by Shandi Boyes
“Where are you going?” I ask Willow when she slides off her chair at the exact moment Lorenzo makes a beeline for us.
“I… ah… I have to… ah… go.” She hits me with a playful wink before hightailing it out of the kitchen. Since I’m not in a booth, I could chase her down, but the nasty bump on Lorenzo’s forehead alters my plan of attack. He saved my naked ass from being ogled by men I’m certain don’t understand the word ‘swoon,’ so the least I could do is entertain him for an hour or two.
“Hey, Shortie J, how’s the head?” That could have only been more awkward if I were still naked.
Lorenzo’s smile has my smarts packing up and leaving town along with my dignity. “It’s good. Nothing I can’t handle.” He nudges his head to a white-faced Danny. “How’s the patient?”
“Umm…” I drag my teeth over my bottom lip. “I think it’ll be a few weeks before he looks me in the eyes again.”
Lorenzo doesn’t face the same barrier. He stares straight at me while muttering, “His loss, amore mio. They’re very beautiful eyes.”
Whatever you do, Skylar, do not swoon!
“Thank you.”
You swooned, you tart!
I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. A saint would swoon if she felt what I felt while using Lorenzo’s body as a pillow. For a short-ass, his body seems wondrously tall.
My pulse beats in my neck when Lorenzo runs the back of his index finger down my cheek. I assume it’s to remove the strand of hair fallen in my eye, but when he leaves it where it lays, I realize he’s merely touching me without permission.
I should detest his rudeness, but for some reason, I don’t.
“Have you eaten? You look famished.”
Pretending there wasn’t an ounce of sexual ambiguity in his tone, I shake my head.
“Come eat with me?”
My head shake continues. “I can’t, Lorenzo. I…” My words fall short when I fail to find an excuse to deny his advance. Instead, I go with straight-up honesty. “I can’t trust myself around you.”
“Why, amore mio? Did I do something to lose your trust?” he questions blankly, shocked.
Before I can stop myself, my hand shoots out to cover his balled one on the tabletop. “No, it’s nothing like that.” I begin to wonder if Willow slipped an honesty pill in my coffee when I say, “I have plans I’ve been striving to reach for years. Plans that don’t include a relationship in any meaning of the word.”
Lorenzo takes a few moments to contemplate what I said before his brows stitch in surprise. “Are you saying you’re celibate?”
“God, no!” I lower my voice a few decibels when it gains us the attention of a dozen sets of eyes. It may also be in the hope it will return Lorenzo’s eyes to their previously un-squinted appearance. “I participate in… adult activities.” Someone, please remove my foot from my mouth before reinserting it more forcefully. I’ve never sounded more naïve. “Just not with guys who want more.”
Lorenzo purses his kiss-worthy lips. “More?”
I stare at him as if he’s an idiot. Clearly, he is if he can’t dial 9-1-1 without searching the directory for the number. S-E-X might not be as obvious as 9-1-1, but it’s pretty damn close.
“Oh… more.” I don’t know if his accent is the reason his ‘more’ was articulated better than mine, but I do know one thing. I’m never speaking without rolling my ‘R’s ever again. “You don’t need to worry about that with me, amore mio?”
“I don’t?”
Look up ‘desperate’ in the dictionary. Is there a picture of me in it? If not, someone dig up John of Garland from 1220 because his idea of a dictionary is in bad need of an upgrade. I couldn’t sound more desperate if I tried.
Confident I have the nails needed to climb me out of the trench I just buried myself in, I give suaveness another go. “Why would a wish not to be saddled down with a short man be voided with you, Shortie J?”
Much better, Skylar. You’re now a five-dollar hooker instead of a two-dollar one.
Lorenzo balances his elbows onto the table before bringing his lips to within an inch of my ear. I don’t care what his reply is, his scent alone has me knocking down every barrier his height has wedged between us the past month. “Because I’m not here for a long time. Only a good time.”
I inch back so I can peer into his eyes. They’re more telling than his words.
“You’re not seeking a green card?”
