Alex
I scroll through my inbox while I wait for Emma to come out of the bathroom. There’s an email from Titan that needs immediate attention, so I take a seat on the trainer’s table to take care of it. I know women generally spend more time in the loo than men, but, damn, it seems like she’s been in there forever. I’m tempted to knock on the door and see if she’s okay.
Three emails later, she walks out with her head down, staring at the white ceramic tiles as she glides across the floor. She always seems to have this cloud of uncertainty hovering above her. I wish I had the ability to heave a deep breath and blow it away. That’s not right- I know I have the ability. If given the chance, I could make her feel like the beautiful piece of perfection she is. I just need her to let me.
I slide off the padded seat and move to meet her, causing her to startle at my presence. “Hey, it’s okay, love. It’s just me,” I assure her, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her balance. She lifts her head to meet my gaze, and her eyes are overcome with sadness. “Everything okay?” I ask, not expecting a truthful response.
She huffs a sigh and looks away, “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just didn’t think anyone was back here.”
Before I can stop myself, I’m trailing my hand up the side of her neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Look at me. Please.
As if I’ve willed her to do so with the sound of my voice, she looks up and into my eyes. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I took so long. I just needed to freshen up. You know, I was thinking,” she starts, changing the subject. The glimmer slowly begins to reappear in her gaze. “You never told me your name.”
I let my hand fall to my side. If I keep touching her like this, while she’s looking at me like that, I’m going to have to kiss her. She’s right, though. Out of all the times I’ve seen her, we’ve never had a proper introduction. How is it possible to feel such an intense connection with someone you hardly know?
“Nathan,” I say without thinking. I’ve never introduced myself by my given name. Not since the day I turned ten years old. Even saying it out loud now sounds foreign to me, like I’m talking about someone I used to know. I don’t know why. I don’t know what it is about her. But I don’t want any walls between us. Being with her isn’t like meeting a “friend of a friend” or a woman at a bar. She’s different. I knew it from the moment I saw her at the coffee shop. “But, everyone calls me Alex.”
Her brows crunch together as she narrows her eyes. “That doesn’t sound anything like Nathan,” she says, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” I admit, with a chuckle. She’s still watching me for an explanation, and it’s so tempting to keep her wondering. But she raises her eyebrows and cocks her cute little head, and I give in. “I’m named after my father, Nathan Alexander,” I explain, and her mouth forms that sexy fucking “o” as she puts the pieces together. “We don’t have the best relationship. So, rather than giving him the honor of bearing his name, I go by Alex.”
“From Alexander... I get it.” She purses her lips, as if there’s still part of the mystery to be solved.
“Yes, from Alexander,” I confirm. She’s still eyeing me, head tilted, all curious-like. I know she wants to ask more, but she’s trying to be polite. It’s okay, sweetheart. I have so much I want to ask you, too. I place my hand at the small of her back and nod my head toward the door. Her body stiffens then relaxes at my touch. “Why don’t we continue this over lunch?”
I open the door, letting her climb in the passenger side of my Rover. She hesitates before closing the door, like she wants to say something but decides not to.
“Thank you,” she says once I get inside.
“For?”
Her soft brown eyes study my face as she pauses to answer. “Everything.”
Something about her answer puts my stomach in knots. I’ve done nothing, nothing out of the ordinary. The thought she may have never had a man show her kindness rips my heart in two.
“Alex,” she says, with a contagious smile that lights up her eyes.
“Yes?”
“Nothing,” she answers, with a shake of her head, “After all this time, it just seemed fitting to finally say your name.”
Fuck lunch. I’m taking her to my place so I can show her how it feels to scream it.
Emma
Alex is watching me, his finger planted on the push-to-start button on his dash, not moving. Did I say something wrong? Maybe he doesn’t like his name. I think it suits him. I want to ask more about his father. I want to ask why he wears a suit on Monday mornings if he spends all his time in a boxing gym. I want to know why he shaved his adorable curls. I want to know everything about this man. But that would mean telling him things about myself in return, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.
“Hi, I’m Emma, and I just watched my psycho boyfriend shoot my dog after he found my journal. And now I’m running from him because I’m afraid I’m next.”
Yeah, that would have him running for the hills in a hot minute. We’ll keep it simple for now. That’s the safe thing to do.
“So, are we waiting for someone else?” Please, say no.
Oh crap. He looks embarrassed. Maybe I shouldn’t have made the name comment…
“No. Sorry. You’re just um…” He presses the button, drawing a low hum from the engine as it purrs to life. He turns back to face me, a gorgeous grin spread across his face. The sparkle in his smile lights up his whole face. I could stare at him forever and never get tired of seeing that smile. “You’re a bit distracting. At times,” he says, clearing his throat.
Oh.
Yes, well, so are you.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not a bad thing,” he tells me as he pulls out of the parking lot onto the street.
Stop second guessing yourself, Emma. He isn’t Bastain. He’s not judging everything I say or calculating my next move. He’s a man. I’m a woman. Simple as that. There’s no hidden agenda. Just a man and a woman trying to do what normal people do. God, I wish I were normal.
