by Cherry Kay
“I sensed the sarcasm there, but thank you,” Alex told her. “Should I tell you something personal to even the field?”
“Go.”
“I’ve never dated anyone long term,” he said.
She frowned a little. “Ah, the tourist is supposed to be the answer to this habit?”
“You’re the first tourist, and first woman I’ve brought here that wasn’t my mother or my sister. This place is like my third home, second being my office.”
“A workaholic?”
“Let’s just say I have goals I want achieved by the time I hit thirty.”
“What’s with thirty?”
“My father was named as one of the top architects in the world by the time he was thirty.”
“Daddy issues, I smell daddy issues. Shouldn’t this be for girls only?”
He grinned. “He’s a tough teacher and tough competition. He’s supposed to retire, but he just won’t quit. I’m getting there. Soon enough.”
“You’ve wanted to be an architect ever since?”
He nodded. “I was made to play with construction toys, the yellow plastic ones, remember those? Well, I guess you were into Barbies and whatnot.”
“I was into toy guns and barbies,” she shrugged. “Only child.”
“Your father did right,” he said. “But yeah, I guess it was rooted in me early on. Be an architect or a doctor. My sister became a doctor, just like my mother. Funny how that played out. You? What do you do?”
“I design clothes,” she said, knowing there was a hint of pride in her voice.
“Is that why you’re here?” he asked, “for inspiration?”
She gave a short, embarrassed laugh. “I’m here to learn the flamenco.”
“You’re serious.”
“I am. I’ve wanted to ever since I was a child.”
“And here I thought you ran away from good old America because someone broke your heart.”
It stung, but she didn’t want to show it. She kept telling herself that six months was an awfully long time to get over someone. She had dated Terrence since college, and their families adored each other. It was an all-too-rare melding of differently colored people from different social backgrounds. His family had been steeped in the political scene since the 1900s, while her great-great-great grandparents had once been slaves in a plantation down south. It would have been perfect, rectifying history, and uniting all fronts, him and her.
“Here for the flamenco first, maybe the sangria second, only I didn’t know about it until today,” she replied.
He smiled. “I’m glad to know that. So while you’re here, what’ll happen to your designing business? On hiatus?”
“My mother’s doing me a favor, a big one,” Iesha responded. “I guess it’s the perk of an only child.”
“I can’t imagine being an only child,” he mused, “I’d go nuts without my sister. She’s insane in her own unique way. It’d be fun if you get to meet her.”
“Are you dating anyone?” she suddenly blurted out. It was like word vomit. She had been thinking about it nonstop since the moment he asked for her number earlier. The possibilities of dating a Spanish man were beyond her. I mean who wouldn’t want to date him? He was brooding, a bit of an asshole, and yet, he was dreamy. How was that even possible?
It was a silly, out of topic question, but she had to know, right? She felt more stupid with every second that passed by. She was too eager, too childish, too brash. Why? He seemed like a decent guy. He seemed like a guy one could bring home to mama and papa. He was quiet, and it made Iesha feel uncomfortable. It had only been ten seconds—yes, she counted.
“Would it matter?” he spoke up.
Of course it mattered. What kind if idiotic response was that? It mattered, so she wouldn’t have to hang on, hang onto those little fringes of hope—that she could still date, even after a canceled wedding, that she could still find that strength to start anew. Of course, dating meant exposing one’s self; it meant being vulnerable. She wasn’t ready for that, was she? Yet, here she was, wondering about his dating life.
“I guess. She could be here, waiting for that perfect chance to… I don’t know, shoot me?” she said this uneasily, smiling as best she could.
“She was a sharp shooter. I think she still is,” he replied, looking at the empty, elevated dais that served as the stage. The small dance floor was devoid of people still, even if it was past five-thirty in the afternoon already.
“Any chance she’s still alive?”
“She is,” he said, “I wish her the best.”
So she was a former lover? Former girlfriend? Former wife? She couldn’t imagine herself dating a divorced man, let alone a divorced man with children.
He laughed. “You should see the look on your face.”
“I’m confused,” she admitted, although she didn’t want to. What the heck, she asked that stupidly important question, anyway.
“I’m single, since you’re so curious.”
“I just don’t understand why you decided to go for drinks and music with a total stranger.”
“We’ve introduced ourselves. We’re less than friends, but not quite strangers anymore. Are you worried some woman might come up and cause a scene? I’m not that kind of guy, believe me or not. Well, I think you won’t, but yeah, it’s not in me to do that. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Confused, sometimes yes,” Iesha replied.
“Are you interested to date me?”
“With the month and a half I have here?” she laughed. “Right.”
“If you’re looking for a meaningful relationship…”
“I won’t find it with you?”
“You just might,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. It made her feel naked, like he was undressing her with his smoldering eyes, eyes that blazed in the dim lights of the tavern.
“You could have left me alone, after you’d gotten me the camera, you know.”
