by Jamie Knight
It was nice to see that he had made an effort.
"Ready?" he asked, flashing his bedevilling smile.
I replied by standing on my tip toes and kissing him. I think it was the first time I had done that without him kissing me first. It was nice to be the instigator for a change. It was something I felt like I wanted to do, so I gave it a try, just to see how I would feel about it. It felt fucking amazing.
Suddenly, I remembered that this was just supposed to be a fling. Nothing serious, nothing romantic and the kiss was definitely romantic. The butterflies in my tummy fluttered their tiny wings in agreement.
I broke away and headed for the passenger door with great purpose.
"Ready," I said, doing everything I could to keep my voice steady.
I wanted to laugh. And to cry. I couldn't decide in which order and there was the risk of both coming at once.
"Okay," he said, pushing off from the front of the car and heading around to the driver's side, acting very suave and chill.
I tried to figure out if he just didn't care or thought that I didn't and was trying to go along with me. I had the gut feeling it was the second one. That was something that made me love him more than I was already trying not to.
Love. Don’t think that word, I chastised myself.
This is just a fling, I repeated to myself like a mantra.
Nothing serious.
Just some fun, nothing else.
Move along folks, nothing to see here.
My pussy joined the tummy butterflies in the rebellion and my heart was beginning to be swayed.
We didn't talk much on the drive from my house into Brooklyn. I watched Reece as he drove. His face was dead serious, his eyes ever watchful for hidden dangers.
There was a subtle growth of stubble on his face. It looked like he had been busy and not had time to shave. It looked surprisingly good on him and I wondered slightly what he would look like with a beard.
I wasn't sure what it was, but I felt really safe with him. It wasn't just that he had taken my virginity with hardly any pain involved, which certainly merited some trust. There was something else. Not quite a gentleness so much as a drive to do the right thing that came off him.
Like how I knew if I lost my virginity to him, it would be consensual. He really didn't seem the type to hurt anyone. At least not on purpose. I wanted so much to be able to trust him.
Papa Gino's was a small family-owned place. I could smell the oregano as soon as we walked through the door, the electric chime having been set to Verdi.
"Reece!" The host exclaimed, like they were old friends.
"What's up, Lorenzo?"
"Our spirits, now that you're here, my friend."
"Oh, stop it," Reece said, with what looked like genuine humbleness.
I felt a pang. Somewhere deep in my chest. Like the first small cracks of my heart possibly opening.
"We have your favorite table," Lorenzo said, taking out two menus from behind the podium at the front, "this way."
Reece gently took my hand and we quickly walked together in the direction Lorenzo had started to head in. It wasn't commanding or like he was trying to claim me or own me or anything like that. It felt real and natural. I won't lie, I liked it.
Lorenzo pulled out the chairs for us as we sat down, pushing them back in after we were properly positioned. We read our menus with careful attention, as though to look at each other might spoil the moment or turn one or the other of us to stone.
Reece decided quickly, putting his menus neatly aside. I wondered how he was at folding maps. I knew for a fact he was very good with his hands.
"Have we decided?" Lorenzo asked, appearing as soon as my menu touched table.
"I would like the medium Meat with the Works," Reece said.
"Very good," Lorenzo said, jotting it down.
"And I'll have the small Margarita," I said. “Well, wait, make that a medium, too.”
It sounded so good I couldn’t resist.
"Excellent choice," Lorenzo said, his pen flying across his yellow notepad.
With a quick bow, Lorenzo turned on his heel and marched off back towards the kitchen to deliver our order to the chef.
"How long have you been coming here?" I asked.
"Since I was a kid, back when Gino still ran it. He retired a few years ago and Lorenzo took over."
"Lorenzo's his son?"
"Nephew. Papa Gino never married, if you can believe it. He was so much like a dad to the kids of his neighbourhood in Genoa that they just started calling him that and it stuck."
"Why did he move to New York?" I asked.
"Something to do with the Cammora," Reece said evasively, "he didn't like to talk about it."
He reached out and took me by the hand. The spark was instant and undeniable. I looked into his eyes and honestly could have melted. I could almost hear the chains around my heart begin to break as I realized I just might love him.
"Do you like my choice for our date?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, meaning it down in the depths of my soul.
Chapter Fourteen - Reece
I had heard people talk about the 'warm and fuzzies' but had never really know what they meant. But that was what I felt now when I was with Gia; I was sure of it. That was the feeling I'd never felt before and couldn't quite identify.
I could feel something coming from her, too. It was as if she wanted to feel the same way but couldn't quite. Like there was something getting in the way.
"Did you hear that they're reviving Les Mis on Broadway?" she asked.
"No, that news must have passed me by," I said, "I don't really move in those circles. At least not anymore. I drew the line at Spiderman: The Musical. I still like plays in general, though."
"What was the last play you saw?"
"Rosencrantz and Guilenstern Are Dead," I admitted.
"Huh?"
