by Tamara Lush
With a swift motion, he twirls my body to face him, so my back smacks against the metal lockers. He’s so big, a football player. He’s like royalty here at school, which is why he gets away with everything.
I’m a skinny geek, and I still don’t know what he sees in me. He grasps my jaw in one hand. “You know you love me, babe. What was up with that flirty little smile you gave Jason last period?”
“It was nothing,” I mumble.
“Nothing. Hmm. You know what?”
I scrunch my eyes shut. My heart’s pounding against my ribcage and all I want is to get to fourth period English class. Chad’s in a different class, which means I’ll have an hour-long reprieve. From his affection and his abuse.
He presses his lips to my ear. “You’re mine. Now that I’ve fucked you, you’re mine. You’re my property, Natalia. All mine. Don’t you ever fucking forget it. No other guy’s going to want you now that I’ve stuck my dick in you. Jason won’t want you. No one will.”
I wake, whimpering. My cheeks are wet. Fuck. I hate these dreams that take me back to high school. Haven’t had one in a few years, but my absurd date with Jordan must have triggered something in my still-traumatized brain.
Mister Sinister’s curled up on the end of the bed and protests with a grumpy meow when I turn on the nightstand lamp.
“Sorry, dude,” I say, then pad out of the room and into my kitchen for a glass of water.
My heart rate’s still high even after I have a few sips. I hate these dreams. They’re always the same, featuring Chad’s bullying and verbal abuse. And they seem to happen just when I think I’ve gotten over all that.
I’m thirty-two years old, for God’s sake. When will I stop reliving those days? My relationship with Chad has reverberated throughout my entire life — not because I still love him, but because it’s forced me to put up walls with men. To feel always on edge, like I have to fight at the first sign of conflict. Like I can’t trust anyone with a penis.
And some of them aren’t worth trusting. Many of them, actually. Take Jordan, for example.
Even when I’ve met decent guys, I’ve tended to pull back because I fear the inevitable switch from nice guy to bully asshole. That’s what happened with Chad. He’d been so sweet the summer before our junior year, wore me down with his kindness. I lost my virginity to him, and then when school started, he was hot and cold, scalding and frigid.
I went along with his bullshit for years. Years. Until I basically broke down. That’s the thing with toxic relationships — you know they’re eroding your confidence and life. But you churn along, assuming things will get better. Hoping. Because the guy was once so damned sweet, and you’d give anything to have those days back.
Ridiculous. That won’t happen again, because I’ve got a mental filing cabinet filled with coping skills and years of therapy to back me up. During my last visit, my therapist said she was proud of me for putting myself out there in the online dating pool.
Wait till I tell her about Matthew…
But is Matthew any different from the others?
Back in my bedroom, I turn out the light and hoist the cat next to me. “I’m an adult now, Sin. When am I going to have a healthy relationship?” I murmur into his fur. “What about Matt? Can I trust him? Or is he going to change, too? What do you think?”
I hug Sin tight against my body, his soft purr lulling me to sleep.
It’s Friday at seven-thirty. I blast into Ma’s kitchen, still in my work dress and heels. All eyes in the room swing to me: Dad, Ma, Remy, and Leilani.
“Hey, where’s the lasagna? You made it, right? I’m so late. God. I can’t believe two people called in sick today and I had to deal with the front desk alone.”
Dad’s sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling what looks like fried plantains into his face. I walk over and pick one off his plate.
“That’s the reality of running a resort, kiddo,” he says in between chewing.
“I know. I’m just overwhelmed here, holding the fort down while Max is in New York for the weekend.” I pop the juicy plantain into my mouth.
Remy, my youngest brother, punches my leg lightly. “Sit down and eat with us.”
“Shh,” Leilani pipes up. “She can’t, porkchop. I told you.”
“Porkchop?” I bust out laughing and ruffle my brother’s hair. He and Leilani are disgustingly in love. Dad repeats the word porkchop in his Boston accent, and Leilani giggles.
“Ohh, that’s right. Nat has a date.” Remy grins and stuffs what looks like roast chicken in his mouth. “Wait. Didn’t you have a date on Wednesday? Dex said something about how the dude left in a huff. Y’all kiss and make up?”
“Ma,” I holler, wanting to change the subject from that dismal night at the Grouper with Jordan. I turn to Remy. “Hush. I did meet a guy from Tinder, and it sucked.”
“Sorry, sis,” Remy offers, his mouth full. Just like dad. Leilani pinches his arm.
“Here’s your lasagna.” Ma shuts the oven with her hip. “I’ve been keeping it warm. It’ll be perfect for serving in a half-hour to an hour.”
“Damn that smells good, Ma,” Remy says, peering at the tray. “I’d have eaten that, too.”
“He acts like he just got out of jail when he gets around food,” Leilani says.
