“I’m Vincent,” he says, giving me his huge hand. I stare up at him through my long lashes, placing my hand in his. I barely reach the center of his torso.
“I’m Eve,” I stare up, trying to sound self-assured. His hand still surrounds mine; the contact short-circuits my brain.
“Why do you look so mad all of a sudden, Eve? Did I do something?” He smirks, licking the corner of his full lips. I get the feeling he’s toying with me. He must know that I’m way out of my depth—under the ocean and drowning in heat.
I answer him, hoping to salvage the conversation without acting like a complete moron. “No, of course not. I guess I’m just a little tipsy?” I let out a little laugh and shrug, willing my voice not to squeak. He threads his fingers through mine intimately and for whatever reason, I feel secure.
“Nah. You look good to me,” he smiles. “Can I get you another drink? Yours is about done.” He glances down into my cup, raising his eyebrows as if to say, “See, it’s empty.”
“Oh, um, I should probably just have water now,” I reply shyly, remembering Janelle’s tip about drinking water. He looks at me with furrowed brows and I immediately wonder if I said the wrong thing. Should I have said yes? Shit!
He nods his head, understanding that I’m not trying to get drunk. Little does he know that this small drink went straight into my virgin bloodstream faster than one of his punches to the Ripper’s face.
We meander back to the bar, my hand still entwined with his.
“Do you come to these fights often?” He puts his drink down at the bar, using his free hand to wave the bartender back again. Before I can answer him, she’s back in front of us, ignoring the other people who have been waiting.
“Hello again, handsome. Ready for another?” She tilts her head to the side flirtatiously, clearly attention seeking.
“Thanks.” His voice is disinterested.
She purses her lips seductively, not willing to give up too quickly. “You gonna give me your real name one of these nights, Bull?”
He chuckles. “Just two cups of water, please.” He gives her a panty-dropping grin that has her squirming. She moves to get the waters when I realize that I actually know his name. Vincent. My heart flutters that he’s given something to me that he hasn’t given to the sexy bartender.
After bringing the water, Vincent hands one to me first and picks up the second for himself. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows his entire glass without a breath. I try to drink mine the same way, but end up choking. He starts to laugh at me and I roll my eyes. “I’m trying here!” I tell him, embarrassed.
“Damn, you’re sweet.” His eyes sparkle and my heart thumps.
Picking up his beer from the bar, he leads me over to where his friends are standing. The music blares as throngs of people walk down the steps.
“The place is packed.” I feel my anxiety rise as strangers move against me. My heart pounds; I still can’t handle being touched. Immediately noticing my discomfort, he backs us toward a wall and stands in front of me, not letting anyone other than him get in my space. I should be scared, but for whatever reason, his presence makes me feel secure.
“Yeah, it’s definitely full tonight.” He turns his head, looking around the room. “The deejay is a friend of mine and he’s pretty good. Brings in a decent crowd.” He takes another swallow of his beer as I nod my head, trying to act cool. Meanwhile, I’m anything but.
“So, you like what you saw tonight?” His voice is inquisitive as he licks the corner of his lips again. I’m trying not to stare at his mouth, but I can’t help myself. When I glance back into his eyes, he smiles at me knowingly. I flush, self-conscious that he keeps catching me.
Unsure what he wants to hear, I go with honesty. “No, underground fights aren’t really my thing.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. I finally have the strength to look straight into his eyes and when I do, another connection passes between us like a zing.
“You aren’t a regular.”
All I can do is nod my head at his statement.
He looks around the room and takes my hand again, walking us to a lounge area that’s roped off. The bouncer greets Vincent with a fist bump and lets us inside. “Sit. It’ll be more comfortable for you here.” I gingerly move to the edge of the couch, waiting for him to come next to me.
He sits, spreading his knees and leaning back against the cushions. “You know, these fights have picked up a lot of steam in the city.” He casually drapes an arm around the back of the couch. “When I first started fighting at places like these, it was a small crowd and just for fun. But it’s really turned into something.” I watch as his eyes move from my eyes to my lips, then back up again.
