Chapter Text
“C’mon Sasha,” Fedyor whines, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair, “Let us set you up a profile!”
Aleksander grimaces into his glass before taking a sip, shooting Ivan a pleading look to keep his husband in check.
His oldest friend shrugs, face stoic as always, “I don’t think it’s such a bad idea to be honest.”
“Traitor,” he mumbles into his scotch.
“We’ll do all the work, you just have to show up to the date!” a shark scenting blood in the water, Fedyor knows he’s going wear him down before the end of the evening.
Waving a hand dismissively before sliding his unlocked phone across the table, Aleksander heaves a deep sigh. He mutters something about getting another drink before skulking over to the bar to leave his friends to wreak their havoc on his dating life (or lack thereof).
It had been nearly three years since his divorce and thinking of Luda didn’t feel quite so similar to poking a day-old bruise anymore. Years of reflection and awkwardly stilted conversations with his therapist had helped him realise that, yes, while he had loved her it had really been the idea of her that had made him hold on long after the marriage should have ended.
Last he heard she was happy, engaged to the man she had started seeing not long after signing the divorce papers. He honestly wishes her the best and wonders what the hell he’s getting himself into.
Fresh drink in hand, he makes his way back to the table. Fedyor’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat and even Ivan has a glimmer of mischief in his eye.
“You’ve got a match!” Fedyor exclaims, doing a little fist bump into the air.
“Already?” he splutters, honestly surprised, “Is it really that fast?”
“We wrote very little about you, just that you were an actuary and getting back into the dating scene for the first time since your divorce,” Ivan says, smirking, “Oh, and that you read voraciously and keep plants. The pictures of you at the gym we uploaded probably helped as well.”
“Can I at least see her?” Aleksander grumbles, hating the way his curiosity was piqued.
When his phone is passed back to him he feels his stomach drop.
“You can’t be serious,” he says, eyes trailing over the delicate features of her face, tracking the piercings in her nose and the arch of her eyebrow.
“What, she’s cute!”
“How old is she?” he asks, fearing the answer.
“Twenty,” comes Ivan’s reply, tone teasing.
“Jesus Christ,” Aleksander huffs, hating the way his slacks are starting to tighten the longer he stares at the dark-haired girl on his screen.
“Check out the other photos, Sasha!” Fedyor pushes.
Fuck.
He was expecting another picture of her face, but it’s a shot of her body, specifically her neck and shoulders down to her hips. A white tank that falls loosely over pert little tits. Narrow waist cinched by those high-rise jeans that seemed to be so popular nowadays. And tattoos, so many tattoos. Ink up and down her arms, her hands, on her fingers.
His mouth is watering. His cock is hard. He’s sitting in a bar while his married best friends stare at him, smiling like idiots.
Aleksander is in hell.
They exchange a few messages before deciding to meet the next day. Fedyor is thrilled and Ivan is thrilled to see his husband so happy. Aleksander feels a little sick.
>> hi :)
<< Hello, Alina.
<< How are you this evening?
>> ugh dont ask :/
>> had a shitty shift about to eat my weight in takeout and pass out
<< I’m sorry you had a rough time at work. What do you do?
>> today it was my restaurant gig
<< Do you work more than one job?
>> yea
>> besides the restaurant im the receptionist at my friend zoyas shop
>> the hours are weird but i get free tats and see my besties so its not so bad
<< I see.
>> so um
>> do u wanna meet up or something ??????
<< Yes, I would like that.
>> ok cool!! tomorrow 7 at umami burger downtown ?
<< See you then.
<< Goodnight, Alina.
>> nighty night aleks!!!
Normally he corrects people right away when they call him Aleks, hating it ever since he was a child. His name is Aleksander, no nickname required, unless it was someone incredibly close to him, only then could they call him Sasha. But really only Fedyor and his mother did (and occasionally Ivan when he was drunk).
The next morning rolls around and Aleksander is up early as he is every Saturday. He putters around his condo, starting a load of laundry and watering his plants. He does his usual workout and showers quickly, towelling off and throwing on a fresh pair of joggers and a black t-shirt.
After throwing everything in the dryer he checks his fridge and sits down to make his grocery list. He sips an espresso and does the crossword, readers perched on his nose. Once the laundry is done he makes his way to the store, walking through the aisles and picking up everything he needs.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he’s surprised to see a message from the girl, Alina.
>> morning :)
<< Good morning. Although really it’s 12:30, shouldn’t we be saying “good afternoon”?
>> just woke up
>> so its morning mister
<< I see.
>> youve probably had a whole ass day already huh?
<< Something like that.
>> we still on for 2nite?
<< Yes, if you’re still available.
>> yep, just checking :)
>> see you later
Her last message had a little kissing emoji that made his cheeks heat right there in the supermarket. Good lord, he couldn’t be caught getting flustered by a little text.
The rest of the afternoon passes slowly, and he hates to admit that he’s nervous.
Before Luda, he’d had a few dates here and there in college and one other long-term relationship that had ended when she moved out of state for a job.
He stared into his closet for nearly fifteen minutes before settling on his unofficial uniform – a crisp white shirt and dark blue slacks, with a coordinating jacket. He briefly considers throwing on a tie, but ultimately decides against it.