My knees crash together when he throws back his head and laughs. My God, his laugh is divine—all thick and scrumptious. “No. I love my country. I’ll never leave it permanently. That’s why I drafted your contract as I did. It’s a temporary assignment.”
Concern makes itself known on my face when disappointment is the first thing I register after his confession. It’s quickly wiped away for excitement, but it’s still present, nonetheless. “But you mentioned the dreaded ‘M’ word within minutes of us meeting. If that isn’t an explicit I-want-a-green-card skit, I don’t know what is.” With my attitude at an all-time high, I open up. “Consider this a freebie from saving my backside earlier. If a green card is what you’re chasing, you should probably mention marriage, not kids. Marriage has an escape clause. Kids come with a lifetime sentence.”
“My comment about motherhood was a slipup in translation,” he replies, scooting closer, not the least bit confronted by the bitchiness in my tone. “I meant that you reminded me of my mother.”
I open my mouth then close it again, genuinely unsure how to reply. I don’t want to insult his mother, but I sure as hell don’t want to be compared to her, either.
Lorenzo laughs at my shocked expression. I really wish he’d quit chuckling because when they occur while he’s seated, I can’t judge him on his height, which means I’m facing numerous panty-catastrophes. “You don’t look like my mother, amore mio. However, your strengths and admiration are as shining as hers.”
Oh. I like that. It’s not every day a successful man can admit the qualities of another. Although my traits seem minor compared to some, it’s nice to have them acknowledged.
Silence reigns over the kitchen. It should be uncomfortable having the gawking stare of many, but their interests barely create a ripple in Lorenzo’s wolfish glare. Just like in the sky suite, he’s unashamed to announce his hunger for me. Being wanted so much is addictive, and it has my goals bending.
“If I were to reconsider your offer, how long are we talking?”
I can’t believe I’m contemplating this. I’m horny as hell, and he is as sexy as fuck, but still, this isn’t kosher. I should be greeting tourists with a smile, not by spreading my legs. Although I didn’t peruse Lorenzo’s original contract, I’m confident it didn’t state sex was part of the agreement. I’m not daft enough to pretend it isn’t on the table now, though. The electricity crackling between us is too intense to pretend this is a hands-off arrangement.
My eyes snap to Lorenzo’s when he says, “Four months.”
“Four months? That’s nearly a lifetime to a college kid.”
I smirk. Willow was right. Mentioning college and kid in the same sentence to any man over the age of twenty-five is as awkward as asking them to be screened for STIs before sexual contact.
Lorenzo looks seconds from a meltdown, but he keeps his cards close to his chest. “Not when you take out family commitments, holidays, and womanly issues. You’re looking at barely a week.”
His attempts to make light of a very serious conversation is as cute as his sly smirk. It also discloses he’s on the same page as me.
This isn’t just a tour-guide arrangement.
He wants us to be friends with benefits.
“This could work well for us, amore mio. You won’t have to worry about me asking for your hand in marriage, and I don’t have to worry about you getting attached. It’s just two consenting adults with a mutual agreement to keep things friendly.”
“So, we’d be friends?”
Lorenzo’s lips furl
into a grin. “Of course. We’ll hang out as we are now… just with less clothing.”
The beep of my heart descends several inches dangerously quick, meaning it almost kills me to say, “Can I think about it? I could still be traumatized from the event earlier this morning. Stress can be worse than intoxication, so I don’t want to make a rash decision.”
“Of course.” His quick agreement reveals he appreciates I’m at least considering the idea. After digging a business card out of his pocket, he slides it to my side of the table. “Text me if you have any questions.”
“Okay.”
I gather his card into my hand, pretending my heart isn’t racing a million miles an hour. I’ve been offered many friends-with-benefits arrangements before, but this is the first time I’ve given it some true consideration.
Although it isn’t kosher, Lorenzo is right. This could work for us. The time frame fits in with my future plans, and I don’t have to fret about having short-statured children. It truly is perfect.
I stop glancing at Lorenzo’s card when he calls my name. Not my real name, the one that has my thighs pressing together every time he uses it. Amore mio. I don’t know what it means, but I secretly love it.
