[Featured in FreetheLGBT: Diverse Literature reading list and Humor: Young. Dumb. Full of Fun list]
Colin Mitchell, a photographer at a well-known store, Snapshot, is openly gay--mostly. His ideal experiences are sexcapades that are always subtle, n...
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Peter straightened his shirt and brushed off any creases-- imaginary or not. It had been a little over a week since he had scheduled the meeting with Dakota and finally, the day they had set had come. He had intentionally suggested a date that was a little into the future-- by then, all his cuts and bruises would have healed. He had been right, the only marks visible on his body were the little scars left behind.
Peter brushed his hair back and looked at his image in the mirror. He didn't like the look-- it seemed too formal. His fingers combed through the dark strands and he shook his head, tousled hair hanging over his face. There, that looked good.
Colin didn't ask him where he was going when he sauntered past where the brown-haired boy sat at the dining table. He merely gave him a side glance and went back to tapping on his phone.
His unconcern didn't bother Peter. In fact, it made everything so much easier for him. His roommate didn't ask where he was going so he needn't bother coming up with an explanation. Then again, he secretly hoped Colin would ask so he could gloat in his face. Whatever he would say would be the truth-- that he had a date. If he could call it that.
Peter caught the bus and checked the time on his watch, before opening Google Maps and searching for the place Dakota had brought up. It was called Café Stradda and was located in the heart of the city, which was currently bustling with life.
The bus was moving slowly, a bit too slow for Peter's liking and he had thought multiple times of getting off and jogging there. It happened to be the midday rush hour and so the streets were brimming with vehicles and the sidewalks were streaming with people. He thought better of the idea, however, realizing that both he and Dakota would prefer it if he wasn't sweaty and out of breath when he got to the place.
When he saw the next bus stop looming ahead, he was out of the vehicle before it had even come to a complete stop, making him almost knock over an old lady who was attempting to get onboard.
He apologized profusely, only stopping to help pick up her purse which had fallen. But that did little to stop the curses that left the woman's thin, cracked lips. She would have probably thrown her purse at him with her wrinkled hands if she hadn't been scared of the fact that Peter was probably looking to steal the few notes stuffed in it. Whoever came up with the myth that old people were sweet?
Peter's eyes fell on the clear, quartz glass of his watch, it was a few minutes past the scheduled time, that wasn't so bad.
Hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, he walked at a pace that was neither hurried nor relaxed-- just fast enough to keep him moving without breaking a sweat.
He made it to the restaurant without any more incidents-- apart from almost tripping because of a man ahead of him who had been walking rather painfully slow.
Café Stradda was just a block down and he got there shortly. Peter expected an upscale place given the name, he wasn't disappointed.
It had a fancy open-air scenery and balmy outdoor atmosphere with umbrellas and trees providing shade for the tables set up. There were potted plants also set at various points and hedges which were shaped in squares around each table.
