by Tia Sirrah
He took a swallow of his bourbon and waited a few beats before responding. "You think I'm an elitist prick?" He let out a hearty chuckle that reverberated from his chest and made my thighs clench. Bastard.
"I think your behavior towards Gregorio was unwarranted and calling him the help is demeaning." I stared at him daringly.
"I beg to differ, but okay," he said, nonchalantly, as if he were already bored with this topic of conversation. "I love the freckles and the piercing, by the way. And you look hot as fuck with your hair like that."
My cheeks heated under his gaze. "Thank you." I subconsciously tucked a few curls behind my ear. He studied my every move, like a hunter studying his prey. It unnerved me. I took a sip of the steaming coffee set before me. It was good. Damn it.
"You're quite beautiful, Novalee."
"You’re quite intense, Conner. Ever heard that before?"
"Maybe once or twice." He smiled, a panty-dropping smile, that revealed perfectly straight white teeth. I doubted this guy had any physical flaws.
I pushed my fingers through my hair, as a few curls had fallen into my face. Beautiful? I was pretty enough, I guess. In an eclectic way. But I wouldn’t describe myself as beautiful.
His eyebrows drew together as he studied my face. "What’s on your mind, Novalee?"
"I was thinking about how I'm not your usual type of woman." There. I said it. I decided to go for brutal honesty. It wasn’t like I was trying to impress the guy.
He slowly nodded his head, as if mulling over my comment. "And how would you know what my type is? Been checking up on me, Novalee?"
"No more than the way you were checking up on me. How did you know that Gregorio was flirting with me the entire evening?"
"Touché," he saluted his drink towards me.
I smiled easily. "You're quite the popular guy. The streets are talking," I joshed. I debated on saying the next thing that was on the tip of my tongue. I took a sip of my coffee. "Word is, you have a very specific type." You don’t date black girls. You don't even date brunettes. So, who are you trying to fool, here?
His eyebrows rose, probably at my directness. There was that damn sexy smirk again.
"Not that I care what your type is," I backtracked, a little. "I mean, do you. You know?" I was fully aware that I was rambling. "I'm sure you're not without options." I gestured my hand up and down toward his face. "Obviously." Okay, maybe the three glasses of wine were settling into my system.
"Obviously," he repeated, his voice laced with humor. He graced me, and every other woman in the vicinity, with another panty-dropping smile. It was a smile that almost reached his eyes. "What do you think my type is, Novalee?"
"Let’s see." I focused my eyes upward as if I were thinking. "Blond, tall, and…enhanced." He seemed on the verge of laughing, but he refrained. Instead, he cleared his throat and took a swallow of his drink. I followed suit, taking a sip of my coffee before continuing. "I'm a bit perplexed as to why I'm getting these flirty vibes from you." I would probably look back at this conversation and cringe with embarrassment. But at this moment, I felt at ease and free, like I had nothing to lose.
"Really?" He scrubbed his hand across the side of his lightly stubbled jaw. "I think you're fucking mesmerizing. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. So what, if you're not my usual type. Who the fuck cares?"
Well, alrighty then. Heart, be still. Hormones, get a grip. Common sense, kick it. "So, I'm assuming there's no special someone in your life. No girlfriend?"
"Girlfriend." He repeated it as if it was a foreign word. "I don't have a girlfriend, no. I have female acquaintances that I like to spend time with on occasion."
"Oh, I get it. You're a player," I teased, amused by his honesty.
He chuckled. The deep rumble that came from his chest made me inadvertently clench my thighs…again. "I'm not a cheater, Novalee. I just don't do relationships. The women I spend time with know that about me." Got it, Mr. Casanova. I've been warned.
I took a bite of my crème brûlée while mulling over that tad bit of information. "Sounds very…transactional." The tiny specs of gray in his pale green eyes darkened, transforming his eyes into murky pools. "But on the other hand, I get it." My relationship with Marcus, my lab partner, was very transactional. "Giving someone your time and your pleasure, but not your heart." I shrugged my shoulders.