He pulls on a black pair of briefs, glancing over at himself in the mirror before getting dressed. Aleksander had been a vain man in his twenties, and even as he neared forty (“only three more years,” Ivan had teased on his last birthday) he was glad he had at least kept himself fit.
Idiot, he chastised himself, he hadn’t even met Alina yet and he was already considering what she would think of his body. Who’s to say the date was even going to go well enough for her to see it?
That line of thought opened up an entirely new set of worries. He had been unintentionally celibate for nearly the entire time he had been single. The only other person he had been with since his ex-wife was with a woman at the office Christmas party just months after his divorce, a drunken hook-up that had made his stomach curl the morning after.
He flicked through the pictures of Alina on her profile again, wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked. What she would look like spread out under him, chest heaving and pink lips parted for him?
Fuck, it was going to be a long night.
Aleksander walks into the restaurant and takes a deep breath. The smell of burgers makes his mouth water and he’s both impressed and surprised by her choice of location. Weren’t girls her age supposed to be vegetarians or vegans or pescatarians or whatever the hell meant you couldn’t have a nice steak for dinner or a side of bacon with breakfast?
“Aleksander?” a melodic voice chirps behind him, and he turns.
His gaze lowers, she’s surprisingly short. Huh, she’d seemed taller in her photos.
The seconds tick as he continues to stare down at her like a creep, eyes sweeping over her small frame draped in sage green silk, black lace sweetheart neckline exposing her delicate collarbones and arms bare to show off her tattoos.
“Um, you okay over there?” she’s asking him, a smirk playing on her red-painted lips.
“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry. It’s nice to meet you, Alina,” he stutters, sticking out his hand for a shake.
She takes his hand in hers, skin warm and dry and soft, and he swallows at the way his fingers and palm absolutely swallow hers.
“Nice to meet you too, now let’s get a table, I’m starving!”
There’s no wait, so they’re seated immediately, the familiar din of restaurant sounds echoing in the background of their conversation about what they’d done that day – Aleksander his usual routine, Alina, well, mostly nothing besides scrolling through her phone and making a quick stop at Trader Joe’s.
Aleksander orders an IPA on tap without looking at the menu, but grimaces when she orders a root beer. Once the waiter walks away he leans forward to apologise.
“I’m sorry, should I have ordered a beer? I didn’t even think –”
She laughs, and it’s a clear, crisp sound that makes him smile despite his nerves.
“Oh my god, don’t even worry about it. I’m not really a big drinker anyway, I prefer pot honestly,” she shrugs, opening the menu.
Pot. He hasn’t smoked pot since his freshman year of college nearly twenty years ago.
Twenty years ago, Jesus Christ she was an infant the last time he held a blunt between his fingers –
“Hey, you doing okay?” she asks again, reaching a hand across the table to settle over his where it’s twitching against the wood. She’s wearing little gold rings on each finger, and he can see the designs more clearly than in her photos.
“Was it the pot thing? I know that’s a turn off for some people,” she continues, giving his hand a little squeeze.
“No, um, it’s not that,” he stammers, wishing desperately he had a glass of water.
“Then what’s wrong?” she asks, “Am I not what you were expecting?”
His gaze shoots to her face, then. She’s got a worried expression on her face that he never wants to see again, a little furrow between her brow that pulls at the scar on her forehead.
“No, sorry, Christ, Alina. It’s just been so long since I’ve been on a date and you’re incredibly beautiful –”
She interrupts him to say thank you, a brilliant smile showing off her perfect rows of little white teeth.
“But you’re so young, God, what are you doing out with someone as old as me?” he questions, suddenly incredibly self-conscious of the little lines that had been forming at the corners of his eyes, the way his beard was flecked with more salt than pepper when he let it grow out these days.
“Oh,” she says, mouth forming an adorable pucker for a moment.
“I guess I didn’t really consider your age when I swiped right,” she continues, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms loosely.
“You didn’t?” he questions.
“No, I don’t usually when I match. I guess it’s more about looks and the vibe.”
“The vibe?” he thinks he understands what she means, “So, do you do this a lot? Meet up with guys from Tinder?”
The waiter comes back with their drinks before she can answer, so he takes a sip of his beer. She gulps down some of her root beer before ordering her burger, asking for sweet potato fries instead of regular ones.
He orders as well, thanking the man before handing him their menus.
“I mean, yeah,” she says, answering his question from before, “Well, I guess it depends on what you mean by a lot. But semi-regularly I guess.”
He mulls that over for a moment before she adds, “And girls. I’ve met up with a couple of girls too. Like I said, it’s about the vibe. A feeling.”
Aleksander nods, regarding the cute girl in front of him and wondering what vibes he gave off that made her swipe on him.
“I must seem incredibly boring to you,” he murmurs, drumming his fingers on the table nervously.
“What?” she seems genuinely surprised, tucking a strand of black hair back, fingers stopping to play with one of the gold hoops in her ear, “Not at all! Actuarial science is totally fascinating, and you read and keep plants, and I read and keep plants so there you go! Okay well most of my plants are dead, but I try really really hard and,” she pauses for a breath, cheeks colouring, “Sorry, I’m rambling now.”
“No, you’re not, please keep talking,” he assures her.
“What I’m trying to say is, don’t worry Aleks,” he can’t help but smile as her lips curve around the name he thought until very recently that he hated, “Even if it’s been a while since you’ve been out, you’re doing great so far.”