by Shelly Cruz
“Hi,” I say as I open the door.
“Hey, you.” He greets me in his usual manner by leaning in and kissing me on the cheek, except this time, it’s different. In the past, it was a quick cheek-to-cheek kiss, the greeting most acquaintances use. Now, he places his lips to my cheek and lets them linger for a few moments. They’re warm and soft. When he steps back, he gives me his megawatt smile. It makes my stomach flutter in anticipation.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I grab my leather jacket from the coatrack and pockabook off the table, and follow him, closing the door behind me.
We walk out to his Jeep Wrangler, side by side, him with his left hand on my lower back. I climb into the Jeep. It’s a hardtop, and inside it’s black on black—suits him well because he’s always dressed in all black.
When he starts driving, he asks, “Do you like to shoot pool?”
“Yeah, it’s been a while, but I like it.”
“Good, get ready to be schooled,” he says, chuckling.
At that moment, the Backstreet Boys song “I Want It That Way” starts playing on the radio. “I love this song,” I say and look over at him. He’s stretching his hand out to change the station but stops before doing so and scrunches his face. The lyrics begin, and I start singing along. Massimo keeps stealing glances at me as I belt out in song.
When it ends, he turns the volume down and asks, “You sing like that for all the boys?”
“Nah, just the ones I like,” I tease while staring at his profile. His nose is long and straight, and he purses his lips as he drives, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. “What kind of music do you like?” I ask him.
“Mostly rock. Classic, 80s, heavy metal, but I listen to a little bit of everything. Some rap, hip-hop, dance classics, Italian music. Except country—can’t really get into country music.”
“And boy bands.”
“Yeah, those too.” He laughs.
“Where we going?”
“Jillian’s. Figured we could grab a bite, shoot some pool, maybe play some video games or something. You good with that?”
“Sounds fun. Haven’t been there in a while.”
CHAPTER 3
Cue Ball
MASSIMO
I DRIVE INTO THE parking lot and pay the guy at the booth. Once we’re parked, I unbuckle my seatbelt and shift toward Lena. “Hey, before we get out, come here.” I reach for her hand and tug her toward me.
She unbuckles her seatbelt and scoots closer to me. Her long curls are cascading down her back, over her shoulders, framing her face. I reach up and push the ringlets to the side, caressing the beauty mark in the middle of her left cheek, causing her eyes to flicker.
The first day I saw her, I was awestruck by her beauty, the small mole accentuating her olive skin. Last week before I kissed her, I told her how much I loved her beauty mark, and she squirmed, trying to hide that my pointing it out to her made her uncomfortable.
“You’re beautiful.” I lean in to kiss her but stop halfway and use both hands to remove the frames off of her face, placing them onto the dashboard. Her pouty lips are covered in lipstick, accentuating them. I cup her jawline in my hands and lick my lips before pressing mine to hers. She whimpers when I gently tug on her bottom lip and suck on it. My tongue darts out, delving into her mouth. She opens for me—our tongues meeting and stroking each other.
Lena separates from me and bites her bottom lip. She lifts her hand and rubs her fingers across my mouth. “Your lips are so soft,” she whispers. “And those canines…I liked feeling them with my tongue,” she says and licks her lips. The things I’d like her to do with that tongue—thoughts of her using it—make my dick twitch. “They give you character.”
“Character, huh?”
“Yeah, a little mischief and a whole lotta sexy!”
Lena extends her hand out and, with her thumb, removes lipstick from around my mouth, and says, “Now you don’t have lipstick on your face.” Her touch makes me hard, but I need to take it down a notch if we’re gonna get out. Otherwise, my hard-on will be bulging, and it’ll be uncomfortable to walk.
“Thank you.” I shift in my seat to ease the pressure between my legs.
“Come on, let’s go. I need to kick your ass in pool. Show you how it’s done,” she says and throws her head back in laughter. She grabs her glasses and puts them back on, and uses the visor mirror to remove the lipstick from the area around her mouth.
“Is that right? It’s on, let’s go.”
We climb the stairs up to the third-floor entrance and stop for the bouncer working the door, asking for our IDs. I reach for my wallet and hand the guy mine. Lena is digging through her pockabook, looking for hers. When she finds her wallet, she pulls her license out and gives it to him. He looks at it and hands it back, and I snatch it before Lena can grab it. The bouncer stamps both of our hands, and we enter.
“You probably make a mug shot look good,” I say.
“A mug shot?” she asks, raising one of her eyebrows in confusion.
“These license pictures are usually terrible. I call them mug shots. Yours is good though, but you’re not wearing your glasses in your picture.”
“Yeah, I didn’t really need them when I had that license issued, so I didn’t wear them.”
“Marialena Lopez. How come you go by Lena?”
“Because, like you, most people mispronounce my name. Been like that my whole life, so when I was young, I had everyone call me Lena. It stuck. It’s easier that way, and now it’s grown on me.” She shrugs, takes the license from my hand, and puts it back into her wallet.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Great, I’m already fucking it up!
“I’m not upset. I’m used to it.” She fidgets with her frames to adjust them on her nose.
“So, how do you pronounce your name?”