He smiled faintly but remained silent. I chewed my lower lip, wondering if I'd said too much. Overstepped my boundaries.
"I want to see you again, Novalee." I tilted my head to the side and narrowed my eyes. "Why?"
His facial expression softened. "Because I like you."
Seemed simple enough. But the way he said it, made it seem as if he rarely uttered those words. Like he was surprised in himself, for saying them. I slowly shook my head. "I don't know. I don’t think we have much in common."
He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Who’s to say? We may realize that we have more in common than we think."
"Are you looking for a new friend? A new female acquaintance, perhaps?" I was very skeptical of Conner and what his intentions were. He was tragically beautiful and had a promiscuous reputation. What was his end game here?
As if reading my thoughts, he carefully emphasized, "This doesn't have to be sexual…if you don't want it to be." I rolled my eyes, but he appeared unfazed, as he continued. "I need to see you again." He brushed his fingertips along my knuckles. Sizzling bolts jolted from my hands down to my toes.
I couldn't think straight while he touched me. I removed my hand from his touch and placed both my hands in my lap. "I'm not looking for a sexual relationship, Conner. I'm not looking to be added to your harem." Maybe a bit harsh, but still true. His eyes bore into me, all the while seemingly aloof. Based on all that I heard about him, I knew that my conditions would be a deal breaker. I sat back in my chair as I waited for his response. I refused to examine the melancholy that lay heavy on my chest.
He defensively held his hands up. "Strictly platonic. Unless you ever say otherwise." His mouth twitched with a slight smirk.
"Cocky bastard," I said under my breath, a slow smile forming on my lips.
Maybe we could be friends. Conner had plenty of women on standby who were willing to have a "friends with benefits" type of relationship. I wouldn't get jealous at all. Not one bit. I could resist the temptation. I had to.
"Have dinner with me tomorrow."
"No, can't do. Besides, that sounds a lot like a date," I teased. "How about coffee on Sunday morning?"
"Wow, you're good at this friend-zoning thing." He feigned exasperation.
I raised an arched eyebrow.
"Coffee on Sunday," he agreed.
Chapter 3
OUR POSTURES WERE RELAXED, as we casually conversed at the table. We listened intently to each other, leaning forward on our elbows and forearms, chatting with the familiarity of two old friends…or intimate lovers, perhaps. After a long while, I noticed that many tables had cleared out. There were only a few patrons left in the restaurant. Gregorio came by a few times during our conversation, and quietly refilled my coffee cup and brought Conner a fresh cup of joe.
"It’s getting late. I really should get going," I said. For a brief second, disappointment flickered in his eyes, but I must have imagined it because he blinked, and it was gone.
Conner retrieved three one-hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and placed them on the table. "Conner, you don’t have to do that."
He rose from his chair and buttoned his suit jacket. "I think I can handle it," he said as he pulled out my chair for me.
"Well, next time it’s on me." I rose from my chair, standing face to chest. Our height distance was substantial.
"It’ll be tight, but I think I can also manage coffee on Sunday." Conner placed his hand on the small of my back, and we headed towards the exit.
"Smart-aleck," I mumbled with a smile. I added an extra sway to my hips and felt his eyes on my backside.
I
noticed a few bold stares from some of the remaining guests, probably wondering what Conner was doing with this big hair, pint-sized, boho chick.
We stepped out into the fresh spring air and headed towards the parking lot. "I’ll walk you to your car."
I halted. "I forgot I took a car service here."
He laced his fingers through mine. "I’m taking you home. Come on." He began to walk, our fingers entwined.
"That’s very kind of you, but you don’t have to do that," I said, somewhat trailing behind him.
He paused and turned to look down at me, the familiar formidable look on his face. "I know I don’t have to. But I want to. Let’s go," he gently urged before resuming his stride. This time I kept up with his pace, walking side by side, hand in hand. His large hand was warm and comforting, and although I knew I should’ve unlaced my fingers from his, I didn’t. Already, the boundaries of our friendship were muddied.