“That kid always did,” Dad says.
Ma hands the tray to me, and I take the potholder-covered handles gingerly. My heart’s jacked up because I’m so freaking late. “Can someone hold the door open and help me to the car with this?”
“Oh, and here’s some homemade bread and the tiramisu,” Ma says, reaching for an oversized paper bag with twine handles on the counter.
“Aww, you made her tiramisu, no fair,” Remy cries.
“Do you have wine at home?” Ma asks, ignoring Remy.
“That, I do have,” I say, pausing in the doorway.
“Pfft, of course she has wine,” Remy says. “What, d’you think they’re going to drink sweet tea? This is Nat we’re talking about here. She can probably drink this guy under the table.”
“Shut up,” I shoot at him.
“Kids.” Dad rolls his eyes. It’s like a familiar ritual with us. Even though we’re grown, sometimes we still act like children when we’re at Ma and Dad’s.
“I’ll help.” Leilani daintily pats her mouth with a napkin and jumps up, then takes the bag from Ma. Bless her kind mermaid heart.
“Byeeee,” I call out.
Ma, Dad, and Remy all wave.
“God, this day,” I say to Leilani as we rush out. “I thought I’d be home way earlier.”
“I’m sorry. You’re going to have so much fun tonight. Just go home, take a quick shower, and slip on something casual and sexy.”
“I guess. Maybe just shorts and a T.”
She holds the front door open for me.
“Lei, I’m nervous.”
We power walk to my car, past Ma’s carefully tended tropical foliage. “Why?” she asks, pausing at the car. “Is this unlocked?”
“Yeah.”
She opens the passenger door and I set the lasagna on the seat. As I take the bag from her and set it on the floor, I shake my head. “I dunno. We’ve been texting all week. He’s funny. Hilarious. And nice. Like really nice. Genuine, employed, has all his teeth, no criminal record…”
Leilani cracks up. “He’s also extremely handsome. So, what’s the issue?”
I slam the door. “He seems awfully decent.”
She twists her mouth. “I get that fear. I really do.”
I nod once. Before she met my brother, she lived with an abusive man.
“What if he’s not as good looking as I remember? Or as nice as I remember?”
She wrinkles her face in response. “Huh?”
“Like what if I was in some weird Twilight Zone, and he’s actually an awful human being?”
“So, you’re worried that he’s either too decent or absolutely awful. Got it.” I can tell Leilani’s fighti
ng a smile.
“Matthew’s also a single dad.”
Her face brightens. “Oh. Oh! Well, so?”
I go around to the driver’s side door. “He’s bringing his daughter here to live with him full time. I guess that’ll be in a couple of weeks? I don’t know. I don’t know jack about kids. He’s been staying at his ex’s house while his ex is away. It’s just so... weird. I’ve never dated a single dad. And what about his ex? Do they get along? Has he ever introduced anyone to his kid before? What if the kid hates me—”
She holds her hands up. “Whoa. Whoa. Take it down a few notches. Deep, cleansing breaths. Breathe with me.” She breathes in, her petite torso puffing up with air. She’s wearing a T-shirt that says SHELL YEAH. “C’mon. One deep breath.”
I roll my eyes and gulp in a breath. “Yeah, that’s better. That alleviates my existential angst about potentially being alone for the rest of my life because I’m so picky.”
“Seriously, just have fun tonight. You’re not marrying the guy, Nat. He’s coming over for lasagna and stuff.”
I get in the car and fire it up. “I am looking forward to the stuff.”
Leilani grins. “While you’re stuffing, don’t ask any questions, okay? Just let it unfold organically.”
“Okay,” I call out, slamming the door and roaring out of my parents’ driveway. I repeat the word “organically” out loud like a mantra.
I have exactly thirty minutes before Matthew’s supposed to arrive, so I shove the lasagna in the oven and jump into the shower. Thank God I’d tidied up my condo before I went to work.
My sleek black cat, Mister Sinister, looks on with alarm.
“Usually I don’t move quite this fast, right, Sin?” I ask out loud as I throw on a robe so I can blow dry my hair and swipe on some mascara. Okay, and a little lip gloss. I’ll put on a black T, maybe some cutoff shorts. Matthew doesn’t strike me as a formal guy, at least not from what I saw when I stalked his social media this week.
Or should I wear something nicer? Usually, I’m not this indecisive. I stare into my closet, my heart pounding. Maybe I should opt for something more feminine than my standard utilitarian wardrobe. Do I have anything like that? Dammit, I should have called Lauren long before tonight.
Sin lets out an alarmed meow.
“What?” I ask, reaching for the blow-dryer.
He meows again.
And that’s when I hear it. The knock.
“Shit, is that him?” I glance at my phone. “He’s fifteen minutes early.”
Usually I have the opposite problem with dates. They show up late — or don’t show up at all.