“You have to roll your R—Marialena.” I love the way it sounds rolling off her tongue.
“Beautiful, just like you, but I definitely can’t roll my Rs like that, so Lena it is.”
“Show me yours.” Lena extends her hand, palm facing up. I hand her my license, and she draws it close to her face. “You’re right; yours looks like a mug shot. Considering you’ll be thirty in a few months, not bad for an old man.” She chuckles, handing it back to me. I bring my hand up to my heart, feigning being hurt by her words, but can’t hold back my laughter.
“Old man! We’ll see about that.”
She winks at me and says, “I’m sure we will.” She’s flirting, and her sultry voice is such a turn-on. Fuck, I want to make her scream my name in that voice.
“Lopez, I like that name. Where are you from?”
“I was born here, but my mom is from Uruguay, and my dad is Puerto Rican. They lived in Puerto Rico after getting married and moved to Newton a couple of years before I was born. I’m the only one of my siblings born here. The rest were born in Puerto Rico.”
“Next in line, please,” the guy behind the counter calls.
“One table, please.” I hand him my license, which he puts into a slot behind him and then slides a pool ball tray across the counter.
“Table seventeen. It’s along the right side.”
“Thanks.” I pick up the tray, and we walk toward the back. Jillian’s is a large open space. There’s a round bar in the middle of the room surrounded by couches and tables. Video game and pinball machines flank each side of the bar, and several rows of pool tables are in front of us. There are large TV screens all around, all of them showing some sporting event.
The place isn’t busy tonight. The few people you see are in small groups, everyone casually dressed in jeans, baseball hats, and T-shirts or hoodies.
“This is us.” I point to the table and place the ball tray on it, turning to remove two pool cues from the rack on the wall. “Ready, Lopez?”
“I was born ready.”
“Confident, I like that.” I begin to rack the balls so we ca
n start playing, but I want to know more about this woman. I’ve seen her every week for almost a year, but our conversations have always been nothing but small talk. We’ve never wandered into the personal, and I didn’t push because she had that boyfriend. But now, I want to be all sorts of personal with her.
“You said you have siblings. How many do you have?”
“There’s six of us. Three girls, three boys.”
“Oh, wow, that’s a big family.”
“Yeah, both of my parents come from big families too. My mother has nine brothers and sisters, and my father has twelve.”
“Whewww.” I whistle. “My parents each have big families too. Made for big family events with lots of food.”
“All the food is usually my favorite part.” She laughs. “Speaking of, are there menus around here? We should order something to eat before we start playing. I’m starving.” She wanders to one of the high-top tables behind me, drops her bag on the chair, and grabs two menus off the table.
I meander over and hover behind her to look at the same menu she is. Lena asks, “See anything you like?”
I inhale her unique scent before responding, “Yes.” Having her so close gives me goose bumps. I want to pull her hair and kiss her.
“I definitely want fries. Maybe I’ll just get a chicken sandwich,” she says. “What about you?”
She has no idea that I wasn’t talking about items on the menu. I’m so turned on by her right now, I need to step away, or I’m gonna have a hard-on all night. “I’ll just get a cheeseburger.” I take a few steps back toward the pool table.
At that moment, a server arrives. “Hi, I’m Cindy. I’ll be your waitress tonight. You guys ready to order?”
“Grey Goose and soda with two limes for me, and a double shot of Jack, neat, for him. Two waters, a chicken sandwich with cheese and fries, no mayo, and a cheeseburger and fries,” Lena says.
“How do you want that burger?” the waitress asks.
“Medium,” I say.
“Anything else?” asks the server.
“No, that’s all,” I say. The waitress nods and walks off.
I look at Lena and ask, “Taking charge, are you?”
“Habit.” She shrugs and picks up the pool cue, begins chalking the tip.
“How’d the opening go this weekend?” she asks.
“Lunch on Friday was crazy busy. Our computer system had some glitch, and we couldn’t get it to work, so we had to handwrite orders. It was a fucking nightmare, but we survived. Thankfully, we called support, and they got it fixed by late afternoon. Other than that, it went well.”
I saunter over to the pool table, pick up my cue, and remove the rack from the balls. “Ladies first.”
Lena bends over and places the cue ball into place—setting herself up to break. Her long curls are falling over her shoulders, brushing the table, and the swell of her breasts peek out from her blouse. She glances up over her glasses, meets my eyes, and sticks her tongue out before looking back down and breaking.
“I had fun tonight,” Lena says as she’s zipping up her jacket.
We shot a few rounds of pool before heading over to play Skee-ball and then the pinball machines. I liked seeing her relaxed, laughing, and being competitive.
“Me too,” I say, extending my hand in search of hers. When Lena feels my hand prying her fingers open, she glances up at me, and I ask, “This okay?”
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she spreads her fingers wide, curling them around mine. Her hand is hot, and she starts rubbing her thumb back and forth in my palm as we stroll in silence to the car.
I wonder what she’s thinking about. Is she debating whether she wants to go back to her place or mine? Deciding whether or not she’s ready to have sex with me? Despite being candid and confident, she’s also reserved, so I’m not certain. What I do know for sure is that I’m not ready to call it a night.
