by Jessica Wood
“And also you said that you were trying to be more adventurous and do some exploring. I thought you’d like this place. It’s one of the best fresh seafood places in the city, and I love the vibe.”
I beamed at him and realized that I’d misjudged him again. He picked this place because of me.
“That’s sweet of you,” I said. “Even if you don’t think you’re a sweet guy,” I added as I saw him about to protest.
He chuckled. “Plus, oysters are good for you. And they’re an aphrodisiac,” he said with a wink.
And there it is. “Why am I not surprised?” my voice laced with sarcasm.
He laughed. “Actually, you know what? I can honestly say that that thought actually hadn’t crossed my mind when I picked this place. But it’s definitely a plus.”
Then the raw oysters arrived in a round metal tray on top of a bed of crushed ice.
I looked at them apprehensively. “I’m not sure about this.”
“Oh come on. Oysters are just really good. And if you enjoyed sushi, you should definitely try this. I bet you’ve never had fresh oysters before.”
I laughed. “You got me there. Don’t laugh, but I didn’t even know they looked like that until now.”
“Oh, Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore,” he teased me. “Welcome to the city, country bumpkin.”
“Hey, be nice!” I warned. I kept my voice serious, but when I saw the concerned look on his face—wondering if he had fucked up—I couldn’t contain my laugher. “Jeez, I’m just teasing! I know that I’ve been very sheltered and there are a lot of things I don’t know about the world. That’s why I decided to move here.”
“Alex, you really know how to push my buttons!” He playfully nudged my shoulder.
I blushed and my heart skipped a beat when I heard him call me “Alex” instead of “Alexis.” My parents were the only two people who had called me “Alex,” and after they had passed away, I would cringe whenever someone called me “Alex.” But now, hearing it out of his mouth, it felt different than I’d expected. It felt natural. It felt nice.
“So what do we have here?” I motioned to the platter of oysters, trying to change the subject.
“I believe these four are the Kumamoto oysters, these are the Blue Point oysters, and these four are the Miyagi oysters.”
“Oh. And they taste different?”
“Yup. There are a number of different varieties from different parts of the world. They’re all really good. Here, let me show you how to eat it,” he said as he grabbed one of the Miyagi oysters. “So here’s some vinegar sauce. You can use this or one of the other sauces they have. There are a number of ways to eat it. It’s usually some sort of vinegar mix, hot sauce, or horseradish, and then you squeeze some lemon juice on top. Then you use the small fork to loosen the oyster from its shell. Then you tip the oyster shell and let everything fall into your mouth.”
I watched as he prepared his oyster and then tipped his head back as he slurped the oyster out of it shell. There was something seductive about the way he ate the oyster, and I felt a rush of excited energy flow through me.
“Here, you try.” He pushed the tray of oysters closer toward me.
He walked me through the steps as I prepared my oyster. I then paused as I lifted it to my mouth and looked at it uncertainly.
“Go on, Alex,” he encouraged.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and poured the oyster into my mouth.
It took me a few seconds to register the flavors. But when I did, I realized that it wasn’t at all what I had expected. I thought it would have been slimy and fishy in my mouth, but it wasn’t. It was fresh and tasted like a burst of the fresh ocean. The lemon and hot sauce I’d used seemed to bring it all home.
“Do you like it?” He looked at me hopefully.
“If this is your way of seducing me”—I paused and looked at him with a grin—“it’s working. That was delicious.”
He laughed. “Finally! Something’s working!”
I giggled. He really seems to like me. I felt my heart work overtime as it pounded violently in my chest at this thought.
Then I caught his eyes focused on something on my face and I began to feel self-conscious.
Crap. Did I leave some crazy eye shadow on my face on accident? Maybe I put the mascara on wrong. Is it smeared on my eyes?
Then I watched as his hand reached up towards my face. A shiver ran down my body when I felt his rough hand touch my cheek as he gently pushed a few strands of hair from my eye and tucked them behind my ear.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for the last half hour,” he whispered gently. His voice was warm and comforting, and I felt my body respond to it as it began to relax.
“Thanks,” I whispered as I felt myself melt into his eyes. “So, tell me something about yourself,” I said, wanting to know more about this man I was starting to fall for.
He paused for a brief moment before responding. “Not much to say. What you see is what you get.”
For some reason, I couldn’t quite believe that. “So do you have any siblings?”
“Nope,” he responded shortly.
“That explains a lot,” I teased.
He snorted but didn’t say anything.
“What about your parents? Do they live around the bay area too?”
“Oh, the food is here,” he said abruptly as he gestured at the waiter coming toward us.
For the first few minutes after the waiter walked away, we ate in near silence. I wasn’t sure why he was so quiet, and I felt a strange tension fill the stillness between us.
“So I want to know more about you, Alex,” he said, finally breaking the electric silence. His expression was warm and genuine.
“Like what?” I asked. For someone as cocky as he is, he doesn’t seem to talk too much about himself.
“So why did you decide to leave the great state of Iowa?”
I giggled. “I was just tired of life in Iowa. There was nothing really keeping me there.”
