They Are Out of My League so How?

Some people walk into a room and draw every gaze without trying. I walk into a room and instantly become part of the background--like a chair, or a ficus. Not in a sad way. Just... neutral.

I've always been that way. Not bad-looking, not hot. Not dumb, not brilliant. The kind of guy you forget a few minutes after talking to. Six foot tall--six-one if you squint and I'm wearing the right shoes. Brown hair. Quiet face. Decent body, but not the kind that gets you stopped on the street.

I didn't hate myself. I wasn't bitter. But I also wasn't waiting for some cinematic twist in the plot. Life didn't hand out miracles to people like me.

---

Most Saturdays, I went to the little bookstore on 9th. It had creaky floors, a sleepy cat that never moved from the philosophy section, and a coffee bar that charged six bucks for burnt espresso. I liked it there. I liked how the quiet wrapped around you, like a page you didn't want to turn yet.

That day, I wandered into the fiction aisle and picked up Giovanni's Room. Again. I'd read it twice already, but I always came back to it--like pressing a bruise. Maybe I liked the ache of it. The loneliness in it that felt familiar, but also kind of beautiful.

I was flipping through the first few pages when someone stepped into the aisle beside me. I didn't look. Just moved slightly to the side, assuming he was reaching for something behind me. People like him usually were. But then he spoke.

"Is that one worth the heartbreak?"

The voice was low, smooth, with a kind of amused warmth behind it. I looked up.

He was tall. Easily six-three. Lean but strong, the kind of body that came from knowing exactly how to work out and exactly what to wear. His hair was light blond and slightly unruly, like he'd just stepped out of a modeling shoot and hadn't bothered to fix it. Sharp cheekbones, a mouth made for kissing--or sinning--and skin that looked like it lived in good lighting. The jacket was cashmere. The watch peeking from his sleeve looked expensive enough to pay my rent for a month, maybe two. And he smelled like spice and something clean, masculine, understated--but definitely not drugstore.

I blinked.

"What?" I asked, my brain refusing to process that this man was actually speaking to me.

He gestured to the book. "Giovanni's Room. I've heard it's tragic. I'm torn between that and A Little Life, but I'd rather not cry in public this week."

I let out a short laugh, still half-convinced this was a prank or a hidden camera show. "Well, if those are your choices, Giovanni's Room is the less soul-crushing option."

"That's a relief," he said, smiling. "I'm Leo."

He offered his hand like we were meeting at a gallery opening or a yacht party. I shook it, surprised by how warm and steady his grip was. My palm felt too dry. Or maybe too sweaty. I couldn't tell anymore.

"I'm--uh, sorry. I'm--" I had to clear my throat. "I'm Alex."

"Nice to meet you, Alex." He looked at me for a moment. Not a glance. Not a once-over. A look. "You have great taste in books."

I wanted to say something clever. Something flirty or mysterious. Instead, I muttered, "Thanks," and immediately wanted to take it back.

He didn't seem bothered. "Do you come here often?"

I blinked again. That was a line. A line line. In the wild. A hot man, with a watch worth more than my car, was hitting on me. At least--I thought he was. Unless I was misreading, which felt more likely.

"Uh, yeah. Most Saturdays."

"I'll have to start coming more often, then."

He said it casually, like it wasn't the most absurdly charming thing anyone had ever said to me. My brain was short-circuiting. I managed a smile.

"I'm serious," he added. "Would you--would it be weird if I asked for your number?"

And there it was. The moment. The rules of the universe said this shouldn't be happening. Leo should've been flirting with the barista or the yoga guy browsing cookbooks, not me. But somehow, impossibly, he was. I gave him my number. I fully expected it to be some kind of joke. A dare. A story he'd tell later to someone hotter than me.

But when he texted that night--just a simple, "Hope you made it home okay. Can I see you again?"--I didn't sleep for hours.

---

Monday morning smelled like bad coffee and printer toner. I stared at the spreadsheet on my screen, willing the numbers to start making sense. They didn't. Honestly, I could've been looking at a word search written in Klingon. My brain wasn't in the building. It was still at the bookstore.