“Well, aside from the obvious injury or death, the whole thing seems horribly stupid. What if one of these fighters has AIDS? I doubt anyone is getting tested and meanwhile blood is flying all over the place.” Clearly, the alcohol has removed the filter from my brain and loosened my tongue. Holy shit. The look on his face is one of utter shock.
“Not that I’m saying you have AIDS—” I stutter, trying to backtrack.
His eyes open wider and he starts laughing, clapping his hands a few times as if I said the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Well, you have a point. But all fighters know what we’re getting into when we sign up.” He tilts his head to the side, daring me to keep going. Unfortunately, the side of my brain that no longer has a filter wants to rise up to his dare.
“Yeah, so do people when they’re trying to score drugs. The state should know that this goes on and just admit it so they can regulate it. By turning a blind eye, they’re letting people put their lives in danger.” Apparently, my voice has been found, because I can’t seem to shut the hell up!
He keeps chuckling. “And you think it’s the job of New York to make sure I don’t put my life in danger?” He smiles broadly.
“Of course I do. The health and safety of its citizens should be the number one priority of any government.” I look him in the eye nervously, realizing that my rant may have just screwed this whole thing up. Turns out my brainiac alter ego is on full display tonight. One drink and it’s unstoppable.
“Priority of the government, huh?” He lowers his head, getting close to my ear and whispers. “Well, the truth is I never go into a ring in this setting unless I know I’ll pummel the guy. I’ve got a lot going on and can’t risk getting hurt. I train like a monster too, so losing is really not possible. Most of these guys are untrained; beating them is a given.”
His warm breath at my ear travels straight down into my core; I press my legs together. A guy drops down next to him and he moves his head away to chat.
Am I imagining all of this? I have an internal freak-out the size of a tornado going on in my brain. Thankfully, I have the mental capacity to text Janelle. I pull out my phone. I’m not sure if this is a one-way thing or if he’s feeling it too. My lack of experience is rearing its ugly head.
ME: OH MY GODDDDDDDD I’m with the HOTTEST GUY EVERRRR
JANELLE: Yay!!! Be safe but don’t forget a thing, I want to hear all about this tomorrow
ME: He’s so friggin’ hot I can’t see straight. I really can’t. I need help!
JANELLE: Relax. You’re gorgeous. BE HAPPY!!
…. Text me if you need me.
…. And taxi home, no late night bus! Nice out tonight—Blue Houses will be packed with people, so no worries!
ME: k.
JANELLE: I’m going to hang out at Leo’s place for a while…;-)
I close my phone and drop it down in my bag. Part of me is scared as hell to be out all alone, but thoughts of the man next to me are keeping me afloat. A few guys have walked into our section and Vincent stands up to greet them. They’re intimidating, all with slicked-back hair and suits. I stand up as Vincent grabs one of them in a friendly hug. “Eve, this is my boy, Tom.” Vincent smiles.
As Tom starts talking about the fight, Vincent walks away. My brain screa
ms, “What? No! Come back!” Tom takes a sip of his drink, not breaking eye contact with me. He seems nice enough, but I can feel his interest, and it’s making me uncomfortable. I move my eyes away from him, trying to see where Vincent went. I hear Tom’s voice, but none of what he actually says registers.
I turn back to him. “Huh? Sorry, my mind was on something else.”
“The fights. Did you like em’?” He looks at me expectantly. He’s tall, with sandy brown hair and light eyes. He’s wearing a suit like the other guys. Actually, Vincent is the only casual one here.
“Did you all come from work or something?” I’m gesturing to his clothes and he starts to laugh. I immediately feel self-conscious, as if what I said was stupid.
“I guess you can call it that.” He winks, taking a sip of his drink. I can easily imagine him driving to some college on the West Coast with his top down and girlfriend in the passenger seat of a Mercedes Benz.
He clears his throat.
“Yeah. The fights were cool. I’ve never seen anything like that before.” I immediately realize how naïve I must have come across with my reply. I need a conversation redo.
