarse. It makes his dick twitch.
"Yes." he tells her. And he means it, right? He's making it, right?
Her kiss is soft, and very gentle. Her lips are like silk, and her tongue tastes sweet. Of beer, and a hint of the rice she ate. He turns his around hers slowly, to the beat of the song, and pulls her even closer. They girate like this for an eternity, it seems, and slowly he can surrender himself. And when her hand makes its way down, down to the front of his jeans, his breath stops and he grows into her hand.
He can't think, now. He can't. He knows if he starts thinking about anything he'll fuck it all up. He raises his hand under her blouse, and finds her perfect breast. He cups it, and feels the nipple pucker up under his fingers.
"Let's get out of here." Jill breathes in his ear, and he nods, and follows her out into the night without looking back.