Part 2: Earthquake in the Diner
Bika
I couldn’t stop my eyes from darting back and forth from my coffee cup to the man sitting across from me. He was gorgeous and scary and at least half a dozen other things that contributed to the earthquakes rocking my foundation in this moment. I needed to say something.
“I’m not a sub.” Why did I say that?
“I didn’t ask. But it’s interesting that you felt the need to share that. Why do you think that is, bull?”
Christ, does he have to always stare straight through me when he speaks?
“Just want to make sure we’re on the same page is all.”
“Fair enough.” He responded smoothly as the waitress refilled our cups. “You’re not a sub. I have been so informed. Any other declarations of which I should be aware before I add this half & half to my coffee?”
I willed myself to speak, but I just sat there with my mouth open. Michael chuckled audibly while tapping the stirring spoon on the side of his cup. He sat back and propped his arms over either side of the bench behind him.
“Well, then. Now that I know who you’re not, why don’t you tell me who you are, Bika? I feel like that might be a far more productive conversation.”
“I’m sorry, I’m out of it I guess. Probably just tired. Maybe I should go. I didn’t tell my family I would be out this late.”
“See, now we’re getting somewhere! I now know you have a family. Would you like to tell me about your family?”
“I’ve been married for almost ten years and I’ve got a boy. To a man. Married, I mean. Married to a man and my boy is not a child. No kids. I have a lot going on.“
Michael dipped his head slightly to the side without ever breaking eye contact. Would he just say something? The silence was scarier than not being able to control what came out of my mouth. He took a sip and leaned forward.
“Any idea why a massive bull who definitely isn’t a sub would catch a boner from talking to a much more compact man who definitely is a Dom? Or why he would accept an invitation from that man to leave the bar and go to a diner for coffee at 2:00 in the morning?”
My face flushed and my heart began to race. I had no idea how to answer him.
“I don’t know how to answer that question, sir.”
“Takes a lot for a man to admit that he doesn’t know something, bull. Thanks for being open with me. How about something you do know?”
“I know that no one has ever looked at me the way you do, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“God, no!” Wow, pump the brakes, dumb ass.
“Then what would you like to do with it?”
My phone buzzed with a text from my husband. “That’s Billy. My husband. I should get home.”
“Alright, Billy’s husband Bika the Beautiful Bull. Thank you for the scintillating conversation.”
“Thank you too, sir. Goodnight.”
I dropped a $20 on the table and left before I said anything else stupid.
I made a beeline for the car and home, the whole way trying to make sense of the last few hours. What was wrong with me? And what was with this Michael guy? There was something about his eyes and his voice that sent shockwaves through my entire body like when you’d put a 9-volt battery on your tongue as a kid. But unlike then I could still feel my skin tingle when I pulled into the driveway twenty minutes later.
When Billy texted earlier, it was to say that he was on his way to bed, so I got a glass of water and sat in the darkness of the living room to give my head a chance to clear. I leaned back and stared up at the ceiling fan, letting the rhythmic spinning slow down my overactive brain. Moments later, I was bolt upright in a pseudo panic, wondering aloud why I didn’t give him my phone number.
Jesus fuck, what am I doing?