We walked over to a matte black Audi R8 on black rims. His car looked like him. Dark, powerful, and expensive, in an understated way. "What? No fancy driver with a top hat, Mr. Money Bags?"
"Not tonight," he humored. He reluctantly unlaced his fingers from mine and opened the passenger door.
"Thank you." I smiled as I sank into the plush leather seat.
"Of course." He closed my door and rounded the car.
Before he got in, I breathed in deeply. His car smelled like leather and him.
After settling into the car, he started the keyless ignition. The Audi roared to life. The rock band, American Authors, blasted from the speakers. He turned down the music from his steering wheel controls to a lower decibel. He skillfully handled his car as he pulled out of the parking lot and accelerated down the empty road. "Make a right at the light," I instructed.
"I know the way," was all he said, as he made a right at the light and headed towards the I 45 freeway.
My head snapped towards him. "Wait, what?"
"I know the way," he repeated calmly, not meeting my stare. "I know where you live."
"And what were you planning on doing with that tidbit of information? Show up at my place, unannounced?" I narrowed my eyes and shifted my entire body towards him, as much as my seat belt would allow. "What if my man answered the door?"
"I thought we established that you don’t have one."
"But you wouldn’t have known that. Besides, that’s not the point."
"Okay. I hadn’t really thought it through." He quickly assessed me and my glowering stare.
"Boundaries, Conner. You have to respect boundaries if we’re going to be friends."
He gave a curt nod. "I’ll try."
"You’ll try?"
I leaned back in my seat, crossed my legs, and folded my arms. His eyes roamed to my thighs. "Eyes on the road," I lightly admonished.
He gave a mock salute. "In all seriousness, I apologize if you feel I’ve crossed the line."
Content with his half-baked apology, I looked out the windows at the darkened sky. "American Authors, huh? I love their stuff."
"Yeah?" He turned it up a bit.
Oh, What a Life resonated through the speakers. I playfully sang along to the lyrics.
I bopped my head to the beat of the drum. My curls flopped wildly while Conner beat his steering wheel with his hands, mimicking the rhythm also.
"You are just full of surprises, Novalee." He smiled one of his rare carefree smiles that almost reached his eyes. "You have an incredible voice."
I gave him an exaggerated wink. "Thanks."
We turned down my street far too soon. I was pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to talk to him, to hang out with him. At Amy’s wedding, he appeared to be arrogant and unfriendly. His conversations with others seemed curt and dismissive. But tonight, as time went on, we both eased into a comfortable casualness.
We drove into my complex’s parking garage, and he eased his Audi into an open parking space.
He turned off the ignition, the roaring car immediately silencing. "I’ll walk you up."
"Sure. Thanks." I unbuckled and reached for my door handle.
"Wait a sec," he softly chided. He hopped out and rounded the car. After opening my door, he extended his hand and helped me out of the vehicle.
"Quite chivalrous of you, Mr. Brathwaite," I teased, as he closed the car door.
"Never stand for anything less, Novalee." He closed the car door behind us, and once again, he entwined our fingers. He didn’t strike me as a holding hand type of guy, but he did seem seductive. Maybe this was just his M.O. I knew I shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as I did.
We entered the elevator, and he pressed the number 6 button. I’d never told him what floor I lived on. Creepy, much? We took the elevator up to the top floor in comfortable silence. We both stared up at the digital display of numbers, a thick fog of tension enveloping us. Did he feel it too?
Conner had nixed his suit jacket and tie in the car. The top button of his shirt was now unfastened, and its sleeves were carelessly rolled up to his forearms - his corded muscled forearms. As good as it felt to hold hands with him, I knew it was time to create some boundaries. I held our joined hands up, and he dragged his eyes to them. "Is this a good idea, Conner? I mean, do friends hold hands?"
"I can’t even hold your hand?" he asked incredulously.
"I just don’t want to send mixed messages." I lowered our still-interlocked fingers between us.
"Maybe I’m just an affection guy." Yeah, okay. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. We exited and headed to my front door, which was a few feet away. "Okay, not really," he admitted.