“I know,” he said, sitting up and grabbing his drink. “I could have. I could have been the jerk local, just decent enough to replace a broken camera, but I just had to be an even bigger jerk and invite you out for drinks and tapas and music.”
“This is really nice of you, though.”
“It’s one of my fool-proof ways to win women over.”
“Ah, I can’t believe I’ve fallen for this,” she sighed, finishing her drink.
He grinned. “You’re actually fun to talk to.”
“Cause you haven’t spoken English in a while?”
“That too. But you’re fun.”
“Maybe because we barely know each other.” Iesha toyed with the rim of her empty glass.
“Would you like to know each other better?” he asked her, his voice quiet yet demanding at the same time.
Iesha looked up. His face said it all, but she wasn’t buying it. Should she?
*
“Excuse me?” the tourist said to him.
He hadn’t expected that he would keep such a straight face. He couldn’t contain himself, and he let out a guffaw. It sounded uncouth, but her reaction was just pure gold.
“Sorry,” he said between laughs, “you should have seen the look on your face.”
“You mean the face that’s about to walk out on you?” she snarled.
He chuckled still. “Alright, alright, my bad. I thought you could take a joke.”
“The topic was getting serious,” she told him with a frown.
“Don’t frown,” Alex said to her. “It’ll make you look older in no time.” He ordered another pitcher of sangria, just as soon as their roasting hot tapas arrived. The morsels looked delicious as always. “Their beef salpicao here is one of my favorites. I hope you’re not vegan or anything, no offense, no hate.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll miss out on the best beef salpicao in the world,” Alex said proudly. “Here,” he prodded, “try it.”
He watched with relish as she took her firs
t bite and saw the sparkle in her eyes. That was what good food did to you, almost the same feeling as being in love. He wondered if she felt the same.
“You’re right,” she said, breaking into a smile. “I hope this doesn’t have drugs in it or anything. It’s quite addictive.”
“Order away.”
“Don’t you just want to end up buying this place? Just so you can have this every day?”
“It takes the fun away,” he said, “everything in moderation, even in love.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
“Because you’re governed by emotions? There’s nothing wrong with loving, unless it destroys you. From the looks of it, it hasn’t destroyed you yet.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Please don’t tell me there’s this ugly hag underneath the face I see now. Should I throw some water on your face for good measure?”
He saw her smile. “Well, I don’t have makeup on right now, so I know my forehead is shining like the oil on this dish.”
“You still look decent, nonetheless,” he said, disliking how that came out. Whatever happened to saying the she looked nice, pretty, even?
“Decent,” she repeated, “I think I should take that as a compliment. I have a feeling you don’t do much complimenting.”
“On the contrary, I do. I appreciate even the smallest things.”
“Then why are you single?”
She wanted to know more about him. It was obvious. He felt inclined to tell her his story, but it was too soon. He hadn’t told anyone. The more curious previous dates had asked from other people, who gave them their own versions, their own understanding of why a man like him had remained single for quite a while now. He had developed a playboy reputation of sorts, and he didn’t bother correcting that assumption. Let them assume all they want, he thought. Appearances were part of life, and he wondered if she could keep up with him.
“Shouldn’t I ask you the same thing?” he said.
“You already know why I’m single,” she retorted. “But you, I don’t know why you are.”
“I haven’t met her yet,” he replied simply, “until earlier.”
It was said simply enough, he knew, and it was simply the truth. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but seeing her earlier, it made his heart skip a beat. He had had the whole afternoon to think about her, and he decided he was in love the moment he stepped out of the office, ready to meet her.
He saw the look of incredulity on her face, in her eyes, and he decided not to say anything and let her come to a conclusion, whether she would walk out or stay. Without another word, she kissed him. The kiss was dizzying, soft and sweet, and all-too-brief for him.
He blinked, cleared his throat. “I hope you’re sober.”
“I am,” she said, “it’ll take more than that to get me drunk.”
Why? He thought he was the only one feeling this way. Gone was reason, gone was the whole fact that he had only met her hours ago, how he met her by inconveniently (or conveniently) bumping into her. He had bumped into her for a reason. He had spent two years aimlessly waiting for a woman from America, who happened to be on tour for a mere few weeks.
He found himself curling his fingers into hers, and they intertwined, melted into each other, and he felt her warmth and her pulse. They were two consenting adults, of sober mind and unsatisfied sexual appetites.
*
She kissed him, he kissed her back, and she knew it wasn’t the end of it. She remembered the car ride, the smells that came wafting through her open passenger window as he drove down the city, and then she could smell that salty air from the beach. She remembered how he caressed her, the stubble on his chin trailing down her neck. It sent a glorious shiver up her spine.
This was now, this was really happening, and she wanted to surrender to the feeling, surrender to this man and be in his arms, never going back. Their tongues met once more, and he grabbed onto her tightly, her chest heaved against his shirt, wrapping her in a torrid embrace. She could smell the mild perfume that drifted from his skin, and it made her hornier than ever. She heard the rustle of clothing, falling onto the floor.