Although it’s a Tuesday night, the street around us is busy. Lansdowne Street is known for its bars and nightclubs, and every night of the week, something is going on in at least one of the joints. I can hear the muffled music wafting from the establishments; people fill the street and are dressed up for a night out. Women are wearing short skirts and heels so high, I don’t know how they can walk in them.
I like that Lena wore boots out on our date instead of heels, not that she needs heels because she’s so tall. She looks sexy as fuck in those jeans; they hug those curves of hers, curves that I can’t wait to grab hold of. And her ass, it’s perky, and the round globes have me fantasizing about all the dirty things I want to do with her.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, interrupting my dirty thoughts.
“I like that you didn’t wear heels.” I feel like I was caught red-handed.
“That’s what you’re thinking about?” She raises her eyebrow in disbelief.
“Well, I see all these women in heels, and I wonder how the hell they walk in them. They seem so uncomfortable.”
“Heels are pretty uncomfortable. I rarely wear them.”
“I’m not ready for our night to end,” I say, glancing over at her. She meets my gaze and graces me with a lopsided smile.
“Me neither,” she whispers back. We stand there for a few minutes, people passing us by as we take each other in.
“Let’s get outta here,” I say, grasping her hand in mine.
When we get to the Jeep, I unlock the passenger door so Lena can climb in. “Do you work tomorrow?” I ask.
“No, I don’t work Wednesdays.” She tugs on the seatbelt, and I grab it from her to finish snapping it into place. After I do, I stop before her, brushing my nose to hers, then softly kiss her lips.
“Do you want to come back to my place?” I ask, pushing the hair from her face and dragging the pad of my thumb along her jawline. She nods.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
I kiss her with fervor, eager to taste her, and tug on her hair to tilt her head back so I can kiss her jawline. Her scent drives me wild. She smells like coconut, and I want to devour her. I pull back, and her eyes open, but I can’t quite read them. If I had to guess, I’d say they scream, “Make love to me.” The right side of her mouth curls up, and she takes her glasses off to wipe them clean.
I walk around to the driver’s side, excitement and anticipation coursing through my veins, hop in, and turn the ignition. Before putting the car in reverse, I grab the Stone Temple Pilots CD from my visor case and pop it into the CD player, and “Down” starts playing.
“This music okay?” I ask.
“It’s a little intense, but you can leave it. Maybe it’ll give me some insight into you.” She grins and extends her hand, placing it on my leg, making my dick twitch again.
As we’re crossing the lobby of the Lincoln Wharf Apartments where I live, I say hello to Peter, the concierge.
“This is a nice building,” Lena says.
“It’s all right. A friend of my father owns the unit I live in, which is how I ended up moving here. I like it enough.” I press the elevator call button.
“What floor are you on?” she asks as we’re waiting.
“Fourth.”
Once inside the elevator, I press the “4” button and face Lena. She’s standing in the corner, so I grab both of her hands and lift them, lacing her fingers with mine while our hands suspend between us. There may be silence, but our eyes speak to each other. Not sure if she can read mine, but hopefully, she can see that they’re screaming, “Yes, I’ll make love to you.” Her emerald gaze is soft, turned up in line with the slight grin that graces her full lips. She looks like I feel—relaxed and content to be here in this moment with each other.
The elevator dings, and the door opens. I exit but don’t let go of Lena’s left hand as we walk down the hall stopping at apartment number 409. I insert the key and unlock it, opening the door with my foot. As soon as we step in, I kick off my shoes and place them on the dark red mat to my left, a
nd Lena follows suit.
CHAPTER 4
Black & White
MARIALENA
“MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE. I’M gonna put on some music,” he says.
There’s one step at the end of the foyer that leads into a large living room. Two large sliding doors sit along the far wall and open up to a balcony overlooking Boston Harbor. You can see part of the city’s skyline and some scattered lights over the dark water. The view during the day must be incredible.
He’s at the stereo equipment by the entertainment center along the left wall, and I sit on the couch’s left arm. The floors are hardwood and the furniture is all black—sofa, coffee table, end tables, entertainment center, dining table, and chairs—such a masculine vibe.
Various Helmut Newton photographs adorn the walls—all black and white in identical thick black frames. To my left on the wall between the kitchen and the foyer hangs “Heather Looking Through a Keyhole.” On each side of the entertainment center there is a picture of Linda Evangelista standing on a city street with short hair, one with her leaning into the camera and another where she’s casually smoking a cigarette, both reminiscent of Sophia Loren. On the wall to my right, and to the left of the sliding doors, are two photographs side by side with a couple in each picture: “Woman into Man” and “Fashion Study, Paris, 1975.” To the right of the sliding door is “Kiss,” and behind me, over the wall alongside the dining table is a picture of a woman leaning over a round table, a man’s hand unzipping her dress.
“I hope you like Tom Petty,” Massimo says. He walks to the small bar set up in the corner, just outside the galley kitchen to my left.
“Who doesn’t like Tom Petty?” I respond, my eyes pulling away from the photos and back to him.
“I think most people do. You want a drink? I don’t have Grey Goose but I have Absolut, is that okay?”