“Yes?”
For the first time, hesitation flares through his eyes. “There’s only one rule I’m not willing to bend on. I need exclusivity. I do not share.”
I try to keep hope out of my tone while asking, “Will it be a reciprocated term in our agreement?” My heart beats double time when Lorenzo dips his chin without pause for thought. “Then I’m okay with that.”
Chapter Fourteen
Skylar
“Do you think your agreement could work?” Willow asks, her tone a mix between hopeful and wary.
While following Elvis down the dirt track we were supposed to trek this morning, I shrug. “I don’t see why not. He’s hot, and I’m horny. What could go wrong?”
Willow cocks a sweaty brow. She’s over our hike as much as I am about tiptoeing around my attraction of Lorenzo. I’ve done it for a month already. It’s been more exhausting than the event we’re trying to pencil in. “I can think of a few things.”
I jog us several places in front of the congregation surrounding us to ensure Lorenzo doesn’t overhear our conversation. He’s kept his distance most of today, but he doesn’t need to be all up in my business for me to know he’s around. Even with most of our conversations occurring via text messages, my spiked pulse has kept my clit well updated on his whereabouts.
Confident no one is eavesdropping, I ask Willow, “What type of issues?”
“Feelings—”
I cut her off with a vicious glare. “We’ve agreed that is to be rule number one on our contract. No feelings. It’s not about love, and all this…” I wiggle my finger over her loved-hued cheeks. “It’s about two people keeping each other entertained during the offseason.”
“But Lorenzo isn’t in his offseason—”
I slap my hand over her mouth, stopping her from reminding me that Lorenzo plays soccer. “I’m just getting on board with his plans. Don’t ruin it for me.” I yank my hand back with a gag when she licks my palm. “You’re disgusting.”
“Bet you wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was sampling before our hike.”
I freeze as beautiful notion after beautiful notion fills my head.
Like I need a reminder on how perverted my mind is, a deliciously rough Italian voice whispers in my ear, “You won’t need to imagine if you agree to my terms, amore mio. Your fantasies will become reality.”
When I shiver at the revitalizing zap Lorenzo’s comment surges through my body, Willow winks before moseying back to join Elvis a few paces behind us.
Once she’s out of eyesight, I shift my focus to Lorenzo. “I’m close to making a decision. I’ve just got a few issues to sort through first.”
“Such as?” His accent is hotter than the way he looks at me like he wants to devour me.
I turn away, incapable of looking at his incredibly gorgeous face and think straight. “You want a four-month term, but what happens if you’re a dud? Am I meant just to suck it up and deal with it, or do I request for a no-climax clause to be added to our terms?”
I’d give anything for it to rain when Lorenzo throws his head back and laughs, then I’d have an excuse for the wetness between my legs. “You think I’m bad at sex? That’s cute.”
“It isn’t just your stamina I’m worried about. What if you’re as short-changed on assets as you are on height.” I know he isn’t. I’m merely bringing him back to earth before his gigantic ego floats him to Milan before I’ve had the chance to sample the goods.
“Ouch. You American women are rough. First, you assume I’m incapable of bringing you to climax, now you’re judging the manhood I know you felt brushing against you this morning. I think it’s time for me to go home.” He clutches his chest as if his heart is wounded by my words. I might have believed him if he weren’t smiling.
Fuck me sideways, his smile is divine.
We walk to the end of the track in silence. If you exclude the sexual chemistry hissing between us, it isn’t uncomfortable. It honestly feels right.
Just as we break through the densely treed property, Lorenzo asks, “What if we did a trial date to test our compatibility?”
I spin around to face him. I’m still walking, just backward. “It’s called a one-night stand, Shortie J. Don’t fancy it up with a new title. I’m a big girl. I can handle straightforwardness.”
He continues talking as if I never did. “If it’s good, we’ll sign on for four months. If it’s bad—”
“I get to broadcast your deficiencies to every media outlet in the world?”
