I see him. He walked out of the library with that adorable walk he does... It's like he's dancing on clouds with the surefootedness of an assassin. Despite his heavy-looking work shoes, his feet make no sound. His denim jeans make no rustle as he walks by my little outdoor cafe table.
His hair is scruffy, his face unshaven, and I think I've seen him wear the same shirt three days in a row once. It was green.
I don't know his name.
I don't know anything about him.
But I really, really like him.
Goddamn I hate being shy.
But it gives me imagination.
He passes by my little table and I smell him. Cologne and deodorant and toothpaste and sweat and pheromones... Oh god, am I pregnant? Oh. Right. I can't be. Duh.
I smell him and I love that smell. It's the kind you can curl up in. Or at least, I can... and enter fantasy.
We meet at a bar, random chance. We start chatting, and he recognizes me. And I recognize him. We really start talking and find we both love children's books, architecture, ancient things, and learning. He spends his lunch at the library and I spend mine at the cafe, and we work right down the street from each other. He's a writer. I'm an editor. This is amazing. I'm having the time of my life talking to him, until the bartender kicks us out for closing.
We walk out a ways towards my place, still chatting. It's a nice summer night out, hot, but with a cool gentle breeze that keeps the air stirred. We reach a corner, and he turns to the left while I keep walking straight. We stop and laugh. He wants to take me to his place, I want to take him to mine. A car swerves by, giving momentary illumination to the scene. I get a perfect flash into his eyes. Emerald green eyes surrounded by black lashes. They're smiling. Enticing. I don't want to look away, but the car passes us and leaves us back in the orange glow of the streetlamp. I shyly look down, my face is burning so I know I'm bright red, and he takes my hand and tows me down the street that is not mine.
Oh. My. God. He is touching me. Our hands are grasping each others', and it is totally normal and comfortable and wonderful and meant to be and and and...
The breeze whispers across my face, and I smell him again. And the skin contact and the eye contact and the smells and the excitement of it all....
Oh god. I'm excited. And now I'm red all over again. I'm sweating, my eyes are probably dilated, and I'm practically dancing. I look up at him, He Who Is At Least Six Inches Taller Than Me, and see he's a bit excited too. I feel like a teenager again. Butterflies. I giggle, and not because of something he said. He looks at me, and, by the change of expression, knows it. He grins.
And I stop. Right in the middle of the sidewalk. I plant my feet and stop. He takes a couple steps ahead and turns to face me.
Butterflies. I don't know what to do with them. I'm suddenly nervous. Dammit.
I look up at him. He's got a questioning look on his face. He's wondering if I've got doubts. I don't. I've been wanting this for months. But what if he doesn't like me?
Shut up mind!
Suddenly I hear an AOOOOGA in my head and a voice screaming, "DIVE DIVE DIVE!" and so I do.
Up I go in my flats, on to my toes. There's a spark of electricity as my lips touch his. I rock back onto my heels, rubbing the sting from them. He laughs, then touches my arm. No spark this time. We look into each other's eyes, and the laugh fades. Serious. Anxious. Wanting. Straining patience.
His face is a mirror of my emotions.
That spark was like a pesticide to those butterflies.
I put my hands on his face, and softly touch the scruffy, almost petting. My eyes never leave his.
And suddenly we're kissing and his lips are soft and supple and on mine and my arms are wrapped around his neck and his hands are on my waist and it's perfect and slow and...
I'm going to kill whomever was driving that car and honked at us. The moment is ruined.
Goddamn it!
I'm now pissed AND horny and who the hell wants to have angry sex the first time with someone who can be  The One?
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and look at him. He is not looking at me he is looking straight up. He's strained and tense. I don't know what to do, so I do the only thing I can think of.
I hug him.
Yeah yeah, it's juvenile, but it works, because he lets out a lot of air in a big whoosh, and then hugs me back. I smile against his chest, and breathe deeply.
His hands are on my shoulders, and I look at his face again, letting go. We don't talk. Just look at each other, gauging what the other will do.
I have no idea what I'm going to do.
So I surprise us both.
I take his hand and face the way we were walking.
Fuck the guy in the car.
I'm NOT going to let him ruin this.
"Are you sure?"
I smile, and simply say yes. And I nod. But that's assumed, because of course I would nod.
We keep walking until we stop at this picturesque home squeezed between two others. There are steps leading up to the front door, a window on each side, and three windows upstairs. In this light, it looks brown with light orange shutters.
It's frigging adorable.
But he's even more so. OMG is he scruffy!


(((I have to go to bed. Either this will get finished or it won't. Hope you enjoyed what was written!)))