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Shifting in my seat, I remained quiet, uncertain how to respond. The coffee shop he chose was close to the club. After parking on the street, he flashed me a quick smile, then sprung out of the car. Stepping around to my side, he opened the door, helping me out as if I was unable to walk on my own. As we sauntered to the café entrance, he slipped his fingers in between mine, grasping my hand desperately as if to claim ownership.
The quaint and cozy dining area was empty. The aroma of the freshly brewed drinks made me relax instantly. Before the barista made her way over, Alejandro put his palm on the small of my back.
“What do you want?”
Studying the menu, I saw several drink concoctions I wanted to try, but decided to keep it simple for tonight. “I’ll just have a medium coffee, three sugars, and about this much cream.” Lifting my hand, I inched my index finger and thumb together.
He chuckled, then shifted his attention to the employee striding our way. Turning to me, he trailed his eyes down to my chest before catching my gaze. “Why don’t you go find us a private table, and I’ll be right there.”
With a nod, I spun around to see a turquoise wrought-iron bistro table in the back corner. As I zigzagged through the scattered seating, I overheard Alejandro placing our order. I chewed my bottom lip, reminding myself I could do this. Settling into my chair, I slid my phone out of my handbag, ready to occupy myself on my social media while I waited.
Glancing up from the screen, I noticed he was leaning sideways on a pillar near the register with a flirty smile. Her face was flushed, her head tilted as she pinned her bottom lip between her teeth. Once the receipt was printed, she wrote on it, then handed it to him.
We weren’t dating, but I thought it was weird to ask a woman out then hit on someone else in front of her. As if he could feel my gaze burning a hole in the back of his head, he turned toward me. I lowered my eyes back to my phone.
Moments later, he appeared with our drinks, sitting across from me. He put my coffee down, grinning in a way I could only describe as someone who was riddled with guilt or secrets. Exhaling, I moved my phone out of the way, setting it next to my arm.
“I got them in these in case you want to go for a walk.” He nodded toward my sapphire cup.
Quickly peeking over my shoulder out the window, I snorted. “It’s like 3 a.m.”
Shrugging, he studied his drink, rotating it in a single circle before lifting his gaze to mine. “Are you nervous about being alone with me in the dark?”
“No,” I giggled anxiously. “I just avoid walking around Boston alone at night.”
“You wouldn’t be alone.”
I playfully shook my head. “I know, but you’re not from here, so you don’t know the city.”
Glancing outside, he ran his tongue across his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes on mine. “I know more about Boston than you assume.”
“But you’re not from here, I am.” I wiggled my eyebrows, taking a sip of my hot coffee.
He chuckled. “Fair, fair.”
“Okay, Mr. Accent.” I snickered. “You’re what? Spanish? Am I guessing right? I mean, it’s what I’ve assumed.”
“Sí, I am, but half Italian as well.” His breath hitched, as if he said something he shouldn’t have, but he quickly recovered, playing it off. “And you are?” He tightened his lips, staring at me.
“I’m English and Irish, but I was born and raised in Boston. South Boston, actually.”
“I see. Prominent Irish area.”
I nodded, proud of where I’d come from. I had money now, but I didn’t come from money. I did, however, come from a family with pride. Pride in all we’d accomplished since my grandparents immigrated here from Europe.
He cocked his head, studying me in silence for a moment. I could read his mind. I knew what he wanted to ask. It was the same question burning in everyone’s mind when they met me, especially men.
“Why did I become a dancer?” I snickered.
He nodded once, placing his cup to his lips, taking a sip.
“Money.” Shrugging, I smiled confidently. “I make good money, and I’m good at what I do.”
“That, I agree with.” He lifted his drink at me with a wink. “What do you feel is the most misunderstood things about strippers? Erm, I mean dancers.”
Giggling, I leaned forward. “It’s okay, stripper’s fine. I’m not ashamed.” Tapping my nail on the table for a moment, I processed his question. “That we’re slutty or whores.”
“What do you mean?” He placed his drink to his lips.