The quickest flare of hesitation brightens his dark eyes, revealing he’s been scorned by a talkative bed partner before. I had wondered when he mentioned us signing a legally binding contract numerous times during our text negotiations today. Unless you’ve been burned in the past, you don’t take the types of precautions he is for a casual arrangement.
“If we do this, I think we should both sign NDAs.”
Lorenzo bobs his head, pleased by my negotiation, but he’s also hesitant. “Why do you need an NDA, amore mio?”
“Because I don’t want my college theatrics splashed across the sports pages when I marry the number one football star in the nation.”
My scorn doesn’t have the sting I’m hoping for when Lorenzo fans his hands across his chest.
“I said football star, Shortie J. You play soccer. That doesn’t count.”
I realize how nosy the 69ers’ camp is when several snickers follow my scorn. Before I can nib their nosy-nancying in the bud, my arm is yanked out of my socket by Lorenzo pulling me back toward the track.
I discover the reason for his rough handling when I crank my neck in the direction Willow, Elvis, Foster, and another six players are facing. A bear is standing near a picnic table halfway between the track we’ve just walked and our cabin. He looks nothing like Yogi bear, and Joshua, the 69ers’ occasional cornerback, is well aware of that fact. His six-foot-five, three hundred and fifty-nine-pound frame looks small compared to the hairy beast standing over him, roaring in annoyance at the two- dozen people disturbing his blissful afternoon.
“Don’t just stand there, J-man! Run!” Foster shouts. “That fucker is about to eat you.”
He’s not lying. The adult grizzly is sniffing Joshua’s hair like he’s in love with the scent of his shampoo. His attention has Joshua’s knees buckling, and the front of his pants facing a shiny, new wet patch.
I watch in horror when none of Joshua’s teammates step in to help him. They scrutinize the spectacle from the sidelines, acting as if they don’t face big hairy beasts every time they run onto the field. Yes, this bear might be wild, but so the hell are the 69ers when they’re chasing a win.
“Somebody do something,” I beg when Joshua commences crying for his momma.
I can’t bl
ame him for crying. It’s been a tough day for him. Not only is he sporting a black eye after a ‘supposed’ illegal tackle during a mock game I missed this morning thanks to Danny’s confrontation with my vagina, but the tackle also gave him a split lip.
Joshua is hunched down so low, Lorenzo towers over him when he steps toward him. “Lorenzo, what the hell are you doing? Get back here. If the bear rips off your cock before I’ve sampled it, I’ll be pissed.”
I’m joking—for the most part. It’s what I do when I’m scared.
The terror scorching my veins weakens when Elvis backs up Lorenzo. He doesn’t get as close to the big brown grizzly as Lorenzo, but he’s more into Joshua’s rescue than the rest of his teammates.
“Get as close to the ground as possible… but do it slowly,” Lorenzo instructs Joshua, his voice surprisingly calm considering the dangerous situation he’s entered.
Once Joshua is kneeling on to the sludgy ground, Lorenzo says, “You better protect your head with your hands. Bears can crack open skulls like eggs.”
“Momma,” Joshua cries again before he tucks his head between his splayed thighs so he can shelter the back of his skull with his hands that are nowhere near as expressive with tears gliding down his face.
Joshua is in the perfect position to kiss his ass goodbye, but before it comes to that, Lorenzo shoos the bear away as if he’s a squirrel interested in nibbling on his Smurf nuts.
This is what happens when you let a non-native take charge.
“What the…” I murmur to myself when Lorenzo’s tactic works.
The bear drops to four paws before scampering away.
Once he breaks through a dense layer of forest beside the cabin, key members of the 69ers’ team rally around Lorenzo like he just scored the winning touchdown. They jump on his back while messing up his hair, completely forgetting Joshua is on the ground crying like a baby.
After a few minutes of treating Lorenzo as if he’s a god, Elvis, Willow, and Foster peel Joshua off the ground and usher him inside the cabin. His response to the bear’s closeness mimic’s Danny run-in with my vagina to perfection. Tears are streaming down his face, and he’s shuddering uncontrollably. It’s quite the sight considering his size.