He chuckles. “You’re gorgeous. Have you ever thought of modeling?” He’s getting closer, placing his hands around my waist. I shuffle backward as my breaths become labored; I can’t deal with his proximity.
He squints at me, seeing my unease and immediately letting go of me. Before things can get weirder, my brain pushes into gear. “Modeling?” I awkwardly laugh. “I think being five-foot-one is probably a barrier to entry, no?” I’m trying to pretend that I didn’t just freak out from his touch and luckily, he goes along with it.
“Touché.” He snickers, dropping my mini freak-out without worry. I turn to find Vincent again. “Ah, I see.” His voice is knowing. “The Bull, huh?” He raises his eyebrows at me in question, and I shrug my shoulders.
“Do you also fight?”
“Nah.” He takes a sip of his drink. “My boy is tough as fuck though; he got his nickname for a reason. A lot of pent-up aggression. It works for him to get in the ring.” It’s clear Tom is a nice guy, but nice isn’t on my radar right now.
I zero in on Vincent while he talks to two burly men, each standing on either side of him. They take turns talking while he stands tall, listening and nodding his head. He seems to be scanning the area, looking for something or maybe, someone. Luckily, Tom seems to take the hint as he walks away from me.
Finally, Vincent and I lock eyes again. I give him a small smile, asking—no, begging—him to come back to me. He reads me easily, walking over.
“Wanna get outta here?” His gruff voice does something to my insides. I’ve gone mute again and can only nod my head yes. I catch the gleam in his eye as he takes my hand, leading us back up the steps and into the night.
CHAPTER 6
I trail behind him with anticipation, our hands locked together. It feels so incredible to hold his hand. I wonder how it’s possible that I’ve gone eighteen years without it.
We get outside and I wait patiently on the corner as he walks to the street to hail a taxi. One pulls up and Vincent opens the door, waiting for me to step in first. For a moment, my mind catches up with me and I hesitate.
He seems to notice my nerves. “I can take you home, or we can go somewhere to eat if you’re down,” he says to me gently. He’s assuring me. And for some reason that I can’t fully comprehend, I trust him.
I shrug my shoulders casually, believing the feeling in my gut that I’ll be okay. “Sure, I can always eat.” I slide into the back seat of the cab and scoot over to the far window. When the door shuts, I feel like I’ve got skates on my feet and I’m being propelled forward. There is no stopping what’s happening to me. I’m in a taxi with a complete and utterly gorgeous stranger. I must be insane.
My buzz is simmering down, but I wish it wouldn’t. I feel his gaze on me and my breathing shallows. Instead of turning toward him, I sit silently, looking out the window and watching groups of people walking around enjoying the night. My brain is still shocked that I’m sitting next to him; making eye contact would be impossible right now. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind the quiet. From my side eye, he seems totally at ease, his long legs spread wide across the seat.
Finally, the taxi pulls up to a corner; I notice we’re still in the Meatpacking District. We get out of the car in front of a restaurant, Albero Di Limoni. Next door to the restaurant, there’s a club called Lemon Bar. I see a bouncer standing by the club entrance, looking imposing. There’s a line of people that spans the block, trying to get in. Vincent opens the door to the restaurant for us and I move inside.
I look around, gasping at the beauty. Dark, wood paneling covers the walls; in the center of the restaurant is a row of lemon trees. Fresh lemons, ready to be picked, dangle off thin branches. The smell of the restaurant is citrus-perfect. Fresh lemon, roasted garlic, and other spices permeate the air. Vincent takes my hand, leading me to a table in the back. I can’t believe I’ve just walked into this; it’s like a dream.
“Wow, this is incredible,” I say in awe as I look around the restaurant, taking in the scene. I lower myself into a plush, red-velvet chair still looking around. I notice him smiling at the fact that I’m so amazed. I want to be embarrassed at my excitement, but for some reason, he seems pleased by my reaction. The red chairs look spectacular against the backdrop of yellow lemons. I can barely believe where I am!