I pursed my lips, shaking my head. "As long as you know that this," I gestured to the both of us with my free hand, "is not going to happen, especially not in the way you’re used to." My body was drawn to him like a magnet. I realized that I now stood much too close to him, our bodies almost touching. He hadn’t moved closer; it was all me.
With his free hand, he slowly twirled a few strands of my curls around his finger. As he eyed the strands of black hair around his long finger, he said, in a deep husky voice, "I know I’m not the only one who feels this…thing between us." His eyes met mine, a quiet storm brewing in them. The gray specs making a bold appearance amid the brilliant green. The calm expression on his face was a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes.
Even after sitting across from him for over an hour, his good looks and quiet intensity still rattled my cage, made my pulse quicken, and my spirit uneasy. I was rendered speechless. I took a steadying breath as my eyes took in the sight of him. I bit my bottom lip. I had to mentally restrain myself from throwing all sheets to the wind and climbing him like a tree. He was so alluring yet seemed so wicked. This man terrified me because I knew he had the potential to destroy me. Firmly planting my feet on the ground, I tipped my head back and gazed at his breathtakingly handsome face. His stare traveled from my eyes, down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. "You’re beautiful," I said on a sigh, my tone rueful.
"No. You’re beautiful. This is just a face, sweetheart. Nothing special," he lamented, as an unrecognized emotion flickered in his eyes for the briefest of moments.
"Women must throw themselves at you." He didn’t deny it, just shrugged a shoulder. "Full disclosure," I sighed. "There was someone, a man I almost married. It’s been over for a long time now." I focused on his chest, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. "He cheated on me with my…with someone really close to me, a family member. Anyway, I’m finally at a place where I can breathe again. And I can smile again. I mean, really smile. And laugh, laugh until my cheeks hurt." I smiled up at him, fulfilled by the inner peace that I worked so hard for. "I’m finally in a good place. I just can’t risk that."
He placed two fingers under my chin, tilting my head up to him. His eyes bore into mine. "That’s fucking awesome and fucking rare. I would never take away your air or your peace." His knuckles grazed along my jaw. So caught up in his touch and how he looked at me, I didn’t e
xpect it when his arm snaked around me, and he pulled me flush up against him. His chin now rested on the top of my head, and he murmured, barely audible, "I haven’t breathed in a long fucking time." He nuzzled his face into my hair, hindering me from examining him after making such a sad confession. I couldn’t fight it. This connection. This pull. I didn’t want to.
I wrapped my arms around his narrow waist, enjoying the feel of his rock-hard body against mine. I leaned my head against his chest, closed my eyes, and breathed in the scent of him. His last comment saddened me. Who took his air away? What caused his smile to never reach his eyes?
I loosened my embrace and arched my neck back to look up at him. Vulnerability shone in his eyes as he looked off in the distance before our eyes met again. At that moment, I wished that I could take back the "beautiful" compliment and the observation about women throwing themselves at him. I was ashamed to admit that I had been distracted by his outer shell. His incomparable good looks. Because at that moment, when our eyes met, pools of emptiness stared back at me, causing me to shutter. Dead eyes filled with an insurmountable sadness made me unsettled and weary.
Conner brushed his hand across my cheek, and against my better judgment, I eagerly leaned into his hand. I closed my eyes, savoring the warmth of his palm on my cheek, but reopened them when the heat of his hand was no longer on my face. Embarrassment seeped through my bones at my reaction to his touch.
"Friends it is," he said curtly, all business-like. He stepped back, releasing his hold from around my waist.
Breaking from the spell, I nodded, the words stuck in my throat for a beat. "Well, thanks for walking me up." I hurriedly retrieved my keys from my bag.
The air between us had shifted. Conner once again donned the mask that he masterfully wore on the night we first met. The same guarded mask that he wore at the beginning of our non-date tonight. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Novalee." He placed a brief kiss on my forehead before slowly backing up towards the elevator.
"Thank you for the ride home." I gave a small smile. I unlocked my door then turned to look back at him as he waited for the elevator doors to open.