Lentiginous: covered with minute dots; freckled.
It’s Felix’s freckles that catch Loui’s attention and give him the courage to approach and flirt with him. When he said he wanted tell Felix about his favorite word, Felix’s curiosity is piqued.
But will Felix change his mind when he finds out the meaning of the word?
“I collect unique words, quirky words, unusual words. Words from different languages, words I find beautiful, or interesting, or just any words, really, and I post them online. I guess you could say I’m obsessed with words.”
“I’ve never met anyone with that kind of obsession before.”
“It’s probably not very common.” His blush deepens. “Am I boring you?”
“No. Not at all.”
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m collecting words.”
“And your favorite one reminds you of me.”
He nods.
“Will you tell me what it is?” I smile at him, genuinely interested, even if nerdy academics have never been my type, even if I’ve never thought about words as anything other than a tool for communication. But there’s something about him. He’s bold, yet shy. He’s passionate about what he’s doing, which is always a huge turn-on for me no matter what the topic might be, and on top of everything, he’s drool-worthy, has a quirky style that appeals to me, and his gaze is so fucking intense I feel it all the way to my spine.
“It’s ... uh ... lentiginous,” he says, allowing his gaze to dance across my face, as though he’s trying to give me a hint.
“Lentiginous?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never heard it before. What does it mean?”
His smile widens as he reaches across the table and runs his index finger down along my nose and onto my cheek, and I tense my muscles to suppress a shiver. His touch is so soft, so careful, but he withdraws too quickly, making me want to reach out, capture his hand, and bring it back to my face.
“It’s a descriptive word for someone who has a lot of freckles.”
I bark out a laugh and lean back, suddenly needing a little distance between us. “Yeah, that’s me, all right. Freckleface with flaming carrot hair.” I gesture toward my head; these days I keep my hair closely cropped to the scalp, but there’s no missing the fiery orange going on up there. The word was not what I expected, all that build-up just for freckles.
“What do you mean?”
“The freckles haven’t been a good thing for me. I was teased mercilessly about them in school, and no one I’ve met since has ever thought that freckles were something to be excited about.” It’s been a long time since I was bullied for my freckles, and I didn’t expect to still feel the sting, but apparently, I was wrong.
But when his face falls, when his eyes widen with distress, all I want to do is take my words back and shove them down my throat. He was so excited, so brave, and I ruined everything by crapping on him with a bitterness that should have been long forgotten.
“I’m sorry,” he says, the flirting from before is gone from his voice. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was excited and didn’t think, and I’ll just --"
His genuine remorse and misery punch me in the gut, and I can’t take it, so I interrupt him. “No need to apologize. You couldn’t know. Besides, maybe what I need is a fresh perspective? Tell me why it’s your favorite word, help me understand.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to just fuck off?”
“I’m sure.”
