. . . . . . .
Carlos stopped at the gas station at the bottom of the hill.
“I should fill up here, even though it’s like twenty cents more expensive than it is near my house.” He leaned over to kiss her. Now that he’d started kissing her, he couldn’t stop. She kissed him back so hard it was a struggle for him to pull away and get out of the car.
Had he made it weird when he brought up his dad to Nik? Did she think his reason for getting the car was stupid? Some people had, which is why he never told people the real reason anymore. He just let them think he was one of those L.A. dudes who liked sports cars. He didn’t know why he’d told her.
When he got back in the car, they grinned at each other and both leaned in for another kiss. He felt like a horny teenager. He loved it.
Finally he turned the key and pulled out of the gas station. Within seconds, they were both singing along to Beyoncé as they shot down the freeway. She smiled at him as she sang along, and he sent silent thanks to Courtney’s flaky employee, her broken down car, and the entire concept of running out of gas for getting him here.
A few songs later, and they’d pulled up in front of her apartment. She ran her hand from his knee up his thigh and smiled at him.
“Are you going to come inside?”
He tried not to grin as big as he wanted to, but he was pretty sure he failed. His terrible day had officially turned around. He couldn’t wait to pounce on her as soon as they walked into her apartment.
As she unlocked the door to her building, he thought of something.
“Did you get your locks changed?”
Fuck. Why did he ask her that? She’d snapped at him once for bringing that up. What was wrong with him?
She held up a brand-new key.
“Last week. I felt stupid for doing it, but then I remembered what you said about how feeling silly is better than the alternative.”
Oh thank God, she wasn’t mad at him.
As they walked up the stairs to her apartment, she smiled wryly.
“I also convinced Courtney and Dana to take a self-defense class with me. Well, it’s really more of a boxing class, actually.”
Well, he hadn’t expected that.
“Wow, that’s great. How was it?”
She stopped at her front door to unlock it with the new key.
“It was surprisingly fun. There’s only been one so far, but I’m happy I’m taking it.”
“That’s awesome. I’m impressed.”
He was also glad that she’d trusted him enough to tell him she was doing it. And flattered that she’d gotten her locks changed at least in part because of something he’d said.
When they walked into her apartment, he was ready to throw her down on the couch, but she walked into the kitchen before he could reach for her.
“Do you want some wine?” she asked him.
Hmmm. He couldn’t be wrong about why he was in her apartment, could he? He had been here before, and nothing had happened then.
No, this was different. She’d seemed like she’d wanted to pull his clothes off in the car. Maybe she was just nervous now that they were back at her apartment? He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he’d better take her lead on this.
“Sure.” He sat down on the couch. “More of that rosé, maybe?”
She laughed and opened the refrigerator.
“I think you’re making fun of me and my rosé, but I don’t even care, because I love it. As a matter of fact, yes, I do have another bottle of rosé open now—though this time it’s a different one—and I’m going to pour us both glasses of it, take that.”
She came over to the couch with glasses of wine for each of them. Okay, she sat down right next to him; she was clearly not keeping her distance. He put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“I have to confess I have been known to make fun of my sister for her love of this wine, and it kills me that I actually liked the one you gave me last time because now I might have to eat my words to Angie.” He took a sip. “Actually no, there’s no way I’d do that. But this is terrible—I definitely like this wine.”
He let his fingers drift into her hair, and she relaxed against him.
“Oh no, you’ve discovered a kind of wine that you like, and it happens to be pink wine. What will you ever do with yourself?” She swatted his thigh. And then left her hand there. “You can’t possibly let a woman know that she was right about wine; that’s impossible.”
He shook his head. He finally pulled that ponytail holder out of her hair and let her curls spring free.
“No, that’s not it. I’m happy to let women know they’re right about many things. My boss was right about the diagnosis of the kid I saw today. You were right about the books I bought for Jessie. Jessie was right when she told me I’d get into med school. It’s just that I can’t ever admit to my little sister that she was right about something I’ve been teasing her about for years. Come on now.”
“Mmmm.” She looked up at him. “I’m an only child; it’s possible that I don’t get all of the big brother–little sister relationship nuances, so I’ll that one go.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Oh! What did Jessie say her favorite of the books was?”
He was trying to concentrate on what she was saying, but between her fingers gently massaging his knee and feeling her sigh as he stroked her hair, his mind was in many places.
“Um, what did she say? Oh! She said her favorite was the Jeffrey Dahmer book. I don’t understand either of you. If I read those books, I would have nightmares for weeks.”
She set her glass, still half full, on the coffee table.
“People have said that to me. Maybe I just don’t have very vivid dreams.” She brought her hand up and drew it through his hair. She plucked his glass out of his hand and put it on the coffee table next to her own. “Or maybe I just dream about other things.”
