by Tucker, RH
“Sasha,” I answer, and he offers me his hand to shake.
“Nice to meet you, Sasha. Want to dance?”
My eyes quickly shoot to Tara, who nods excitedly, with Taylor waiting for my response.
“Sure,” I answer, but it comes out almost as a question.
Walking onto the dance floor, it’s blatantly obvious the looks he gets. It’s not just his appearance, it’s his entire demeanor. The arrogant attitude flutters about through the air, but at the same time, not throwing it in anyone’s face. It’s magnetic.
The beat is fast paced, so we could sway side to side without even touching, but he still places his hands on my waist. The bass thumbs in the air, and with my arms over his shoulders, I lean in closer. His smell surrounds me, but not like Over Board Cologne Guy. It’s a mix between woodsy and spicy cinnamon, and it draws me to him. Stepping closer, he wraps an arm around my waist, leaning against my ear.
“You can move,” he whispers.
“I’m surprised you can, too,” I giggle.
His lips skim closer, brushing my ear. “You don’t know the half of it.”
His confidence is off the charts, but it’s not turning me off. Instead, it’s doing the opposite. “Is that right?”
The beat playing is still fast—a loud bass, mixed with some kind of synthesizers, and the strobe lights playing. But he’s slowed his motions. Giving me a devilish smirk, he switches ears, leaning close again.
“Care to find out?” His lips brush against my skin, and this time tingles spread across my arm.
Trying to keep myself grounded, I give him back as much of the confidence as he’s serving. I lift my shoulders. “I’m not looking for a guy in my life.”
A loud laugh erupts from him. “No offense, but I’m not offering you a ring.”
I smirk. “Once you get this, you probably will, and I’ve had my fill lately of guys with hang-ups.”
“Wow, look at you,” he says, keeping both hands on my waist, his face inches from mine. “Sorry if you’ve dealt with dickheads lately.”
“It happens.” I roll my eyes.
“I’ve had a pretty good last few days, that’s why I’m out tonight. I’m just looking to celebrate, babe.”
I hate pet names. Pressing a finger into his chest, I twist my head. “Don’t call me babe.”
His brow raises as if he’s impressed. “Fair enough. I’ll make you a deal.” I give him an unconvinced look. “Let’s have some fun tonight. I’ll make you forget any ass you’ve had to deal with lately, and if you don’t fall in love with me by morning, we’ll call it a success.”
“You’re certainly straightforward and a go-getter, huh?”
He chuckles, leaning closer, and his hands wrap around me, sliding lower over my butt. “I just go for what I want.” His lips brush over my ear again. “And tonight, I want you.”
Game on.
“I don’t do bathroom hookups.”
“Well, I guess we should go back to my place then.”
Our gazes lock on each other. Tara is right, I do need something to get my mind off of Alex. And it’s not even that I have to forget him, because he is forgettable. Sorry, Becca. But what I really need is some mouthwash to cleanse him from my mind. Taylor just might be the trick.
He waits for my reply, and as smooth as he’s talked or good as he’s danced, I do need one answer if I’m going to leave with him.
Pulling him closer, I press my lips against his. He’s not caught off-guard. It feels like he’s expecting it. One of his hands slides to the small of my back, and the other to the nape of my neck. Keeping me close, the scent of excitement hits me. His lips are gentle for just a moment before his tongue slides over mine. Like a small spark that’s unleashed into a blaze, his hand around my back moves lower, cupping my butt, and his kiss goes deeper. I can’t help the small moan that falls out. He knows how to kiss.
Breaking my lips away from his, I instantly regret it, but the excitement’s building. He’s maybe six inches taller than me, so I pull him down closer.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter 4
Taylor
The morning after can be awkward, that’s a given, but I’m always up front with a girl. I’m just looking for a good time. I don’t want any commitments, promises, or strings. I’d say the percentage is about seventy-thirty. Seventy percent of the time the girl is cool. The other thirty percent, I have to ignore her text messages for a week.
I have no problem either going back to her place or mine, but I prefer mine. I know some guys don’t like that, but I figure why not? I’m home. I don’t have to awkwardly scamper off in the morning. If she wants to have a little fun in the morning and then leave, I’m game. If not, I tell her the night was great, and let her go. It sounds very business-like, but that’s the way I like it. Clean and simple.
I won’t say I knew Sasha was down for a good time last night before approaching her. You can never be sure. The dirty little secret guys like to keep to themselves is that we get shot down. A lot. So as confident as I am—and you have to be otherwise you’ve already lost half of the battle—it wasn’t a certainty when I threw out my line that she was going to take a bite.
If you come in hot and heavy, you’re bound to get burned. And if you come in too slow, acting a little too low-key, they look the other way. It’s a fine line that I like to think I’ve nearly perfected. So while, no, I wasn’t sure if she was game or not, I knew I had a chance. And when she said she wasn’t looking for anything serious? Could I ask for a better situation?
Not to sound like an ass, but one thing I don’t do is cuddle. She can sleep over, we can have our fun, but cuddling is off the table. Cuddling, in a weird kind of a way, is more intimate than sex. Cuddling can form attachments. I don’t do attachments.