Iesha felt his palm running down to her stomach, and she held her breath for a moment, letting out a deep and soft moan when he cupped her throbbing femininity. Soundlessly, he pushed her down on the bed, pushing her arms down as he feathered kisses down her collarbone. His fingers began to play with her folds. She bit her lower lip to prevent herself gasping aloud.
She felt his tongue on her nipple, licking it, and taking it into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. This time, Iesha couldn’t help but moan. She looked into his eyes for a split second, and they scorched like flares, ready to bear their full heat on her, and the moment she felt the tip of his member against her wetness, she groaned in ecstasy. Slick for his taking, she felt him thrust deep into her, filling every crevice inside her with beautiful sensations. Writhing underneath him, she matched his pace, her hips thudding against his.
It was a mating dance, a dance of pleasure, almost like the flamenco. It consumed them with emotion and fluidity, a buildup into something that burned with immense lust, and if it was even possible, of love.
Chapter4
He dreaded those waking moments after sex, avoided it as much as possible. What could he say? What could she say? Clingy women were bad news, apart from them being bad for his psyche. It was why he preferred to have it done in hotels, and not in his own apartment.
Yet, here she was, sleeping soundly beside him. He was as exhausted as she was, but he couldn’t help but stay awake, to wonder how she had come over him so easily, how he had fallen in love in a snap, or by a broken camera.
Suppose he had the accident to be thankful for. He wasn’t ready for commitment, was he? He looked at her figure, curled up on his bed, the bedsheets barely covering her derriere. What idiot wouldn’t want to wake up to that? She was attractive, fun to talk to, and they had made a connection of sorts.
Did one consider the sharing of personal histories as an excuse for a connection? She shared a bit; he shared a bit. Everything was just a bit. Well, except for the scenario just an hour ago. It was torrid sex. He didn’t know he had been feeling that deprived. A man could only take so much celibacy. It was obvious she’d wanted it as much as he did, though. Fueled by her emotions, what he had thought was just going to be sex turned out to be mind-blowing sex.
Careful, he told himself as he looked at her again. He had been burned by passion before, burned so much that he hadn’t dated anyone long term. And here came this woman named Iesha Thompson. She sauntered into his life unexpectedly, and in a single afternoon, he knew his life was about to change.
She was nothing special. There were many attractive women out there, many fun-loving, tourists, tourists he wouldn’t feel guilty sleeping with, because it was what they wanted. He knew he wasn’t like that, so lucky her, huh?
Would she think of it that way? That she would feel used by some local, just because her stay wasn’t for the long term? Whatever she thought about him, he knew he was screwed and screwed big time. Feelings! Ugh!
*
She felt the soft sheets underneath her body, her fingers curled against them as she stirred. What time was it? She blinked and saw the room was dark. She knew she was still in his room. Like she had said earlier, it would take more than a few pitchers of sangria to knock her out. She was alone. Did he leave her alone on purpose? To take the awkwardness away? She was in no position to demand anything from him. They didn’t know each other. That was why she never had one night stands with anyone. They were scary, and the awkwardness would be the stuff romcom movies were made out of.
She didn’t want this to just be a one night stand. She kissed him, yes, but it was to see if they had something apart from the spark she imagined they had. The kiss was something they both needed, or maybe it was what she needed more than he did. Proof, it was proof. Did she regret it? Not at the moment. As so
on as she sat up on the bed, the bedroom door opened, and light filtered through the slit.
“You’re awake. Good. I’m making dinner. There are a few unused bathrobes by the shower. You can grab one,” he said.
Her heartbeat slowed down a little. It was clear he was doing his best to be as nonchalant about it as possible. She would do the same. She plodded into the bathroom, turned on the lights, and was actually surprised to see a beautiful bathroom, with carefully chosen tiles and fixtures. It was just like the bathrooms she saw in those architectural magazines— editorial and swoon-worthy.
Mahogany cabinets lined one part of the bathroom, and decorative Spanish terracotta tiles lined the wall casting a cheery atmosphere to the otherwise masculine room. She quickly grabbed a bathrobe and headed out.
“You have a nice bathroom,” she said lamely as she walked into his kitchen cum dining room.
“Of all the things you had to compliment,” he said with a smile. “Fancy some quick Spanish style omelets?”
“I’ll eat anything at the moment,” she admitted with a laugh. “You live alone?”
“It’d be weird to still live with my parents. What did you expect? I told you I was single.”
“As long as you aren’t dating anyone seriously…” her voice trailed off. “Well, I mean, I don’t want to make it seem like… well, you know what I mean.”
She was flustered she knew, and she couldn’t control her thoughts or her words. People seemed more vulnerable after lovemaking. She was part of that statistic already.
“If you expected to see some random woman’s effects here, there aren’t any.”
She smiled. “Your English sounds better than mine, honestly.”
“The accent sort of gives it away.”
“Sort of,” she said, “but still, I can’t imagine using the word ‘effects’ as a replacement for ‘things’.”
“Well, did you find anything remotely not mine? Unless I cross-dress.”