He smiled. The preamble was apparently over. He turned to face her and pressed her down onto the couch until she was underneath him.
“Yeah? What is it that you dream about?”
She grabbed the bottom of his button-down shirt and pulled it over his head.
“This.” She pulled him against her and kissed him.
Mother of God. He thought he liked kissing her when they were making out in the front seat of his car, but that was clearly only an appetizer. There, she’d seemed enthused, but still tentative. Now, she was both passionate and forceful, as if to make it clear she was all in. Her hands moved under his T-shirt and up and down his back, pressing him harder against her. He moved his attention to her neck, kissing her smooth brown skin.
“Do you dream about that, too?” he asked her.
“My God, yes,” she said.
He blew gently over her skin and kissed the cool spot. He did it again lower, and then again lower. He loved the way her fingers tensed on his back. He drew his hand up and plucked her nipple. She arched her back and moaned. He kept kissing her neck and playing with her nipples until he thought both of them were going to explode.
“We both have way too many clothes on.” He pulled her tank top off, to reveal her black lace bra underneath. “Mmmm, this is a very pretty bra. But right now, it’s in my way.” He reached around and unsnapped her bra and tossed it over the couch. He sat back to admire her.
“That’s better.”
She shook her head.
“You said we both had too many clothes on, but I didn’t see you take any off.”
The woman had a point.
He stood up, tugged his pants off, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and stood in front of her in his boxer briefs.
“Is that better?”
She smiled and nodded, her eyes roaming all over his body, but coming back to focus somewhere right around his waistband.
“Much better.”
She didn’t bother to get up, but pulled her jeans off and threw them on the floor next to his clothes. He took a long look at her curvy body. Holy shit. He climbed back on top of her.
Oh thank Athena, Aphrodite, and all the other gods for the many crises tonight that had resulted in Carlos in her bed. Okay, it was her couch, but this wasn’t the time for details. She was very glad she’d gotten over her weird—and stupid, in retrospect, now that she’d seen him without clothes on—anxiety about this guy. The way that he looked at her body . . . well, that kind of look was exactly what she needed after this past week and a half. He looked at her like her body was a joy to behold, like he couldn’t wait to touch her, kiss her, like he was lucky to be here with her without any clothes on. Damn right he was.
She was feeling pretty fucking lucky herself right now. This man definitely knew how to touch a woman, that’s for sure.
“We need to get these off of you,” he said, caressing her sensible black cotton underwear. She’d had no idea she was going to be having sex later when she’d left the house that day, okay? At least they were bikini cut. She lifted her hips to give him better access.
He shook his head.
“No, not that way.” He got up off the couch, pushed her coffee table back out of his way, and turned her around until she was sitting forward. “Okay, now.” He hooked his fingers in her underwear and pulled them to the floor. Then he pushed her legs apart and knelt at her feet.
“Mmmm.” He stared straight in front of him with a hungry look on his face. “That’s even better.” He reached back and pulled her toward him. Well, maybe he tried to pull, but she was so eager for what she knew was coming that she fairly launched herself at him.
Good Lord. She lay back on her couch pillows, gasping for air. She thought she liked it when he kissed her mouth, that was nothing to what those lips and that tongue—dear God, that tongue—could do to other parts of her body. It felt so good she wanted it to go on forever. She thought there was no way for it to get any better. And then he added his fingers to his lips and his tongue, and she came so hard she saw black spots floating in front of her eyes.
“Holy shit,” she said as soon as she could talk. And then she did something she’d never done after an orgasm before: she started giggling uncontrollably.
“What’s so funny?” He sat back up on the couch, and she leaned against him until they were laying down again, her tucked into the curve of his arm.
“Nothing,” she choked out. “This was just not at all how I expected my day to go. I didn’t even . . .” she tried to catch her breath. “I didn’t even have my good underwear on!”
He glanced at the clothes littered across the floor, then back at her.
“Who cares about what kind of underwear you had on when you have that body underneath it?” He ran his hand down her torso, the side of her hip, her thigh. Something inside of her melted.
“You jackass.”
“What?” He froze. “What did I say?”
She shook her head.
“You can’t say shit like that when my condoms are all so far away in my bedroom. Because now I want you to fuck me right this second.”
He jumped into a runner’s stance.
“Where are they? I can run fast. Especially when I’m motivated.”
“Top drawer of the nightstand. Go.”
She relaxed back on the couch and laughed as he raced to her bedroom. She could feel the shit-eating grin on her face. Ahhhhh, that butt in motion was fantastic.