I thought he said Cuban food? Why is he making a left turn on 1st Street? He clicks his blinker as we inch closer to 1929 Havana. You’ve gotta be kidding me. You need reservations for this place on any given evening. I am not dressed for an upscale restaurant, and I smell like an air freshener.
“This is your idea of Cuban food?” I tease, with a smirk.
He looks surprised and a little bit hurt. “Up until about five seconds ago, yes.”
I can’t help but giggle. I have a feeling the man behind the perfect abs and three-piece suit doesn’t get contradicted much. “Take a left on 8th. And get ready.” He cocks a brow, looking at me from the corner of his eye. It’s adorable. “I’m about to rock your world,” I add with a wink, hoping it takes some of the sting out of my mocking his lunch choice.
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he shifts in his seat. Oh, God. Too much with the winking? Shit. Maybe I should just sit here and stare quietly out the window. I’m so not good at this. “With food,” I explain. Oh no. That doesn’t sound any better. “I mean… the food is gonna rock your world…” I’m just digging myself deeper and deeper. I should just shut up now, quit while I’m ahead. I throw my head back against the seat and close my eyes in defeat. He laughs.
“That’s too bad. Things were just getting interesting,” he says, behind a cheesy grin. There’s that sparkle in his eye again, and that dimple. How can one man be so simultaneously intimidating and adorable?
I feel the instant flush in my cheeks as I focus on my hands in my lap. I wish I were better at this. But, the truth is, confident people flirt. And I haven’t been a confident person in a very long time. I return his comment with a shy smile and guide him the rest of the way to Little Havana.
Alex
Emma is not shy. I’ve seen shy.
Emma is broken.
Every time she starts to open up
and show me the bits and pieces of her I am so desperate to know, something clicks behind those gorgeous brown eyes, and she shuts back down. I’ve seen this more than I care to admit. Women like Emma are why I decided to add self-defense classes to my roster. I love helping them find their confidence again. There’s no greater feeling than witnessing the butterfly emerge from the cocoon and knowing you had a hand in the transformation. I’ve helped dozens of them over the past ten years, but Emma is different. It’s not fear or self-doubt keeping her where she is. It’s something else, something I haven’t been able to put my finger on yet. But I will.
I love when I catch her flirting with me. I love watching her reaction when I take the bait. If she expects me to sit back and let her fly under the radar, she’s dead wrong. I like seeing her squirm, seeing the heat spread to her cheeks when she doesn’t quite know how to reply. There’s a confident, sexy woman in there aching to get out, and I’m not going to stop until I find her.
This is definitely not downtown Miami. It’s alive with culture. The colorful art splattered along the walls and displayed up and down the streets brings life to the neighborhood. Emma takes my hand and guides me from our paid parking spot to the heartbeat of culture. Settled within the brick paved sidewalk are black framed “stars” reminiscent of those you’d find in Hollywood. Greeting us as soon as we turn the corner is the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. Made of some sort of metal and displayed as art, the orange rooster is “clothed” in red, white, and blue as he welcomes visitors. The more we walk, the more I realize this must be a thing here, colorful, oversized roosters perched outside storefronts and along sidewalks. Live music spills from inside a nearby restaurant out onto the street.
I wonder how many times she’s been here. I’ve lived in Miami over a year and have never heard of this place. To be fair, though, I don’t venture much further than my own little bubble of work, gym, and home. Was she raised here? Is this the city she calls home? It can’t be. She isn’t like the rest of the people here. She’s not closed off and distant. There are so many things I want to learn about this mystery woman. Like, if I take her inside that restaurant, will she watch me with that sexy smile of hers and sway her hips with mine as we dance?
Emma stops walking as we approach our apparent destination, breaking my train of thought. Thank fuck for Rosetta Stone. Otherwise, I’d never be able to read any of the signs or menus. I’ve even managed to pick up on a few of the conversations as we walk by. Chase suggested I learn the language a few months back, insisting it will help improve my client relationships. I haven’t used it until now, but I’m starting to see his point.
She stands just beside the entrance and turns to face me, her already radiant features illuminated with a smile. She’s excited about this moment, proud. Her eyes grow wide and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as if she’s been keeping the secret of life, and she can’t hold it in a second longer. She squeezes my hand and pops up on her tiptoes. She could feed me horseradish and rotten eggs right now and it wouldn’t put a damper on my sheer delight in seeing her so happy.
“If this isn’t one of the best things you’ve ever put in your mouth, I’ll let you feed me,” she averts her eyes, looking off into the distance then down at the ground while she thinks, “anything you want,” she says with a shrug.
Oh, love, I’m not sure that’s a deal you want to make. I’ve got the perfect thing for that perfect mouth. She must have caught the glimmer of mischief in my eye because she swallows hard and sinks back down onto her heels. There are so many directions I could go with this conversation, but I choose to be a gentleman and let her off the hook. “Anything worth this much excitement is bound to be delicious.”
The smile returns then she gives my hand a tug, pulling me inside. There are very few tables inside, and all of them are occupied. The woman behind the counter smiles as we walk in but watches us with careful consideration as we wait in line. Emma leans over the counter when it’s finally our turn, never letting go of my hand. The gesture makes me feel needed, wanted- something I haven’t felt in a long time. After she orders our meal, she leads me to the other end of the counter where we wait to be served.