Still thinking about Leo--about the way he'd smiled, like he knew a secret. About how his text the night before had made my chest flutter like I'd swallowed a flock of birds.

"Okay," said a voice behind me. "Who are you thinking about, and how naked are they?"

I jumped. Maya grinned at me over the cubicle wall, holding her usual iced latte and radiating far too much energy for a Monday.

"No one," I said, too quickly.

"Oh my God. It's someone naked. I knew it." She dropped into the chair next to my desk like she lived there.

"I said no one."

She leaned in, stage-whispering, "That means yes, and I demand details. You've been staring at that screen for fifteen minutes, and unless you're suddenly passionate about quarterly invoices, you're definitely elsewhere."

I sighed. "It's... just a guy."

"Ooh, a guy. Do I know him?"

"No. I met him on Saturday. At the bookstore."

"Wait--someone picked you up at the bookstore?" Her eyebrows practically launched into her hairline. "That's like, gay meet-cute gold. Who is he? What's his name? Does he read poetry? Is he real, or is this your fever dream after watching too much Call Me by Your Name again?"

"His name's Leo."

Maya narrowed her eyes. "Leo? Sexy name. Go on."

I glanced around, lowered my voice. "He's... tall. Blond. Gorgeous. Like, distractingly gorgeous. I thought he was hitting on someone behind me."

She gave me a look. "Honey, you are so bad at accepting compliments."

"It wasn't a compliment. It was reality. He was wearing a cashmere coat and a Rolex."

"Jesus," she muttered, sitting up straighter. "What does he do, sell yachts to celebrities?"

"No idea. But he asked me out. We're going to dinner on Friday."

"Where?"

I hesitated. "Uh... Cassaro."

She whistled. "Cassaro? That place with the glass wine wall and table-side risotto? You have to mortgage your soul to get a reservation there."

"Yeah," I said flatly. "Comforting."

"Do you own a shirt without a ketchup stain?"

"I think so?"

"Do not screw this up," she said, pointing dramatically. "This man is clearly a fantasy come to life, and you, my friend, are entering an enchanted forest. Wear something tight. Not desperate-tight, just flattering-tight."

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "Thanks, fashion oracle."

"Anytime. Now go back to pretending to care about spreadsheets before Sandra sees you slacking."

I tapped open Leo's text thread. The last message was from yesterday.

Leo: Still good for Friday at 7? Cassaro. I'll get the table.

I hadn't replied yet. I stared at the screen, heart pounding, and typed:

Me: Still good. Looking forward to it.

The reply came almost instantly.

Leo: Me too. Can't wait to see you again.

I sat there for a moment, rereading those words like they might vanish if I blinked too hard.

---

That Friday night, I stood in front of my open closet like it might suddenly offer better options if I stared long enough.

A few shirts hung limply, half-wrinkled. Nothing said Cassaro. Nothing said date with a man who probably drinks champagne that costs more than my rent.

I pulled out a navy button-down that I'd worn to a cousin's wedding. Tried it on. Checked the mirror. Not amazing, but not embarrassing either. If I kept it tucked and rolled the sleeves just right...

I took it off and ironed it. Twice. My stomach fluttered the whole time. I put it on, took my car keys, and left for a date with a man I still didn't think was real.

Cassaro had its own doorman. That was my first clue I didn't belong.

The second was the way the front windows glowed like a jewelry case--soft light, glass, and polished wood. I stood on the sidewalk, pretending to look at my phone, wondering if I could walk in without someone assuming I was there to deliver something.

I'd gotten there ten minutes early. On purpose. I didn't want to make Leo wait. I didn't want to walk in alone. I didn't want a lot of things, but mostly I didn't want to mess this up.

"You're early."

I turned and there he was.

Leo.

His blond hair was neatly styled, and he was wearing a suit that fit like it had been stitched to his body. Midnight blue, with a crisp white shirt underneath, no tie. His jaw was clean-shaven, his skin smooth, and for a second I just stared.