When Sasha starts to stir around me, I wake up and find her face in the crook of my neck, and my arms around her. This is the only time I feel awkward about the morning after because I don’t want to be a dick and push her away.
Glancing down at her, I remember when I finally saw her up close and personal last night. Blonde hair that sparkled in the strobe lights of the club. Her eyes are a light blue, almost opalescent, a light green and gold shining in them. And even though she’s got a cute nose, her lips are downright sexy, which I learned firsthand last night.
I squirm a little in my bed, trying to edge away from her.
“No,” she sleepily moans into my neck, holding me tighter.
It makes me laugh. “Are you awake?”
“No, I’m sleeping.”
“It sounds like you’re awake.”
“You’re dreaming. I’m asleep right now, and since I don’t have my pillows, you have to stay where you are.”
Her comment makes me laugh again. “You can have my pillows.” I sit up, making her break her hold. “I have to take a leak anyway.”
“Fine,” she grumbles, reaching for my pillow. Cuddling with it, she pulls the sheets around her tighter.
Quirking an eyebrow at her reaction, I get up and use the bathroom. My reflection looking back at me, I see my scars over my shoulder. The one by my left eye is always there, so I almost never think twice about it. But the others? They’re an instant reminder of why I do what I do.
Walking back into my room, I throw a shirt on and take a seat on my bed. I reach for my phone as my usual go-to move. I try to never kick a girl out, and paying attention to my phone is usually enough, so they get the hint.
“So, I was thinking,” Sasha says, getting up and sitting in my lap. It actually catches me off-guard.
Putting my phone back down, I smile at her because even though our night’s over, I’ll never turn down a quick bite in the morning. “Oh, yeah?” I wrap my hands around her.
Keeping the sheet around her naked torso, she leans into me, skimming her lips across my neck. She pulls the collar of my shirt lower, licking my collarbone. “Last night was really great.”
“I know it was.
”
Her head pops up, her eyes narrowing at me with a small smirk. “You certainly think highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“I just go off of what I’m told. And I’m told I’m good. A lot.” I squeeze my fingers into her hips, keeping her close. “So, what was this you were thinking because I’m starting to have a couple ideas myself.”
She giggles. “We might not have the same ideas,” she replies, her lips finding my ear.
“Oh, I think we might.”
Another giggle. “Well, I was thinking about lunch.” She pulls her head back, and I turn mine to the side, confused. “You want to go get something to eat?”
“Uh …”
“And then tonight, maybe catch a movie? If not tonight, we can go this weekend.”
I chew on my lip, unsure what to say. Remember that seventy-thirty percentage I was talking about? I thought I was dealing with the majority in Sasha, but now I think she’s in the minority. She wants a date? I thought she said she was cool.
She continues to sit on top of me, but now she’s giving me the sad eyes. The eyes that say I’m looking for a boyfriend, and that is so not what I’m trying to be. For her or anyone.
“I think my mom would love you, too.”
“Your mom?”
For a split-second, I’m a hundred miles away from awkward, and I’m smack in the middle of a stage-five clinger. Before my mind can race with ideas of trying to get out of this entire conversation, she bites her top lip, holding back a laugh, but it bursts out, as she lays her head on my shoulder.
“What the? Are you … are you messing with me?” I ask, still flabbergasted.
Her laugh gets louder. “I’m totally messing with you. Wow, you should’ve seen your face.”
“You little—” My words cut off, wrapping my arms around her and turning us around on the bed, so I’m on top of her. “You seriously freaked me out there,” I say, now floating my own lips over her neck.
“You really don’t like commitments, huh?” she asks, running her hands through my hair.
Pulling back slightly, I meet her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t like them. It’s just not what I’m looking for.”
“Fair enough.” She reaches over for her phone. “Shit, I’m late for work!” Pushing me off of her, she scampers out of bed.
“Hey, what am I supposed to do with this?” I motion to my now tenting boxers.
“We’re not dating,” she answers with a laugh. “You’re gonna have to take care of that yourself.”
“Ah, that’s cold,” I laugh.
“Yeah, like the shower you’re gonna need.”
I can’t help the smile I have, watching her get dressed, running around my room, searching for different pieces of clothing. “Yeah, thanks for the help.” She shoots a glare at me.
“Hey, if I have to service myself when you leave, I’m going to make sure I have something to visualize.”
Throwing on her shoes, she laughs and reaches for the door handle. Before opening it, she looks over her shoulder. “Uh, thanks. I think this was just what I needed.”
“Pleasure to be of assistance.” I smile, wrapping my fingers behind my head.
“Cocky bastard,” she says with a smile.
Throwing the door open, she rushes out of the room and nearly collides into Micah.
“Whoa, sorry,” he exclaims, instinctively reaching out to stop her.
“Oh! Micah, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” He looks over at me confused, and I return the expression. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I went to school with you. Sasha.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Okay, I’m late. See you guys around. Oh, and, Taylor?” She sends a smile at me, and I reply with a nod. “You need to work on your stamina.”
Micah’s jaw drops, a huge grin across his face, as she leaves the apartment. Watching her go, he turns to me. “I like her.”