“So you won’t miss the country lifestyle?”
“I didn’t live in the country. I lived in a city. You know, you really don’t know anything about Iowa,” I teased.
“Sure I do,” he said with a bold, blind confidence only he could possess.
I rolled my eyes. “At least you haven’t confused it with Ohio or Idaho,” I said sarcastically as I tried some of my shrimp salad.
He chuckled and then stopped. “I don’t get it.”
I laughed at him. “Then why did you laugh in the first place?”
“Beats me. I was just expecting something funny from you,” he said with a laugh. “You just make me laugh a lot.” His tone changed, and he looked at me and smiled.
“I’m a comedian,” I teased, trying to resist his natural charm. “Anyway, it seems like everyone I’ve recently met has been confusing Iowa with Ohio or Idaho. They’ll ask me something about Ohio or Idaho when I have previously mentioned that I moved here from Iowa.”
“Oh really?” He thought about it and then laughed. “I guess I can see that.”
“They’re three completely different states in three different time zones!”
He shrugged. “Well, I do know something about Iowa.”
“And what is that?” I was unconvinced that he knew a thing.
“You guys have this huge state fair each summer.” He smiled triumphantly when he saw the surprised expression on my face.
“Lots of states in the Midwest have state fairs. That was a lucky guess.” I just couldn’t imagine how someone as cocky and self-absorbed as Damian would actually know such a thing.
“But does every state fair have a huge butter sculpture display each year?” he challenged.
“Actually, many do,” I retorted and laughed when I saw the defeated expression on his face.
“I can never win with you, can I?”
“Who said anything about winning? I didn’t know this w
as a competition.” I laughed and placed my hand on his hard, muscular shoulder. “I’m just kidding. So how do you know about the Iowa State Fair?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, to be honest,” he began between chuckles, “when Shawn Johnson was at the summer Olympics several years ago for gymnastics, I remember that she was from Iowa and they made a life-size butter sculpture of her at the state fair.”
“Oh. Wow, great memory. So you follow gymnastics?” Something about Damian watching gymnastics didn’t seem to make sense to me.
“I used to watch the Olympics pretty religiously when it was that time of the year. I watched it with my parents. They watched it together a lot when I was growing up. ”
His answer stunned me. It was the first personal thing he had told me about him, and it was also not the type of answer I’d ever imagine a guy like him would say.
He must have seen the surprised expression on my face, because he added, “Well, I mean, yeah, I used to, when I had free time. I don’t anymore.
“So are you close with your parents?” I asked.
There was a long pause while I watched him redirecting his attention on the half-eaten crab dish in front of him. “Nah. I’m not.” His voice was sterile and flat as he ate his meal.
Then to my surprise, he laughed.
“What?” I knew there was something more to this story.
“Come to think of it, I wasn’t that into Olympics actually. I’m not sure why I said that. The only reason I remembered the butter sculpture thing was because I had a thing for Shawn Johnson.”
“But she was like sixteen then!” I said incredulously. What is he not telling me? I had a nagging feeling that he was trying to divert the conversation away from his parents.
He shook his head in agreement and laughed. “I know. But hey, I thought she was a cutie, and she was flexible. What can I say?”
I slapped him playfully on his shoulders and rolled my eyes.
“Typical.”
“Well, I can’t resist a pretty face.” His voice was soft and different, and when our eyes met, I knew he was talking about me.
My cheeks grew hot in response to his words, and I kicked myself for being so easily affected by him.
“You’re such a flirt.”
“True story.”
I studied him and wondered if there was something more to this man than the way he made me feel.
“What are you thinking?” He looked at me quizzically.
“You really want to know?”
He looked intrigued. “Hell yeah. Tell me. I can take your feistiness.”
“Well… I think you’re more than all that you let on.”
“Oookay?” He dragged the word out slowly, and the expression on his face revealed that my comment was the last thing he had expected.
“I just mean that you always seem to default back to this cocky guy who’s all about flirting with hot girls and thinking about sex. But I think that’s just an exterior you, like a front you put up so people don’t see the real you.” The words had just come out and I hadn’t planned on being so forward with him—not on the first date.
“Fair enough.” He had a pained expression on his face, but it quickly disappeared and was replaced with a blank look. There was a long pause and I watched him take a swig of his beer.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that. Sometimes I’m too blunt for my own good.” I looked at him apologetically.
“It’s cool. No skin off my back,” he said coolly. Then he cleared his throat and looked at me. “So are you ready to go?”
“Go?” I felt a pang of guilt and disappointment that he was going to end the date already. Even though we were both done with our food, I had enjoyed our conversation—well, up until a few minutes ago—and wanted to spend more time with him.
“Yeah.” To my surprise, he flashed me a warm smile. “It looks like we’re both done with our meals, and there’s a long line of people waiting for our seats to free up.”
“Oh.” I looked over at the half dozen people standing at the front door. Did he not hear what I said earlier? Or is he just choosing to ignore it? My head was spinning at his odd behavior, wondering if I should have listened to the many red flags to stay away from him.
