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Dating in your late 40s is fucking hard. Dating in your late 40s as a widowed amputee with PTSD who works nights is harder. Jack puts all of that info in his dating app bios, just so people know up front.
He hadn’t realized that his bisexuality would be much of an issue in a major city, but the woman across the table from him is looking at him in shock.
“Oh,” April says. She blinks at him.
She’s into climbing and reading and running, has a loud laugh that he finds charming. Her dark red hair is beautiful falling around her shoulders. She teaches accounting classes at a local community college. He thought the evening had been going well.
“When you say bisexual,” April starts, then pauses. “Have you had relationships with men, too?”
It’s not an unfair question, but Jack has a sinking feeling. “Like I said, I met my wife pretty young and just started dating again a few months ago. I haven’t had a boyfriend yet, but I’m open to the idea.”
April relaxes a little at that. “Oh, you don’t actually have experience with men. So you like women more?”
Jack groans internally. “No, I have experience with men. More than one.”
He could give an explanation about how he liked each of those men, about how part of him wants to have a boyfriend just because he can, now, about how he keeps meeting guys who are great but not quite right for him, about how much he likes men and women and how little of a preference he really has, but he doesn’t feel like he owes her any of that.
April’s expression sours again. “Hmm. But you’re, um. You’re satisfied, dating women?”
Jack cannot believe this is happening. He cannot believe that a professional adult woman is sitting across the table from him at a nice Italian restaurant and asking if he can keep his bisexual dick in his pants.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” Jack says. He pushes his chair back and stands up. “I’ll go find the server. Enjoy the rest of your meal.”
He could snap at her, try to explain everything that’s wrong with what she said, but he just doesn’t have it in him. She calls after him once, but he keeps walking until he gets to the hostess stand.
—
“And then she essentially asked if I could refrain from fucking guys while I was dating a woman,” Jack says.
He takes another slice of pizza from the box resting on Robby’s coffee table.
Robby groans. “Being bisexual doesn’t make you promiscuous.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. Robby smacks his knee. “I’m bisexual, and I’m a slut. The two aren’t related. Jerk.”
Robby’s laughing, so Jack knows he isn’t offended. Jack laughs too. He watches Robby lean back against the couch, feels his body heat as he leans in next to Jack. It strikes Jack suddenly, how unfair it is that the man he wants to date more than anyone has an eight week relationship shelf life.
“The next one will be better,” Robby says. He knocks his shoulder against Jack’s.
“I don’t know,” Jack says. Maybe part of the reason that no one sticks is that his heart isn’t in it. “I might take a break for a while.”
Robby shrugs. “Well, there’s always room on the couch for you.”
Jack snorts. “That’s a lie. I don’t even want to think about how much action this couch sees.”
He doesn’t, but not for the reasons Robby thinks. It hurts his stupid fucking feelings.
“Excuse you, my dates deserve a bed,” Robby says, indignant.
Jack finishes his piece of pizza and reaches for a napkin. “I’m sure they do, but I don’t want to be out here within hearing distance.”
Robby shrugs, conceding. He throws his arm around Jack’s shoulder. “You get what I mean, right?”
The smell of Robby’s deodorant hits Jack hard. He nods. “Yeah, man. Thanks.”
—
Two bottles of beer hit the table in front of Jack. “Pilsner for me, and an Irish Red for the Irish red,” Robby says.
Jack picks up his beer. “I’m English and Scottish,” he points out.
Robby shrugs. “That’s not as funny.”
He slides onto the banquette seat next to Jack, sitting close to fit both of them behind their tabletop. Jack should be embarrassed by how pleased he is to be pressed thigh to thigh against Robby. He sends up silent thanks for the crowd in the corner who “borrowed” the chairs from the other side of their table.
Jack knocks his prosthesis against Robby’s foot. Robby frowns. “Be careful, man, you don’t want to jostle the socket.”
Warmth blooms in Jack’s stomach at Robby’s concern, but he pushes it down. He drinks his beer, tastes malt, feels the carbonation on his tongue.
Robby stretches his arm out on the back of their seat. He tends to take up space like it’s his due. Sometimes Jack pushes back on principle, but he doesn’t feel like it tonight. Robby’s fingers brush Jack’s shoulder, and Jack lets greed overtake him.
“Hey,” Robby says. He leans in until Jack can feel the brush of his beard. “There’s a woman staring at you from the bar.”
Jack doesn’t look. “Women stare at me all the time. I’m very handsome.”
He just wants to be with Robby tonight.
Robby laughs. “You are, yeah.”
Jack leans back so he can take Robby in. He’s smiling, warm brown eyes dancing. Jack thinks he’s beautiful. He wishes he could get away with looking more often.
“She’s coming over here,” Robby says. He squeezes Jack’s shoulder. “She looks determined. Think she might be trying to take you from me.”
That’s so unlikely that Jack laughs. He turns his head to see who Robby means.
April is making her way across the room. Jack groans.
“What?” Robby asks. “She looks nice.”
Jack moves closer to Robby’s ear. “That’s the woman that I walked out on.”
Robby tightens his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “The homophobe?”
“Yeah,” Jack says. He likes how Robby’s holding onto him. “Biphobe? Whatever, she was fucking weird about it.”
“Uh huh,” Robby says. He brings his hand to the back of Jack’s neck, plays with his curls. Jack holds back a shiver. “Go with me on this.”
Jack doesn’t have a chance to ask what the fuck that means because April is in front of them.
“Jack,” she says. She frowns at Robby. “Who is this?”
Robby answers before Jack can. “I’m Robby. Jack’s boyfriend.”
This is hell. Jack is in hell. He’s not sure which sin this is for. He’ll figure it out later. Robby rubs gently at his neck.
“Who is this, babe?” Robby asks.
