“Last chance. Why did you sleep so well?”
She looks away, but only for a beat before she brings her gaze back to me. Her breathing picks up and her nipples pucker under the fabric of the thin shirt, which is bunched dangerously high. I lean forward, trailing my hands up her sides slowly, like I am going to tickle her. Instead, I pull her shirt down so she’s not at risk of showing me anything she’s not ready for.
“You—I’ve never felt safer than I do in your arms. I could be sleeping in a burlap sack, and I would be just as comfortable as long as you were holding me.” Her voice is so low that it’s barely audible over my thumping heart.
“I will always be your safe space, Mi Sol.” I roll off her and pull her with me. When we land side by side, I run my nose up the length of hers. “I have never seen you look more beautiful than you do right now. Even more so than that first night when you had on that stunning purple dress.
Her cheeks flush the prettiest shade of pink when she nods slowly. I run my hand up her arm, causing her to shiver under my touch. “But seeing you like this . . . You don’t need the dress, or the hair and makeup. You laughing in my bed is the most breathtaking sight I have ever seen.”
She drops her head to my shoulder and inhales a shaky breath. I’m not sure if I’m sparing her the need to respond, or if I’m too nervous that she might push me away when I say, “Let’s go get you some coffee.”
Chapter 9
Brad the Douche Canoe
Flashback - Three Years Earlier
He’s late . . . again.
My eyes drop to where my phone rests on the smooth, black bar top of the trendy Venezuelan restaurant, Sabor, that Brad picked for our date tonight. It’s been forty-five minutes since we were supposed to meet. Brad’s assistant called right after I sat down at one of the tall, industrial style barstools to let me know he was stuck in a meeting with an important client. It took all of my restraint to not snap that there wasalwaysa client who needed his attention. But it’s not her fault my boyfriend can’t fulfill his commitments to me or shoot him a text himself.
I strum my polished fingernails against the cool cement, debating my next move. I need food, and the smoky aroma of meats cooked in chili peppers and garlic is only making me grow hangrier by the second. Knowing Brad, there’s no telling how much longer it will be. When he’s focused on work, hours can slip by without him noticing, regardless of the fact that I have to be up at 4 a.m. to open the coffee shop.
Whether I order takeout here, or head home and scrounge for food, it looks like I’m on my own tonight. My fingers fly across my screen, tapping out a text letting him know I’m ordering. Tilting my head back, I swallow the rest of my wine down and nod to the bartender, asking for a menu.
The soft fabric of my dress slips through my fingers as I toy with the hem. I could be home in my favorite leggings, the ones that have just the right amount of stretch, watching mindless TV on Bravo, instead of being stood up in a bar by my long-time boyfriend.
The dress I picked out for our date is a deep purple that makes my blue eyes stand out, and hugs every curve in the very best way. Normally it would have me feeling on top of the world, but right now it’s just a reminder of the bone-deep irritation that’s growing like a weed with each passing minute. My molars grind together as I think about the extra time and care I took curling my hair and shaving my freaking legs!
After waking up well before the rest of Denver, and working on my feet all day, putting on something other than an oversized t-shirt—sans bra—seemed like the equivalent of running a marathon. It’s too bad I’ll be the only one appreciating my efforts tonight. Once the merger goes through next month, Brad’s promised things will settle down. But lately, there’s always something pulling us in opposite directions.
“Do you mind if I take this seat?” someone asks as I look over the menu that the bartender just handed me.
“It’s all yours,” I say without looking up from where I’m debating between the arepas or pasticho. Both sound phenomenal, which is to be expected considering this restaurant is the trendiest place to eat right now.
“Thank you,” he says in a rich voice that I can’t ignore a second time. There is something warm and inviting in its deep tenor. I also can’t help but notice a faint accent, the southern kind, that makes women everywhere break out in goosebumps.
My curiosity wins out and I glance at the man next to me. The first thing I notice is his chocolate-colored, intensely dark eyes—framed by lashes that are unfairly thick.Why does God always grant men the courtesy of insanely beautiful lashes?A dusting of dark stubble covers his square jaw and when he catches me looking, he smiles, revealing the most adorable dimples I have ever seen on a man.
It’s the only thing adorable about him. Even seated, he towers over my five foot three frame. His broad shoulders stretch the seams of his crisp white shirt, which plays off the sliver of warm bronze skin showing where he has the top three buttons undone.
“Have you eaten here before? The asado negro is excellent,” he says, still smiling warmly at me, but there’s something sad in his eyes. “It’s almost as good as my abuela’s recipe, but don’t tell my dad I said that. I’d be ousted from the family.”
“I haven’t. Thanks for the recommendation. Any thoughts on desserts?”
“Don’t bother, they aren’t very good.” He leans in closer, ensuring that the bartender and other patrons can’t overhear. “Their baker quit, and they haven’t replaced her.”
“How often do you eat here?” I eye him curiously.
“Too often. I just moved to Denver and live close by. It’s convenient, but it also reminds me of home. So I end up ordering takeout more than I should.”
Catching the bartender’s eye, I get his attention and ask for the asado negro, and opt to skip the dessert. When he walks away, I turn back toward my new friend.
“This is my first time here. My apartment is right down the street and I own a coffee shop nearby, but I usually prefer someplace a little less . . .” Pausing to consider my words, I don’t want to offend him since he’s clearly a regular, but I am honest to a fault. “I’m meeting my boyfriend, but he’s running late. Normally, this place really isn’t my vibe. It seems kind of pretentious.”
He barks out a husky laugh. It seems to catch him off guard, and I watch the pain in his eyes dull a little. “It’s become pretty pretentious, ever since it went viral thanks to a few food blogger reviews. But the food is fantastic. That’s part of the reason I started ordering my food to-go. I’m afraid if I stay too long, they’ll convert me.” He looks pointedly around the restaurant, pushing a clump of dark curls off his forehead.
Men in suits or button-down shirts fill the tables. It’s like the Stepford wives, but with cufflinks and tumblers of gin. “Oh, my god . . . they’re all clones.” I can’t stop the giggle that breaks free. “I don’t know you, but please don’t turn into one of them. We don’t need more Chad in Finance clones.”
