Locked out, Part 13
Eric wasn’t entirely sure how he made it through the rest of dinner. He could feel Jack’s feet and knees bumping into his, and he kept looking up at Jack to find Jack looking back at him.
“This is delicious,” Jack said, after every fifth bite or so.
Eric stopped thanking him for the compliment after the third time, because the conversation – or lack thereof – was getting ridiculous. It was like Jack got shyer when Eric said he wanted to go out with him.
Of course, Eric wasn’t doing much better. No matter what part of Jack fell into his field of view, he couldn’t help but imagine that part of Jack after dinner, when they would, he hoped, not be sitting with a table full of food between them. Jack’s eyes, that kept landing on Eric; Jack’s mouth, that Eric could probably (definitely? maybe?) kiss tonight; Jack’s hands, which he would use to touch Eric – when he’d taken Eric’s hand to bring him back inside, Eric had been struck by how Jack’s hand engulfed his.
“I have to admit I’m a little nervous,” Eric said.