Buoying myself with a little liquid courage, I ask, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

He glances up through his emo fringe— looking a little startled, as if he doesn't know he's the hottest thing at this room party— and gives me a smile I can't quite read.  Lifts a black-fishnet-clad arm to sip his own drink.  "Yes," he says softly, "but that's irrelevant."

Huh.

"How come?" I ask, drawn in like a moth to his odd answer's flame, and his response is—



— to hold up his other hand, adorned by a plain silver band [i]dammit that's just anticlimactic[/i]

That line was just too good for the truth.  I'm left wondering what might have been— 



— to lift his glass to me, a gesture I return with a tapping of plastic rims before we both drink.  "You look awesome," he says.  "I love the tattoos.  And I'm definitely flattered by the attention.  But I don't bat for your team."

I laugh, my failure cushioned by the compliment.  "Oh, man, and I just got my gaydar back from the shop, too.  I'd better find a new mechanic—"



— to fish a business card from the inside pocket of his sharp black vest.  "Right now, anyway," he says, eyes zeroing in on the pack of partiers entering the room.  "I don't do love on the clock."

I accept the card automatically, and as I'm opening my mouth to ask for clarification, he says "'Scuse me" and slips past me, one hand levering dark shades over his eyes and the other reaching inside his vest again.  A popped-collar dude from the new group glances at him, freezes, and backs into the hallway.

My mystery man pauses for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder with a rakish smile.  "But I wouldn't mind a chance to take my first look at you after our team finishes the extraction.  Say, over drinks at the 139 Lounge?  My treat—"



— another smile, more wry and guarded.  "I'm asexual," he says.  "I don't do flirting."

"Huh," I echo.  I've heard of aces before, but never met one, especially not dressed to kill on the party floor of a convention.  "That's a shame."

The humor leaves his face.  "No, it's really not.  It's not some [i]disability[/i].  It's how I'm happy living my life."

I can feel my face flush.  "Uh.  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it that way.  Just, you look so amazing— if you [i]did[i] do sex I would be [i]so[/i] into you."

He sighs.  "I appreciate the compliment.  It's just … [i]everyone[/i] does that.  Treats me like I'm broken somehow.  It gets old."

"I really am sorry.  You seem like an awesome guy and you didn't deserve that."

"Thanks."  He drains the last of his drink.

The awkwardness of my accidental insult hangs silently between us.  He makes no effort to move from his spot by the snack table.  I want to slink away, but one thing nags at me.

"Why yes?" I ask.

He refocuses on me.  "Hm?"

"You said yes to my question."

"Oh!"  He chuckles.  "I do.  Just for people who aren't me.  In fact, I've seen it firsthand."

He's happy enough talking about [i]other[/i] people's relationships, and a great storyteller, and he seems to relish making me laugh, and they have to kick us out when the party hosts close down the room.  We wander down to the streets for a smoke and end up talking till nearly dawn.  I never find my soulmate that night but fall asleep without regrets—



— "We've met, so this isn't a 'first'."

I fall into his stare.  His luscious hazel-brown eyes aren't familiar.

"You'll have to refresh my memory," I say.

He laughs, enigmatic and alluring.  "Oh, not [i]here[/i].  Maybe not even you and me, depending on how you look at it."

I laugh back, intoxicated by his voice.  "So, what?  Some sort of [i]Fringe[/i] deal?  Other us-es in parallel universes?"

"Well, when you put it [i]that[/i] way," he says, eyes drinking me in, "it sounds kind of crazy."

"It sounds [i]utterly[/i] crazy," I say, and lean in.  "Tell me more."