Page 41 of One Hotlanta Night
She sighs, pulling her hand from my grasp and raking both hands through her hair.
“I’m a mess, okay? A total mess. I’m not sure what you’re doing with me. You’ve got everything going for you. A good job, a loving family, friends who care about you. Plus, you’re all,” she gestures up and down toward my body, “this, and I’m just a hot mess.”
She motions to herself.
“I don’t know why you’d want to date someone like me. Someone who’s broken,” she mutters quietly, looking down as the last word catches in her throat.
If this is what she really thinks, I need to choose my next words carefully. I didn’t realize she was bottling all this up inside. And my heart hurts to think that she sees herself as anything less than perfect.
“Vivian,” two of my fingers tilt her chin up so that she can read the sincerity in my eyes as I speak, “you are the farthest thing from broken. Beautiful, smart, strong, yes. Resilient, determined, loyal, too. But definitely not broken.”
I take a deep breath. “What you said, it may look like I have it all on the outside. And yes, I’m thankful to have work I enjoy, but you know the story that brought me down here. I could’ve just as easily lost my job and had to start all over.” I pause. “My family and I are close, true. It’s kind of hard not to be, when you can’t stub your toe without someone finding out.”
This elicits a small smile from her.
“But their love can also be smothering. They mean well, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them, but we don’t always see eye to eye. They’ve come to accept that about me, but maybe your mom isn’t quite there yet.” Vivian hasn’t talked much about her mother, but this is what I’ve gleaned from what little she’s said. “But she will be, mi amor.”
She casts her eyes to the side, so I decide to drop that one for now.
“And as for my friends, yeah, we’ve been to hell and back. I couldn’t have made it through my teens without them. But we’re also moving in different directions in our lives. We’ll always be close, and they’ve always got my back, but it’s not the same as you and Claire. I miss having that.”
I slide both hands down her body, tracing her curves as I go. Her shoulders, exposed from her tight tank top, erupt into goosebumps as my fingers sweep over her flesh.
“This hot mess, as you call it, is what I can’t wait to get my hands on. I’m barely refraining from tossing you in the backseat and kissing every single inch of your skin. My tongue aches to taste you. I’m dying to show you just howunbrokenyou are, mi amor.”
She shivers as my hands cascade down her arms, my eyes appreciating the view. As I reach her hands, I bring her wrist to my mouth, grazing my teeth over her skin before pressing a firm kiss and releasing it.
“What I want to do to that delectable body of yours, cariño,” I growl low in my throat. “I’m not gonna last much longer, and your perfect body deserves to be worshipped where we have plenty of room, not in a small sports car. You’re worth so much more than that.”
Her eyes are heavy with lust. She’s leaning closer, and I don’t think she’s even aware of it. I debate asking her to come home with me now. I’d be happy just holding her in my arms all night. My dick might complain, but he can wait til she’s feeling better. All I want to do is take care of her, in whatever way, shape, or form she’ll let me.
But she’s had a long day, and I don’t want to take advantage of her fatigue with her defenses being down. I don’t want her to regret or overthink anything when it comes to us. When she gives in to me, when we come together, it has to be because she wants it just as much, needs me just as much as I need her. More than just the heady endorphin rush I get from being around her, I want her mind and heart on board too. All fucking in.
“Come home with me next week, cariño. Let me cook for you. Let me take care of you.”
She doesn’t hesitate as she nods, and I have to draw on every bit of inner strength not to give in to what we both want. I ignore my cock straining against my jeans. Bringing my mouth to hers, I force my lips to stay closed and not ravage hers. I press the firmest kiss I can manage to her delicious mouth before pulling back and resting our foreheads together. “Let’s get you home, mi amor. You need to rest. And I… I’m gonna need a cold shower.”
Vivian
the next week
Here goes nothing, I tell myself as I ring the doorbell. The wine bottle I’m gripping feels slick enough to slip out of my hand, and I grasp it firmly to my side as I shift my purse on my shoulder. All of our conversations thus far have not included wine, so I don’t know what he likes. Hopefully the Francis Ford Coppola brand the guy at the corner liquor store suggested will work. Even if it doesn’t taste very good, maybe I can play it off as a joke since we both loveThe Godfather. I can do that, right?
A trickle of sweat runs down my hairline, and it’s not just the Atlanta heat. I’ve never been this nervous for a date before and desperately want to impress him. Even if it’s just with wine. Michael is too good to be true, and has made his intentions quite clear, so I shouldn’t feel as awkward as I do. But I can’t help thinking that if it’s so easy and effortless now, that means something is bound to go wrong soon.
Taking a breath, I’m about to press the doorbell again when the door flies open and the warm aroma of garlic and exoticseasonings waft out. High trumpet notes combine with the staccato beat of drums in an upbeat melody, similar to the music at L’Aventura the night we met… salsa, maybe? But what draws my attention the most is Michael standing in front of me wearing a red apron that declares, “Real Men Rub Their Meat.” I’ll have to ask about that one later.
A simple blue tee showcases his broad shoulders and comes down over—ugh, of course—low-slung grey sweatpants, the staple of every hot guy’s wardrobe. Seriously, he’s doing this to me? He’s barefoot, his dark hair slightly tousled. A flush tinges his skin, and I wonder if it’s from his cooking or the street hockey game he had this afternoon.
Those coffee-brown eyes fasten on me intently, caressing me, warming me with their heat. Just like that first night, he seems to see straight into my soul. I don’t understand how a single look can light a bonfire inside me and still feel so safe, so right. Solid, like I’mhome.
Time seems to stand still as Michael’s beautiful eyes flick from my face to all points of my body, as if he can’t decide what he wants to focus on first, before returning to rest on mine. His gaze radiates desire, but it’s more than that, it’s a look of contentment. Like we’ve made it past some unknown obstacle to the finish line.
A moment passes as we take each other in and that invisible thread between us grows even more taut. It’s not like it’s our first date, but standing on the threshold of his home feels weighted and significant. Like the start—or end—of something. And I’m scared to find out either way. Sweat starts to pool above the waist of my jean shorts as I fidget with the hem of my pink t-shirt.
“You said to come comfortable…” I start, stuttering over any chance of a polite hello as Michael breaks out of his haze and reaches for me. He pulls me close, wrapping his arms around mywaist and sealing those sensual lips to mine. His kiss is urgent yet tender, moving over my mouth and jaw and cheeks, planting a million tiny kisses everywhere as if every kiss is a mark of his claim on me. As if I’m his favorite thing ever. And all those butterflies swoop and finally settle down in my belly.
“You’re finally here,” he breathes, the words feathering over my mouth as he gently presses his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes like he’s just won the lottery. He slides his hands up and down my arms in that comforting way of his, and that’s when we both realize I’m still holding the wine bottle.
