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"Adam, right?" Jordan asks, getting up as he extends his hand. As the two of them shake hands, the other man behind Adam sneaks a sideways glance at me, clearly attempting to politely mask some obvious interest in me. I catch Jordan's eyes briefly regard the empty seats at our table and I already know where this is going to go.

"Yeah. Jordan, right?" Adam asks, still shaking Jordan's hand. Adam turns back, motioning to the other man behind him. "This is my friend, Henri."

"Nice to meet you," Jordan says, extending his hand to Henri—whose name, I note, is pronounced in the French manner. Henri glances at me again even as he shakes Jordan's hand. "That's Dalton. Don't mind him, he might be a bit shy because he just came out."

Hardly enjoying the fact that I'm being talked about as if I'm not even here, I take that as my cue to be a bit more sociable, even if this is making me uncomfortable deep down—still thinking about Edmund and how I'm supposed to manage to not let our new relationship slip out while reluctantly playing wing-man for Jordan. I stand up and extend my hand, exchanging greetings with both of the newcomers. Henri's smile grows charmingly wider as he shakes my hand, and as we exchange greetings, my ears pick up the slight hint of a French accent as he speaks.

"We have open seats, if you two would care to join us," Jordan says, gesturing with a hand towards our table—I suppress rolling my eyes, seeing that one coming a mile away.

"Thanks, we'd love to," Adam responds rather quickly, sharing a smile with Jordan.

With our group now doubled, we sit down at our table together. After the two newcomers place their orders with the waiter, as I expected, our conversational attentions mostly split up into pairs. Seeing Jordan enjoying himself, I know that I'm virtually forced into the social responsibility of playing the dutiful wing-man, even as it hurts me inside. Henri isn't bad-looking, although he's much older and scruffier than my personal preference, he is rather charming with his slight hint of a French accent. Still, even if I didn't have Edmund, I can't see myself going anywhere with him in any way.

I do my best to keep my end of the conversation as dry and unappealing as possible, dodging his flirtatious comments like a pro matador facing the bull's horn, always keeping to one flank or another. As lunch wraps up with me hardly touching much of my food, I find some relief that things seem to be winding down with Henri's interest in me—or, at least, he seems to be running out of steam in the way of his conversational attempts.

"We were thinking about catching the show at the Castro Theatre. Would you two care to join us?" Adam asks Jordan. I try to hide my disappointment in the sudden and unexpected invitation, knowing that, without it, this would have all been likely over with already. I look at Jordan, hoping that he'll see the message in my eyes that says that I don't want to go. As if Jordan has forgotten about me, his attention rather happily focused on the invitation, I already know that he's going to accept on my behalf.

"We'd love to," Jordan replies and I suppress a groan.

~ ~ ~

Just my luck, they're playing some classic romance movie. Catching it right on time, we take our seats at the upper gallery, overlooking the ground-floor seats that are already packed with people. The lights go down and the movie begins to play on the screen between the grand Greco-Roman columns. Henri to my right, Adam to my left, Jordan is almost completely obscured from my view.

Not even a half an hour into the movie, Henri tries to make a move, placing his hand onto my lap. I hardly even look as I remove his hand, gently and without any aggression, replacing it onto his own lap. He seems to get the message, sitting still even when Jordan and Adam share a kiss.