The waiter comes over, at first happy to see Vincent. But before he can get a word out, Vincent stares him down, his face glacial. It’s almost like he’s trying to communicate something to him, but I can’t understand what. On one hand, I’m happy as hell not to be on the receiving end of that look. On the other hand, I’m confused as to what’s going on here. The waiter clears his throat, asking what we’d like to eat—a perfect professional.
“We’re going to have a bottle of Pellegrino and she’ll have a glass of Sancerre. She’ll also have a filet steak, medium rare. Also, the Cornish hen. Side of roasted potatoes and green beans. Let’s do mashed potatoes too. You know what, also bring her a salad to start. I’ll have the wild salmon, simply grilled with no butter, no oil, no salt, and steamed broccoli on the side, also no butter, no oil, no salt.” The waiter rushes off.
“Wow, that’s a lot of food.” I lift my eyebrows at him, feeling overwhelmed. I’m not used to eating out and if I do, it’s usually at McDonald’s. I clasp my hands together nervously under the table; I can’t imagine how much this dinner must cost.
“Yeah, I guess so. I wasn’t sure what you’d like. Anyway, the food’s great. You’ll enjoy it. I know the owner… personally.” He leans forward with his elbows on the table.
I’m not sure what to say, so I go with something simple. “No butter, huh?” I smile. I’m doing my best to look into his eyes without melting into a puddle.
He laughs at my question, not bothering to answer. He looks pretty rough and I see some scratches on his jaw.
I turn toward the waiter as he places a salad and cold glass of wine in front of me. Vincent looks down at my food expectantly, waiting for me to start eating. I take the fork and dig in. The lettuce is so crispy and perfectly chilled, and the dressing tastes like mustard and vinegar. It’s simply incredible. When I sip the wine, I hum. My taste buds are in a very happy place right now. “So, I take it you workout a lot?” I ask, trying to go for another easy conversation topic.
He seems bored with my question, licking his lips and glancing around the room. “Yeah, I’ve been doing MMA for a while now.” I stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. But a few minutes of silence, I realize that he isn’t going to answer me.
“Do you plan on going pro or something?”
“Nah. I just do it for fun, actually. It started with me just messing around and sort of grew from there.”
Our conversation seems to halt after that. Luckily, the wine seemed to numb any filters I usually have. Before I can think twice, I open my bi
g mouth and ask, “So, what do you think about all the problems going on in the Middle East?” His eyes widen, and he starts to laugh. I’m relieved my attempt to shake him out of his seriousness worked. He probably thinks I’m a dork now but well, whatever.
Without hesitating, he leans closer to me. “I gotta say that Netanyahu doesn’t mess around. He’s all about keeping Israel safe and I gotta respect that. Yeah, he pushes boundaries. And the UN hates Israel’s guts, that’s for sure…” His voice trails off, but my heart starts to pound.
I lean forward, putting my elbows on the table. “Have you read his autobiography? Netanyahu’s, I mean. I went through a phase where I was trying to understand the Middle Eastern conflict better. It was actually really good.”
“Believe it or not, it’s sitting on my desk. I usually buy ten or fifteen books at a time and tell myself that I’ve got to finish them within the year. I just finished The Autobiography of Malcolm X.”
I swallow hard. “I read that,” I tell him quietly. My heart is filling up; that’s one of the most influential books of my life. Thoughts of my childhood reading partner, Javi, enter my mind, and all of a sudden, I feel a combination of hot and terrified.
His throat moves as he drinks from his cup of water. “Yeah? What did you think?” He places the glass down, entirely focused and waiting for my reply. I’m not used to this type of conversation, and it’s both nerve-wracking and exciting. He’s looking at me as if he’s actually interested to hear what I have to say. Even though I’m scared to sound stupid, a large part of me yearns to rise up. I push away any anxiety and reply.
“Most people stick to what they know because they don’t know that any better option exists. They have no one in their lives who shows them a path that’s different from the one they see everyone around them taking. Or, they make certain choices in their youth that result in shutting down any possibilities for the future. By the time they get older and understand the mistake, it’s too late to back out. They’re incarcerated or dead. Or maybe they’re involved in some gang that won’t let them out.”
Rising (Vincent and Eve Book 1) Page 6