I roll my eyes with a chuckle. I could say me too. I almost want to. But I don’t. Because like can lead to love. And love is completely off the table for me.
Chapter 5
Sasha
I know I look horrible, but at least Manny and Adam don’t care if I come into work all dressed up since I’m in the kitchen. Being half an hour late? That’s another story.
Adam’s restaurant—a Tex-Mex place called Banditos—is open for lunch and dinner, and also has a small bar. He’s had it for just over a year now, and since I’ve been working on the line, I’ve learned a lot. With Manny as the second in command, there’s myself and Ian, another line cook. We both rotate on prep and everything else to help out.
“Seriously?” Manny scolds me as I hurry in through the back door.
“I know, I know!” I grab an apron and head to our walk-in fridge. “Where’s Adam?”
“Out picking up some product. You’re lucky he left just before you were supposed to start. He’d fire your ass.”
“Screw you, he loves me.” I shove him away with a laugh.
Usually, while we’re getting things ready, Manny and I banter back and forth. He’ll tell me about funny things in his life, and with his boyfriend, or I’ll relate something funny about Tara or my sister, Felicia. We’ve grown pretty close since I started working here. But today, he’s quiet. He watches me pull out a crate of produce as I begin to prep everything for our lunch when we open at noon.
“Where were you?” He casts me a glance.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re never late.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” He stays quiet, raising an eyebrow. “Stop staring at me.”
“Yesterday you were pissing all over me. Now you seem better.”
“Manny, a good night’s rest does wonders.”
“Hm, interesting choice of words.”
I stop peeling the onions and give him a severe stare. “Excuse you. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means.” He starts swaying his hips back and forth.
“You’re such an idiot.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say I’m wrong.”
Before I can answer him, Adam walks back in through the back door. “Look who decided to show up.”
My eyes dart to Manny. He shrugs like he’s not sorry in the slightest.
“Sorry, Chef. Won’t happen again.”
He eyes me for a moment, still serious, then gives just a hint of a smirk, before turning around and walking over to the front of the kitchen.
“I thought you said he didn’t know,” I hiss at Manny.
“Did I?” He laughs. “I meant he was wondering where you were, but then left to the store.”
“Ass.” He shrugs again, making me laugh, and we both get back to work.
We get the prep work done, and when the restaurant opens up, we get to work.
Banditos isn’t a huge place. There are about ten tables, plus the bar. Adam has a host, two waiters, and a bartender. For a busy lunch rush, we’ll cook around fifty orders or so. It’ll slow down after the lunch rush for a couple of hours, and then we do it again for our dinner rush, closing the restaurant an hour before midnight. It’s also a plus that Adam’s fine with me staying off the clock if I want to.
One day I’d like to open my own restaurant, though that will probably be a long way off. I don’t have any wealthy family members who’ll leave me a nice chunk of money when they die, which is how Adam was able to open up his own place at twenty-seven. His grandmother died a few years back and left him an inheritance.
We get into a nice rhythm, dishing out plates. I know we only serve tacos, burritos, and the occasional burger, but I love it. I absolutely love cooking. And while lunch is the quick plates, dinner gets really fun. In addition to our standard Mexican food menu, we usually have a couple of special dinner plates. Nothing crazy, but it wouldn’t matter if we were just serving up peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Cooking over the stove, filleting a piece of fish, or getting that perf
ect sear on a steak … it’s incredible.
I know some people love to sing or work on cars. I love to cook. So, even if I am a lowly line cook, I relish every moment of it. It helps that Adam is a great chef—and boss—and that he brought Manny in, too. For all of the back and forth we have, Manny is a fantastic chef in his own right. I’ll take this setting to learn what I want to do over some college courses every time.
“Caliente!” Manny calls out, putting up the last dish of our dinner rush. “Nice work, girl.” He gives me a high five. “You can take off if you want. I’ll have Ian clean up.”
“Yeah.” Ian rolls his eyes, putting some pans in the sink. “I love it when you stay overtime, Sasha. Help us get out the dinner rush and then leave me to clean it up.” He cracks a smile.
“Shut up,” Manny chides him. “You do love it.”
It looks like he starts blushing, but he turns around, putting the rest of the pans in the sink.
“Hey,” I counter. “If you’d stay over on your lunch days, I wouldn’t complain. Get to work,” I yell at Ian, and he turns around, giving me another smirk.
“I would say she needs a man to keep her out of our kitchen a little more,” Manny says. “But she was already late this morning because of the horizontal mambo.”
“Manny!” I swat his arm. I may have told him after our lunch rush my reason for being late. “Anyway, on that note, I think I will take off.”
It might seem weird, but I usually hang out at the bar after work. Hustling through dinner rushes is almost like a workout. Your blood’s pumping, you’re sweaty and greasy. To get home and expect to instantly fall asleep, it never happens. So I change into a clean shirt in the locker room and take a seat at the bar, scanning my phone aimlessly, as Rita slides me a drink. She’s our bartender, so if I don’t want water or a soda, she’ll usually sneak me one. But after a rush, I generally just zone out for a little bit before going home.
Tara slides into the barstool next to me. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was bored at home.”