Well, Jack thinks. If you’re going through hell, keep going.
“This is April,” Jack says. He gives her a pleasant, blank expression. “We went on a date a couple of months ago.”
April’s eyes track where Robby is touching Jack. Fuck it, Jack thinks. He puts his hand on Robby’s thigh. Robby grins and kisses Jack’s temple.
“Right,” Robby says. “The one who had a problem with you being bi.”
“I didn’t say that,” April protests. She sighs. “I guess it makes more sense that you’d end up with a gay man.”
Jack opens his mouth to ask what the fuck she means by that, but Robby tugs at his hair. Jack momentarily forgets how to speak.
“Actually, I’m bi, too. And I was enjoying a date night with my guy, so if you’ll excuse us,” Robby says, polite but firm.
April looks from Robby to Jack and back. She nods. “I don’t even know why I came over here. I -. Sorry,” she says and turns on her heel.
Jack drops his head back against Robby’s arm. “That was fucking weird.”
Robby laughs. He picks up his beer and takes a drink, leaves his other arm around Jack. “People are weird. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Jack says. He sets his empty beer bottle down. “I think I’m ready to head out.”
“And cut date night short?” Robby teases.
Jack jerks out of Robby’s grip. The words hurt like a slap. “Look, man, I get that I’m not your type, but is it really that fucking funny?”
Robby frowns. “No. It’s not.” He finishes his beer in one long swallow. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
He’s out of the booth and halfway to the door before Jack can respond. Fuck him and both of his long legs.
Once they’re out on the sidewalk, Robby lets Jack walk silently beside him for two blocks. Jack thinks he might make it out of this without dying of humiliation. Then Robby asks, “What did you mean?”
Jack stops and crosses his arms. He doesn’t want to fucking do this. “About what?”
Robby scratches at his beard. “About you not being my type.”
Here we go, then, Jack thinks. “Look, it’s not like it matters. I don’t need you to be attracted to me. But laughing about the possibility of us being on a date? That’s a little rude, Robby.”
“You don’t need me to be attracted to you,” Robby says, like he’s trying to calculate dosage. “Do you want me to be attracted to you?”
Jack tips his head back and stares up at the sky. “What does it matter, man? You aren’t.”
Robby’s hand on his cheek startles Jack. He jerks his head back down, looks at Robby straight on. He curses at himself for his lack of awareness.
“Who told you that?” Robby asks. He presses his thumb against Jack’s jaw.
Jack soaks up Robby’s warmth, but his brain is a step behind. “What the fuck are you doing right now?”
Robby smiles, soft. “I’m wondering how you got such a wrong idea in your head.”
On a normal day, Jack’s a fast thinker, mind moving from thought to thought to find the correct solution. Today is not a normal day. “Are you saying you are attracted to me?”
“For fuck’s sake, Jack,” Robby groans.
He grabs Jack by his shirt front and pulls him in, other hand still cupping his cheek. He noses against Jack’s cheek, giving him plenty of time to stop Robby. Jack doesn’t.
Robby kisses Jack firm and slow. He tastes like beer and nicotine gum. Jack sighs at the rasp of Robby’s beard against his, and Robby takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He holds Jack close. Jack lets him. Robby is warm, solid, smells like cedar and drugstore soap. Jack loses himself in the kiss, in the moment, in Robby.
A dog barks.
Jack takes a step back, pushes Robby away with a firm hand to the chest. “No,” he says.
Robby looks crestfallen. “No?”
He sounds confused. Small. Jack hates it, but Robby will find someone to drown his sorrows in.
“No,” Jack repeats. He takes slow, deep breaths. “We can’t do this, okay? Because I cannot be your ex-boyfriend two months from now. I can’t handle that.”
Robby frowns, but he keeps his distance. “Why would that happen? I don’t want that to happen. Jack, come on. You think I don’t want you? Of course I do.”
It soothes Jack’s feelings, his ego, to hear that, but he shakes his head. “You don’t do long term, Robby. That’s fine. But I do.”
Robby lifts his hand, but he doesn’t touch Jack. “I’ve done long term before. I was with Janey for years. You know that. I haven’t lately, but…” he trails off.
The relationship with Janey did last years. Jack will give Robby that. “Why haven’t you?” Jack asks. “It’s been nothing but casual for years now.”
“One, I was a fucking mess,” Robby admits.
Jack nods. He’s not wrong. Jack wanted him the whole time anyway.
“Two, I was sort of. I was hung up on you, alright? So if you want me, could you come and get me already?” Robby asks, exasperated.
Jack laughs. He feels relief in every cell of his body. He feels joy. He feels so fucking stupid. “Yeah, okay.”
He wraps his arms around Robby and tucks his face into Robby’s neck, breathing him in. Robby gathers him close and kisses the top of his head.
“We’re idiots,” Jack says.
Robby nods. He leans his forehead against Jack’s. “I can live with that. Can I kiss you again?”
Jack pulls Robby down by his collar and presses their lips together, then does it again and again until he’s panting against Robby’s chest.
“So what now?” Jack asks. He tugs at Robby’s shirt. “You think I’m going to fall into bed with you?”
He might. He hasn’t decided yet.
Robby grins. He shakes his head. “No. I’ll walk you home, and I’ll sleep in the guest room. Then tomorrow, I’ll take you out for breakfast. A date. After that, it’s up to you.”
Jack can’t believe this is happening, but after the shit he’s lived through, he’ll fucking take it.
“You’re not sleeping in the guest room,” Jack says. “But you’re not getting lucky tonight either.”
Robby’s smile, impossibly, brightens. “I get to hold you?”
This is more than Jack can stand. Christ, who told Robby he could be cute?
“If you play your cards right,” Jack says.
He holds out his hand. Robby takes it.