He was back in less than thirty seconds, true to his boasting. He dropped his boxer briefs to the floor and ripped open the condom packet. Thank God enough lights were on in her living room so she could see he really was as big as she’d thought he was. Sometimes touch could be deceiving, especially with layers of clothes in between, but boy was this not one of those times.
He was back on the couch and on top of her as soon as he’d rolled the condom on. She wrapped one leg around him to bring him in closer, and he groaned in her ear and moved faster. So she did it with the other leg and he bit down on her shoulder.
He took her hands and moved them to the arm of the couch behind her.
“Hold on.”
She obeyed him and was glad she did. She held on for dear life and met him thrust for thrust as he pounded into her, faster and faster, until he finally roared and collapsed against her.
He lifted himself up a little while later and kissed her cheek.
“I’m never going to make fun of rosé again if that’s the result.” He stood up and went over to the kitchen to throw out the condom. “Pink wine, man. Who would have thought?”
She laughed and curled up in the corner of the couch.
“There’s more in the fridge.” She pulled the blanket that hung on the back of the couch over herself.
He opened the fridge and took out the bottle.
“Look, lady. Some of us need a little bit of a break before we have more rosé, okay? Let a man breathe for a minute.”
Oh, she would let him breathe as long as he wanted if he did it with that grin on his face and that swagger in his walk.
“I’m just glad I introduced you to the glory that is rosé, that’s all. You take your time. I don’t want to rush you.”
He topped up both of their glasses and carefully pushed the coffee table back to its normal spot before getting under the blanket with her.
“You know what would look great on that table?” he asked her, nodding at her coffee table.
“What?” She stared at the table, trying to figure out what he meant. It was just a chestnut wood coffee table, nothing fancy, but the perfect height for propping her feet up to watch TV. What did he think would look good on it, coasters or coffee table books or something?
“A large pizza. With everything. That much rosé makes me hungry.”
She shook her head.
“Not everything. No blue cheese or olives. Everything other than that.”
He reached down to the floor for his pants and pulled his phone out of the pocket.
“I can live with that. Large pizza with almost everything coming up.”
He called some pizza place she’d never heard of and ordered a monstrosity of a pizza. As soon as he listed the toppings on the phone, her stomach rumbled. Apparently, that much . . . rosé . . . made her hungry, too. Well, that, and she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime.
“I’ve never ordered from this place before, but this sausage is great,” she said as she picked up her second piece. Carlos was already on his third.
“Look,” he said, when his mouth was no longer full. “You don’t know me that well yet, but one thing you should know is I’m very good at ordering food. I know you didn’t trust that this pizza was going to be good. I could see it in your eyes when I ordered. I’m not even going to make you admit that you were wrong, because that’s the kind of guy I am. But that should be the last time you ever doubt me on food matters.”
She reached for her wineglass to wash down the delicious grease.
“Noted. Does that mean you’re a good cook, too?”
He shrugged, but that cocky grin was still on his face.
“I mean, yes, I’m a fantastic cook, but I try not to brag about it.” His grin widened and she laughed. “I don’t do enough cooking these days, though, what with work and everything else.”
“How did you learn to cook?” she asked.
He took another bite of pizza.
“Originally, from my mom. She taught both me and my sister all of her specialties, and then I taught myself how to cook other stuff. First, when I was a poor student, and then when I realized that cooking was meditative for me, a way to relax and take a break and be alone with my thoughts.”
He shook his head and was silent for a moment.
“In med school I used to make huge pots of chili for my roommates, and we would all eat it for a week. My buddy Drew and I met when we were in this fellowship together. It was so stressful and exhausting. We both happened to have the same day off one week, so I invited him over to eat enchiladas and watch the game. We were so tired that we both fell asleep on the couch after we ate and woke up just as the game was ending.” He laughed. “We’ve been friends ever since.”
She laughed, too. She and her friends had bonded over revenge; he and his friend had bonded over food and a nap. That sounded about right.
Speaking of sleep . . .
“Hey, what time is it?” she asked him.
He checked his phone, on the coffee table along with the now almost empty pizza box and wine.
“Ten thirty.” He put his wineglass down. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. I’d better be going.”
“Oh.” She put hers down, too. “Oh, okay. You probably have to get up early, I guess.”
He stopped halfway through standing up and sat back down.
“Didn’t you . . .” He paused for a few seconds, shrugged, and continued. “Just to be clear—do you want me to go? Because if you do, it’s no problem, but if not, I’m happy to stay.”
“No!” She shook her head and put her hand on his knee. “I mean, no, you don’t have to go. Sorry, that must have sounded like a hint, that’s not what I meant. I was just thinking it was about time we left the couch. We haven’t even made it into my bedroom yet, and we finished the bottle of rosé, so . . .”
He took her hands and pulled her up off of the couch with him.
“Lead the way.”