"It’s an absurdist comedy in which two minor characters from Hamlet are the focus. It’s basically the story of Hamlet but from their perspective, showing what they do, as characters rather than actors, while waiting for their cue, as it were," I explained.
"Wow," she said.
"It was written by a Brit back in the sixties."
"It would have to be, wouldn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah, pretty much."
"Do you ever watch TV?"
"No, but it isn't a moral stance. I just don’t have enough time to do that and do all the reading I want to do. It’s my own fault for having a library, though."
"You have a-"
"That's two questions about me that I've answered now," I said, really not wanting to go into the specifics.
"Quid pro quo, is it?" she asked.
"I thought that movie would be before your time," I said.
"Isn't it a bit before yours, too?"
"Well, yeah, I was about four at the time. Like the kids now with mohawks whose parents were barely around when punk was invented. It wasn't an easy thing, either. The way I understand it, back in the day, kids got the shit kicked out of them on a regular basis."
"By who?" Gia asked.
"By everyone who wasn't a punk, apparently," I said, not having been there at the time.
"That's awful!"
"I know. I think the whole punk thing started at least partly as a haven for social misfits, so they had somewhere to go. No one else would accept them, so they banded together. Metal used to be the same way. Punk had the accusations of being a gang thing and metal and conservative assholes saying that it caused kids to kill themselves or each other."
"People tend to fear what they don't understand," Gia said, sounding wise beyond her years.
"Don't I know it," I muttered.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, apparently sensing my distress.
"No, I'd rather talk about you," I said, taking her hand.
"Okay, what do you want to know?"<
br />
"Everything, what makes you tick?"
"Oh, just that?" she asked, with what I recognized as nervous laughter.
"Yeah," I said, meaning it.
"I really…"
When she stopped without continuing her sentence, I realized I had pushed her too far. She was getting uncomfortable, which was the last thing I wanted. I wanted her to have fun and to be as happy as it was possible for a human to be while living in our sad world. I wanted to give her everything she needed or wanted. I was beginning to accept the realization that I loved her.
We were both saved from embarrassment when Lorenzo came back with a little basket of garlic bread and a shaker of cloves for our pizzas.
"They'll be out in a few minutes," he said brightly.
"Great," I said, to his back, as he hurried off to return to his post.
"I'll bet they are," Gia said, "the pizza's, I mean. Almost ready. I can smell them already."
"Yeah, they make a good pie here," I said.
"It's getting hot," Gia said, taking off her coat.
It was then that I noticed her shirt and the opening in the front caused by her luscious breasts. I could clearly see the skin through it, and it was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra— a daring but understandable move.
It must have been hard for her to find properly fitting bras and shirts. Like some of the really tall women I had known showed a lot of leg if they wanted to wear skirts or dresses at all. Standard hems always seeming to end around their mid thigh.
One girl I knew in college could really only wear jeans, saying that even shorts made her long perfect legs too enticing. She still got lots of attention being a fucking goddess and all and didn't want to attract any more.
Still, I had never seen a creature as beautiful as Gia. Her tits are absolutely fucking perfect, if I did say so myself.
"Sorry," I said, realizing I was staring.
"No, it's okay," she said softly.
Looking around as if to make sure there wasn't anyone else around to see, Gia unbuttoned the two buttons above the break, wearing the top button already open, as was the fashion. There was then a “v” made of luscious young flesh extending from her neck down to the fourth button on her shirt.
It didn't show that much really; I had seen girls wearing a lot less down at the club and even on the street, especially in the summer. I could tell it was a big deal for her, though.
The sexiest thing I had ever seen her wear was the witch costume and that had been the point of it. Even then, she hadn't shown much skin, as she was wearing tights. Not that I minded, it was her body and her choice how much of it she showed or not. Though I was more than happy to see anything she wanted to show me.
She had a beautiful body and I felt honored that she had chosen to share it with me. It was not something I took for granted.
"You like?" she asked.
What a question. Truth be told, under almost any other circumstances, I would have reached out and given both of her big beautiful tits a loving squeeze. The food came, saving us both from a potentially awkward situation. Every inch the professional, Lorenzo set down the stands that held up the pizza pans and left again, without even a glance at Gia's big, beautiful breasts.
"I like very much," I whispered, leaning in conspiratorially.
The blush ran clear down from her cheeks to her chest as she smiled modestly, unable to meet my eyes.
"Look at me," I said, taking her hand.
She looked at me, the discomfort returning to her face.
"I-"
"You are beautiful," I said, “and I love being here with you.”
She blushed even brighter. I could tell I had gone too far and she was going into some kind of defense mode. I backed off both physically and metaphorically and left Gia to enjoy her pizza. I certainly enjoyed mine.
I also noticed that she never actually buttoned up her shirt. I guessed that there was some part of her that didn't mind me looking. Liked it, even.
I felt bad about the turn the date had taken; I had pushed too hard trying to make my feelings known and now I didn't know if Gia would ever want to get close to me again.