“I hope you don’t mind that I got it to go,” she says, leaning her ass against the counter behind her and peering up at me with eager eyes.
“Ready to get rid of me so soon?” I tease.
Her face falls, along with the hand that’s been religiously holding mine since we stepped onto the sidewalk. I’d give anything for her to stay out of her own head for longer than a few minutes at a time. I’m determined this is a battle I will win. I reach forward, inviting her to take it again, then take a step toward her. The bustle of the crowd around us comes to a halt. The clanking and banging in the kitchen behind her goes completely silent. No one exists other than Emma in this moment. I take another step, and she takes my hand. I scoot her feet apart with mine, inching myself in between her legs. We’re standing so close I can feel her chest heave against mine every time she takes a breath. I take her other hand and bring it to my lips, praying she doesn’t think I’m out of line. She’s just begun to open up to me, to show me glimpses of who she really is. I don’t want her to feel rushed or pushed to do anything she’s not comfortable with. But I need to taste her, even if it’s like this- with the back of her hand against my mouth. The gesture is brief, just long enough to breathe her in. I keep it that way on purpose.
“I was only kidding, sweetheart. Like it or not, I’m not going anywhere,” I assure her.
A short, round man with a thick mustache interrupts us with the loud rustle of a tiny paper bag.
“I hope you’re ready for this,” she whispers, and I’m not sure if she’s talking about the food or something else. Either way, I’m as ready as I’ve ever been. Whatever monsters she has hiding under her bed, she is no longer fighting them alone.
Emma guides us down the street to a park where old timers rest at small tables under gazebos. They proudly display their vintage hats while they play dominos with a cigar hanging from one corner of their mouth. She bounces off to the side of one of the covered gaming areas and plops down on a green, metal park bench.
“Now, this, is Cuban food,” she boasts, unable to hide her grin as she unfolds the brown paper bag and pulls out its contents. She hands me a sandwich no bigger than a McDonald’s hamburger, only it’s stacked high and overflowing with tiny shoestring potatoes and a spicy red sauce.
“This is a mess,” I counter.
She pulls out a handful of white napkins from the bottom of the bag and wiggles her eyebrows.
“Good thing I’ve got that covered,” she proudly declares, the cheerful smile once again gracing her face. “Can’t have you ruining your favorite shirt, now can we?” she teases.
“I happen to like pink.” I feign offense, but I can tell by her tone she’s joking.
“Oh, me too,” she says with playful enthusiasm as she pulls the white wax paper away from her sandwich, “I have one just like it.”
She peeks up at me beneath long lashes as she brings the burger to her mouth. I peel back the rest of the paper from my sandwich and do the same. “On three?” I ask, trying to ease her mind about eating in front of me. It’s obvious you have to open wide and dig right in. There’s no way around it. It’s gonna be messy, and utterly seductive, on her end at least. My mind immediately replays all the ridiculously erotic Hardee’s commercials it’s seen in the past. I figure as a woman, sitting less than a foot away from a hot-blooded male, and knowing what’s most likely going through his mind, that can’t be a comfortable situation.
“On three,” she agrees.
“One,” I watch as the sparkle of anticipation lights up her eyes. She’s hoping she’s right about the food. She’s praying she’s done the right thing in bringing me here, to this little corner of the city that I’ve never been to. She’s excited about showing me something new, about being in charge. I’d bet my left nut she doesn’t have a say in mu
ch of what goes on in her daily routine. She doesn’t have the luxury of simple things like picking where she eats. The very thought of it almost makes me lose my appetite. She hasn’t said any of this, but it’s all right there in that sparkle. I don’t care if this is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten, she’ll never know. Because this moment isn’t about me or my tastes. This is about letting her be… her.
“Two,” I continue, bringing the sandwich right against my lips. She does the same. “Three.”
I never take my eyes off her as she opens her mouth wide and sinks her teeth into the burger, her own eyes falling shut as the flavor envelopes her senses. She moans and I nearly drop my sandwich. The combination of the medley of spice and paprika blended with the delicious sound of her sweet voice moaning its praises, has me coming undone. She was right, though. This is fucking fantastic. A few of the fried potatoes fall to the ground, quickly retrieved by resident birds.
“Well, what do you think?” Emma asks once she’s done chewing and wiping a corner of her mouth.
I wash my first bite down with a sip of the best chocolate milkshake I’ve ever had. “What do you call this thing, anyway?”
“This,” she replies, holding her sandwich in the air, “Is a frita.”
“Well, love, this has got to be the best fucking frita outside of Havana.”
An accomplished grin spreads across her face. “So, you like it?”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
She bites her bottom lip and leans back against the bench, as if she can finally relax now that she knows I’m pleased. We finish our meal in silence, watching the people around us and relaxing in the moment. Every now and again, she picks off a few fried strings and tosses them to the birds. She crumples up the wax paper and tosses it in the paper bag then shifts her body to face me. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking right now.
The Perfect Gentleman Page 9
