Before Lovers

Chapter 1-3

The following evening, Paul approached the bus stop with more than a little trepidation. He scanned the queue, and the throng of people walking towards him on the footpath. There was no sign of the man. The fact made him smile. Even better, the number 21 bus had just come into view. His smile blossomed into a grin.

He’d taken a single step when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me.”

Paul turned around and a small gasp escaped his throat.

It was the man. He was even more good-looking up close. He had a slight five-o’clock shadow and large, dark pink lips. A breeze blew his suit jacket open and Paul glimpsed the outline of a n****e, poking against the cotton fabric of his immaculate white shirt.

“This might sound like a line, but I assure you it isn’t,” said the man. “Do I know you?”

Paul slowly shook his head. He’d remember having met such a hot-looking guy.

“I saw you on the bus the other day, and ever since then, I’ve been trying to remember where we met. I know we’ve met somewhere. I feel it very strongly.”

Paul glanced over his shoulder. The last of the queue was disappearing into the bus.

“Listen, can I buy you a coffee?” asked the man.

Paul started moving towards the bus. “I really should be getting home,” he said, turning and hurrying to the door.

The man was right behind him.

As it was every day, there was standing room only. At least they were right at the front of the bus.

“I’m aware of how unusual this must be for you, and maybe I shouldn’t pursue it like I am. The thing is, it’s not just a feeling I know you. I…” He lowered his voice until Paul could barely hear it. “I feel…” He glanced away. “I feel a certain attraction to you.”

Ordinarily, an admission like that from a guy like this would have had Paul as hard as a rock. But everything about the situation was, as the man had put it himself, unusual.

“What’s even stranger,” said the man, his voice still barely audible, “is the fact I’m not gay. I’ve never been into blokes. In fact, I split up with my girlfriend of six years only last year.”

Paul couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“And I’m Calvin, by the way. Calvin Dickson.”

“I’m…Paul.”

He didn’t want the man having too much information. A surname could be traced, which is exactly what he decided he’d do when he got home—log on and do a search for “Calvin Dickson.”

Calvin retrieved his wallet from his back pocket.

“I’ll give you my card,” he said, fishing one out from a small flap inside his wallet. “Call me over the weekend and we’ll go out for a drink. I’m not an axe murderer. And I don’t make it a habit of going up to strangers and befriending them—”

“This is my stop,” said Paul, interrupting.

“Oh,” said Calvin, stepping aside. “Listen, call me. Please. Let’s have a drink. My treat.”

The door opened. Paul held up the card. “Thanks,” he said, descending the two steps. “We’ll see.”

The door closed behind him. He turned and noticed the man give a small wave. He looked at the card and was about the throw it to the ground when something made him stop. He looked at the card again.

Calvin Dickson

Chartered Accountant

Knowing Calvin was educated and professionally employed gave the man a little more credence. And there was no getting away from the fact Paul found him extremely attractive, especially his deep, husky voice and the fact he was well-spoken. It hadn’t been the most traditional of meetings, but these days, what was traditional?

“Why not?” he mumbled as he slipped the card into his shirt pocket.