"I'm underdressed," I said before I could stop myself.

He smiled. "You look good."

I tried to believe it.

He walked ahead and we made our way inside. The host greeted him like they knew him, and suddenly we were being led through the restaurant--past tables with candlelight and expensive laughter--toward a corner booth near the window. I sat, still trying to make sense of how this was real.

The menus arrived. I opened mine and immediately wished I hadn't. Thirty-two dollars for a plate of pasta. Sixty for the steak. The wine list had commas in the prices.

Leo looked up from his menu. "Get whatever you want."

"I'm good," I said quickly, zeroing in on the cheapest option that didn't sound like a garnish. "I'll try the sea bass."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

A small smile touched his lips. He didn't push it.

We ordered. The waiter disappeared. Water was poured from a glass bottle, and I took a sip like it was something I had to ration.

Leo folded his hands on the table. "So. Tell me about you."

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"That's... ambitious."

He shrugged. "Start small."

I hesitated. "Okay. I work in admin at a logistics company. It's as boring as it sounds. Mostly spreadsheets and lost package tracking."

"Steady job. That's something."

"I guess. What about you?"

He leaned back a little. "I work in private equity."

"That sounds made up."

He laughed. "It kind of is. Basically, I invest in companies and try to make them more profitable."

"So you're one of the rich people who make other rich people richer."

"Guilty," he said, without shame or apology. "But I try to invest in sustainable stuff. Ethical models. I don't touch fossil fuels or pharmaceuticals."

"Nice to know you have standards."

He tilted his head. "And what are yours?"

"Low," I said dryly. "Clearly. I gave my number to a guy in a bookstore just because he was cute."

"Cute, huh?"

I felt the heat in my cheeks. "I meant devastatingly handsome."

"Better," he said, smiling again.

The food came. It looked too beautiful to eat. We talked more while we ate--about books, about movies, about why Spirited Away made us both cry. He asked questions and actually listened to the answers. Not in a fake-interested way. He remembered details. Asked follow-ups. Laughed at my dumb jokes. It felt easy.

It felt dangerous, how easy it was.

When the waiter brought the bill, I instinctively reached for my wallet. Leo didn't even look at me. He slid his card into the folder like it was already decided.

"Let me at least cover the tip--"

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

"I can't--"

"You can. And you will. It's my treat."

I sat back, hands fidgeting in my lap. "This place is... not cheap."

"You're worth it."

It was corny. It was too much. And somehow, it made something squeeze in my chest.

He walked me to my car afterward. The sidewalk was slick from an earlier drizzle, and the air smelled like rain and rosemary from the planters by the entrance.

"This was nice," I said, fishing out my keys, still half-expecting to wake up.

"It was."

I turned to him, heart doing weird gymnastics in my ribcage.

Leo looked at me for a moment, eyes soft. "Can I kiss you?"

I nodded before my brain could interrupt.

He leaned in and kissed me--slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that didn't try to prove anything. His hand touched my jaw. Mine stayed awkwardly at my sides until I got brave enough to rest one against his chest.

When he pulled back, I couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"I'll text you," he said, thumb brushing mine. "Get home safe."

"I will."

I watched him walk away, suit perfect, steps confident, until he disappeared around the corner.

Then I sat in my car for ten minutes, staring at the steering wheel, wondering what kind of universe I'd fallen into--and how long it would let me stay.

---

That day started like most Saturdays--gray sky, coffee in hand, doing errands I didn't remember signing up for. I had just picked up a gift card for Maya's birthday from the home goods store near 11th and was turning the corner by Pulse Gym, distracted, half-scrolling through texts on my phone, when I walked straight into a wall of muscle.

Except it wasn't a wall. It was a man. A very solid, very warm, very shirtless man--okay, not shirtless, but the tank top didn't leave much to the imagination.

"Shit--sorry," I said, stumbling back a step.

"No harm done," he said, easy and calm, steadying me with one hand on my arm.

