Page 5 of King of Rhythm
The corner of his mouth lifts higher in a lopsided grin that gives me a peek at the boy he once was, causing my fingers to release their death hold on the menu as I relax further.
“A quarter, but heaven help you if you forgot that. Now my Nonna, she’s Italian through and through. None of this half or quarter nonsense and she will happily whack you with a wooden spoon if you get out of line.”
A startled laugh sneaks its way out of me, and I clap my hands over my mouth. “She wouldn’t!”
Bryce rubs at his head, drawing my eyes to his dark, wavy hair. It's thick and lush and not a single strand of silver graces it. Not that he’s that old. He’s only thirty-seven, so thirteen years older than me. But that means nothing. I plucked a gray hair out of my bangs just last week. I’m a dishwater dull blonde, yet that sparkly strand stood out like an annoying beacon to me.
“She did last week,” he counters with a gleam in his dark eyes that makes me wonder if he’s teasing or not.
Marie sets our water glasses in front of us, her smiling face tilted to Bryce once again. “Are you ready to order?”
Not taking his gaze from me, Bryce asks, “Avery?”
I lick my lips, a flicker of heat pulling at me when Bryce’s eyes follow that slight movement. “I’ll have the Timballo,” I say, feeling suddenly impulsive.
“I’ll have the same.” He plucks the menu from my limp fingers and hands both over to Marie.
I’m barely aware of Marie leaving. It feels like there is only me and Bryce, in our own private bubble of space. Sheltered and protected from everyone else. Which is crazy because we’re in a restaurant that isn’t full but is nowhere close to being empty either. With a mental shrug, I stop questioning it and just enjoy the moment.
“Your mother’s family is Italian. What about your father’s family?”
“Ahh… that’s even more fun, Irish and Mexican. My great-great grandfather was right off the boat in Ellis Island. He met a charming senorita, and the rest is history. Namely a legacy of stubbornness and the famous Irish temper.”
This time I don’t even try to control my laughter and let it ring out, grinning when I finally can rein my mirth in. “Somehow I can’t imagine you having a temper.”
“Oh, I have one.”
His words are steeped in hurt, so bitter it’s a physical force that I recoil from.
CHAPTER FOUR
BRYCE
Things were going so well. Avery’s tension had been easing. She was engaging more, and I had to go and ruin things. I tunnel a hand through my hair, trying not to grip it in frustration. “I’m making you nervous. I’m sorry.”
Her pale blue eyes peek at me from behind the waterfall of her silky blonde hair and something in my gut twists. She’s like a doll, beautiful and so fragile.
I joked about my Nonna whacking me with a spoon, but I can still feel the dull sudden sting of it across my knuckles when I reached my dirty hands toward the row of priceless dolls that were lined up on her bedroom dresser. Avery is like those treasured relics of my Nonna’s childhood, precious and to be cherished. And far sturdier than probably she even knows.
The key is to not to overwhelm her and let her come into that knowledge on her own.
“I am nervous,” she admits, pushing her hair back and giving me an unobstructed view of her features. Features I’m all too happy to gaze at. Our chats and messages weren’t enough for me. I wanted, no, needed, this. To be in her presence and able to interact with her and see the adorable scrunch of her nose as she laughs and the way her fingers give away her anxiousness a moment before the shadows gather in her eyes.
Someone or something hurt this woman. I can’t heal her. I have my own wounds that still ache, but I do hope she lets mein enough to know that hurting her is the furthest thing from my mind. And that in time, and with her trust, she’ll learn she can be open with me and that I’m eager to be there with her every step of the way.
I reach across the table, stopping short of touching her, and lay my hand palm up and open in invitation. “I’m nervous too,” I confess, letting my ever-present grin fall. “I like you, Avery. I enjoyed connecting with you these past two months and I’ve been damn impatient to meet you in person and see how much that connection can grow. I’m not looking for a good time. I like to think I’ve made that clear already. I’m looking for a serious relationship.”
Her luminous eyes grow even wider, the black pupils eclipsing the icy blue of her irises and in them I see the stripped down, vulnerable man that I am gazing back at me.
Her chilled hand sliding against mine brings a relief so profound that I feel the ache of it clear to my bones. “I like you too,” she says softly.
I savor this moment for what it is, hopefully the beginnings of something special. Our server appears as if by magic beside the table, bearing a tray of steaming plates. The nostalgic smell of Timballo engulfs me and for a moment I visualize Avery in my parents kitchen and the rightness of it cements my desire to form a relationship with this woman.
Giving Avery’s hand a slow squeeze, I release her.
It takes her a moment to realize we’re no longer alone and a flush of embarrassment creeps up her pale face. The steaming dishes are set in front of us, and then it’s just the two of us again.
I wait for her to dig into her food, watching her face closely as she takes her first bite. Her eyes close and the bliss that spreads over her face has blood rushing to my cock. When her tongue comes out and slowly glides along her upper lip, dipping into the corner to get the speck of red sauce clinging to it, I moan.Quickly, I stuff a loaded bite into my mouth to help muffle the noise.