Fuck.
It sucked that I always had women throwing themselves at me, but when I had found the one woman I wanted to be with, she was holding back on me.
I looked around at the checkered tabletops and Italian landscape framed paintings on the wall of my favorite restaurant, wondering if I would ever get to take Gia here again. Wondering how it was possible for me to have fucked up what was supposed to be a great date for us.
"Well, thanks a lot," she said, now that we were completely finished eating, as she started putting her coat back on.
I really didn't want things to end here and I had to think fast to try and salvage any affection Gia might still have for me. I wanted to leave things on a high note, as they say.
"Hey, would you like to go for a walk on the Promenade?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as I could.
"The Brooklyn Promenade?"
"That's the one. It's not far from here," I said.
"Really?"
"Not by car," I added.
"Cool, let's go," she said, seeming to relax again.
We were on our way out when a very nicely tailored man with a very bad attitude came storming in, nearly knocking Gia over. If I hadn't been there to catch her, there was a good chance she would have ended up out on the floor.
"Out of my way, bitch!" he barked on his way by.
"Good afternoon, sir-" Lorenzo said.
"I need my pizza now!" the guy shouted.
"Okay, what's your name?"
"Seriously?"
"Yes," Lorenzo said.
"My name is John fucking Handler."
"Ah," Lorenzo said, looking up the order, "looks like you just ordered online, you need to wait for the pizza to actually be baked.”
"Listen, you greasy little wop, do you have any fucking idea who-"
The rest of the sentence was cut off, due to his windpipe suddenly being squeezed snugly in the crook of my right elbow. He tried to struggle but resistance was futile.
"Hi," I said, pleasant as can be, "my name is Reece Scott. I strongly suggest that you adjust your attitude, because if I ever hear you call my girl over there or my friend right here either of those words again, I will permanently cripple you, and no, I don't give a fuck who you are. Have a nice night."
John Hanlder crumpled to the floor and was still there when I escorted Gia out the door. Just then a cook came out with a large pizza in a box.
"Looks like your order is ready," Lorenzo said cheerfully.
Gia didn't say anything for a long time after leaving the restaurant. The drive to the Promenade was pretty much one that occurred in complete silence, except for the radio.
This wasn't immediately a red flag, having become something of a custom. I still liked that Gia and I could enjoy quiet solitude together, without feeling uncomfortable or as if we constantly had to chatter.
I did feel kind of badass after the restaurant incident. I wasn't usually violent at all, but that guy had just pushed me too far.
We started along the Promenade, Gia maintaining her vow of silence.
Now I was wondering if it was something more than comfortable relaxation. I was really scared I might have blown it.
"He called me a bitch," she said, in a tone that was more of a question.
"Yep."
"And sweet Lorenzo a greasy little wop."
"Indeed," I concurred.
"And then you-"
"Yeah, I did."
"That was amazing!" she enthused, hugging me tight.
"Thanks," I said, not sure what else to say.
"I hate that guy!" she said, as we continued on our walk.
"I can't say that I'm a fan, either," I said.
"But no, I don’t mean I hate just that guy," she said.
"No?"<
br />
"No. I mean I hate that guy and everyone like him!" Gia ranted.
She was very cute when she was angry.
“I hate everything that guy and everyone like him represents!”
"Oh?" I asked, not wanting to get in the way of her freight train of thoughts.
"Yeah! Rich assholes who think they own the fucking world! They are what is wrong with society. Get rid of them all would be so much better."
I could sense a deep-seeded class resentment. So much so that I decided not to call her on the tacit endorsement of murder of the upper classes. She was clearly very upset and understandably so.
It had struck me, previously, that she didn’t know how rich I was. It wasn’t something I liked to talk about, as the sheer amount of wealth was practically embarrassing.
I had also realized that she didn’t particularly like rich people, or, at the very least, that she had some mistrust for people who had money.
I had planned to tell her the truth as we strolled along the Promenade. That I was actually a billionaire. I was going to lay it all out there. I had the scene playing in my head through most of the ride over here.
Suddenly it did seem like such a good idea. We were just getting things back on track and I was pretty sure from the things she was saying that if she knew exactly how much money I really had, she probably wouldn't want to see me again. Despite the fact that I actually worked for a living and had earned very cent I had.
I earned it in ways that not everyone would agree with, it was true; and I wasn’t always the best steward of my money before I re-built everything, but I always did my best to be on the level. Besides which, I actually agreed with her. There was no reason for the wealthy to be assholes about the fact that they had wealth. I had a lot of experience with that myself, starting with my own father.
"I couldn't agree more," I told her now. "I heard about this one guy who disowned his own son, cut him right out of his life, no inheritance, no contact, no nothing, because the son in question had some reservations about how dear old dad was running the business. Especially when he, the dad that is, bought up an orphanage so that he could demolish it and put up a high rise."