I looked up. And up.

He was tall. Not quite as tall as Leo, but broader, heavier in the chest and shoulders. Short black hair, neatly faded at the sides and wavy up top, and a beard that looked like he'd actually taken the time to trim it that morning. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his neck, and his skin glowed like summer. His face was handsome in the kind of way that stopped thoughts--like he belonged on a billboard selling cologne or standing in slow motion at the edge of a pool.

I probably stared too long.

"Everything alright?" he asked, smiling now, a little crooked.

"Yeah," I said quickly. "Sorry, wasn't looking where I was going."

"You from around here?"

"Kind of. Just running errands."

"I'm Javi," he said.

"Alex," I mumbled.

He nodded, adjusting the strap of his gym bag. "I'm heading in for a lift, but..." He glanced toward the café across the street. "Mind having a coffee first? I could use the excuse to procrastinate."

I blinked. "You want to get coffee. With me."

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Yeah. Unless you're in a hurry?"

"No. I mean--sure. Yeah, let's do it."

We ended up at a little coffee shop--one of those trendy places with plants in every corner and oat milk everything. I followed him in, still trying to figure out how I'd gotten here.

Then I remembered Leo. This felt wrong. I mean--it wasn't like Leo and I were exclusive. One date didn't make a relationship. And it was just coffee. Just a conversation. I wasn't planning to cheat, I wasn't lying to anyone. But even as I told myself that, I felt a pinch of guilt behind my ribs.

We ordered--iced espresso for him, chai latte for me--and found a table by the window.

"So," Javi said, leaning back. "Tell me something real."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Not work stuff. Not what you 'do.' Tell me something that actually matters."

I sat back in my chair, surprised. "Okay... You first."

He grinned. "Fair. I'm the oldest of four. Raised by my mom and my abuela. No dad in the picture. Learned to cook because someone had to help out, and lifting weights was cheaper than therapy."

"Is it?"

He shrugged. "Depends on the day. Your turn."

I hesitated. "I don't know. My family's... fine. Suburban. I've got one sister. Parents are still married. It was all very normal. I guess I never really figured out how I fit into it."

Javi nodded like that made sense. "I get that."

"You do?"

He looked at me. "Yeah. Even if your family loves you, they don't always see you, right?"

I stared at him for a second, startled by how dead-on that felt.

"Yeah," I said. "Exactly."

We talked more--about childhoods, about first crushes, about being gay in places that didn't always make space for it. He told me his little brother had just come out, and he was proud but scared for him too. I told him how I didn't date much, not seriously, and he just smiled and said, "Well, you should."

Somewhere between the laughs and the stories, the awkwardness melted. Javi was easy to talk to--warm and real and somehow more present than anyone I'd met in a long time. With Leo, I felt pulled upward--into something glimmering, aspirational. With Javi, it felt like sinking into something solid.

When we stepped out onto the sidewalk again, the air had warmed. Javi pulled his gym bag over his shoulder and gave me a grin.

"This was fun," he said. "You're easy to talk to."

"You too," I said, feeling my heart speed up again.

He handed me his phone. "Put your number in?"

I did. He texted me right away, a little lightning bolt emoji next to my name.

"Hope I'll see you again," he said.

"Yeah," was the only thing I could say. I still couldn't believe this god-like man seemed interested in me. Two incredible men in two days, what was going on..

He winked and headed toward the gym. I watched him go, feeling like someone had tilted the axis of my life.

On the way home, I kept replaying it. The coffee. The conversation. The way he'd looked at me like I was someone. And Leo.

Leo, who'd kissed me like I was precious. Who wore designer suits and ordered hundred dollars wine like it was no big deal. Now there was Javi, with sweat on his brow and calluses on his hands and eyes that saw through me. I couldn't have two men like that want me. It didn't make sense. I wasn't the main character. I wasn't the guy who people chose, let alone twice. I pulled into my parking space and sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing. If this was a dream, I was terrified of waking up. And if it wasn't... I had no idea how I was going to handle it.