“Come on. Let’s get going.” He got up and paid for our meal.
We walked out of the Swan Oyster Depo in silence, and I watched him intently as he seemed to be deep in thought. When we were outside, he took off his black leather jacket, wrapped it around my shoulder, and pulled me in toward his chest. I looked up at him anxiously. But I saw the warmth in his rich blue eyes and felt myself relax into his embrace.
We stood there in silence as he held me in his arms. I closed my eyes, trying to savor everything about this moment before it was gone—the comforting warmth of being in his protective arms, the soft beating of his heart against his chest, and the intoxicating smell of his cologne.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he finally whispered.
“What do you mean?” I tried to play the ignorance card.
He chuckled lightly. “I know you know what I mean.”
“I’m sorry if I came off a little rude. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know…” He paused. “I just have a complicated relationship with my parents, and I don’t like talking about it.”
“Oh.” I was taken aback by his forthright explanation. I knew he was deeper than he let on. I wrapped my arms around his warm toned body and buried my face into his chest. “I’m sorry to hear that. I totally understand how hard it can be to talk about family when painful memories are involved,” I whispered as I thought back to the death of my parents. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to tell me anything about them. When you are, I’ll be here.”
He held me tighter in his arms and kissed my hair as I heard him inhale deeply. I raised my head up to look at him. He looked down at me with smoldering eyes that caused me to draw in a sharp intake of breath. I didn’t know why but as he gazed into me, I felt paralyzed by his presence, unable to move or look away. His warm, rough hands brushed through my hair and I let out a soft sigh. He slowly lowered his face toward me and I felt the heat of his breath against my face before his lips met mine. They were warm and inviting as they gently grazed my lips. A whimper escaped me as his mouth began to explore deeper, his tongue expertly seducing me as it moved purposefully in and out of my mouth. His lips were rough and tender against mine, and I could feel the hunger and need he had for me with his movements. As his rough hands moved down my back and then up under my shirt, I moaned as my whole body came alive at his touch. He let a soft, primal groan as he deepened the kiss, sending a shower of shivers through my body.
When our lips finally separated, my lips tinged at the memory of our kiss and my chest heaved in anticipation of what else this man could to do me. There was something about Damian that left me yearning for him, and the intense desire was almost painful. I was hungry, and I knew wanted more. He nuzzled his face against my neck, the hot rasps of his breath against my skin sending another wave of shivers to cascade down my body.
Suddenly, I knew with absolute certainty that I was in too deep, that I had fallen for this man in front of me before I even knew it had happened—before I could have even prevented it.
CHAPTER TEN
Damian
AS I HELD HER IN MY ARMS and felt her soft breath against my neck, I knew I was in too deep. Somehow this girl had gotten to me like no other girl had before. I never talked about my personal life with girls, especially when it had to do with my parents. That was a door I wanted to keep shut. But when I responded like I normally did when a girl mentioned my parents, I had seen the disappointment and sadness in Alexis’s face, and I’d felt a strong pang of guilt for being the cause of that grief. I knew that I needed to explain my actions, even if I didn’t tell her everything.
I kissed her hair and pulled her closer to me. This felt rig
ht, natural. And yet, it was a completely new territory that I had vowed never to explore. But here I was, freezing in the cold San Francisco evening air while my leather jacket was wrapped tightly around this girl. This amazing girl. And to my surprise, sex was not the thing I wanted the most right now. Instead, what I wanted the most right now was for this date to not end.
“Hey, let’s do something else,” I suggested.
“Sure,” she agreed. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, now that I’ve taken you to one of my favorite places in the city, why don’t you take me to one of yours?”
“One of my favorite places?”
“Yeah. I want to see you in your element.” Did I just say that? What the fuck is wrong with me?
I watched her think for a moment and saw her eyes light up when an idea came to her. “How are you with clay?”
“Like a wet mud party?” I teased as an image of Alexis naked and covered in mud crossed my mind. “Shit, you’d look hot in wet mud.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, not mud. Clay. As in the pottery studio I teach at on Saturdays.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes, there’s a difference,” she laughed as she gave me an evil eye.
“Seriously, I didn’t know,” I chuckled. “Okay, clay it is. You’d look hot in wet clay. Happy?”
“You’re ridiculous,” she giggled and rolled her eyes again. “And no one looks hot in wet clay.”
I leaned over and kissed her softly. I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I just wanted to kiss her. When I pulled away, I looked at her like she was crazy. “But you’re wrong. You’d look very hot in wet clay,” I insisted.
She shook her head but decided to play along. “And how do you know this?”
“Because I can see it now.” Then I purposely closed my eyes so that she’d know that I was imagining her in the wet clay. “Damn, you’d make a smokin’ hot nude model.” I licked my lips for added effect.
“Hey!” she screamed as she playfully slapped my chest. “Stop picturing me naked and covered in clay! You perv!”
“Okay, okay. You’re the boss,” I said as I kept my eyes closed. “Okay, done. Now you’re naked and not covered in clay.”