“Sin!” I whisper in alarm, and he looks at me with a matter-of-fact expression.
I’m in a fuzzy, white bathrobe. Ah, to hell with it. I’ll answer the door and change. He last saw me in a crazed wedding dress and combat boots, so he’s probably expecting something a little offbeat from me.
“Coming,” I call out, running to the door.
I open it, and a smile immediately spreads on my face. Matthew’s standing there, grinning and holding a bouquet of sunflowers. He’s in a light blue button down and jeans. Simple, yet oh-so-hot, because it shows off his gorgeous body and his pale eyes.
“Hi,” I say, suddenly uncharacteristically shy. “Sorry, I’m running late and I just showered.”
He steps inside and hands me the flowers.
“These are gorgeous. Wow. Thanks. No one’s given me flowers in…” I’m shaking a little when I look up from the bright bouquet.
“Hey, you,” he murmurs. His voice is way smokier and sensual than it was on the beach. It makes my heart flutter even more. “I’ve been waiting for this all week.”
“Me too,” I breathe.
We stare at each other. Tonight, his eyes are a warm gray, inviting and enticing. I’ve seemingly lost the ability to move, because I’m just standing here in my robe with wet hair, holding the flowers. Gawping at his beautiful face. That sharp jaw and that raven-black hair. Somehow, he seems taller tonight, and there’s a sprinkle of stubble on his jaw.
I step close to him, near enough to feel the warmth of his chest. My eyes falter to his lips. His hand finds my free arm, and his fingers locate my inner wrist. This one little touch makes me feel like I’m going to combust.
“Hi,” I repeat stupidly.
“Hey.” He grins, then dips his head to kiss me.
My knees almost buckle and I melt into him, all the tension and frenzy replaced with a different kind of need and urgency.
We kiss for a few minutes, and his hands slide from my face to my shoulders. Since I’m only in a bathrobe, I’m wondering if we should do it right here, right now…
Chapter Eight
MATTHEW
“Didn’t expect this,” I mumble as we attack each other’s mouths, my hands skimming Natalia’s narrow shoulders underneath the soft terry cloth of the robe.
I repeat myself because my brain isn’t working right; it’s in shock from how incredible her mouth feels. “Did. Not. Expect… wow. I still love the way you kiss.”
I cup her face and lightly bite her lip. Grin against her mouth. My hands slide to her neck. Her skin is warm and her hair damp.
Christ, the image of Natalia in the shower kicks my heart into high gear.
“I still love the way you taste,” she says in that throaty voice of hers. “What kind of mint did you eat? Because I want some of that. Or I could just kiss you for a taste. Come here. Kiss me again, Matthew.”
I love the way she says my name. “Happy to oblige.”
I’m crushing my body against hers and it’s all I can do not to rip that robe off her. She smells like something edible and sugary. Is she wearing anything under that robe? I grunt a little at the thought. God, can we just go to bed right now? That thought makes my chest tighten. I did remember to put a condom in my wallet…
“You’re early,” she murmurs in my ear. Her seductive tone makes parts of my body swell and harden.
“Mmm. I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be this quick to get here. I keep thinking the island is bigger than it really is.” My hands slide around to her back, down to her narrow waist.
“I’m not sorry.” She takes my earlobe between her teeth.
I inhale sharply as a bolt of pure lust goes through me. “Actually, I’m not sorry either.”
We both laugh, a little breathless, then pull back to look at each other. Her eyes are wide and she rakes her bottom lip through her teeth.
“I’m going to change, okay? And put these in a vase.”
I tear my hands away from her face and run them through my hair. Take a deep breath to compose myself. “Yeah. Definitely.”
“Just make yourself comfortable on the sofa. I’ll be right out.”
I settle onto a long, gray console sofa, adjusting my jeans to accommodate my erection. I haven’t had this kind of reaction to a woman in years. To make my situation down there more comfortable, I extract my phone and keys from the front pocket of my jeans and deposit them on the sleek, wood coffee table.
“Smells good in here,” I call out. I’m mostly talking about the faint aroma of garlic and tomato, but there’s also the lingering sweet smell in the room from her shampoo or perfume or whatever it is.
“Thanks,” she says from a room down the hall. It’s not a big condo, but there are floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors overlooking the Gulf, giving the place an airy, light feeling. It’s on the third floor, so the view is just about perfect.
My eyes are sweeping around the room — it’s decorated in bold red, white, and gray tones — and I’m studying an abstract print on the wall when out of nowhere, a black form comes full speed at my leg.
“What the…” I say out loud.
There’s a yowl, and a cat bumps his head against my leg.
“Oh, hey, dude,” I say, reaching down to scratch his head.
Natalia walks out, her hair still damp and straight. She’s wearing a black t
ank top and black cutoff jean shorts. She’s barefoot, with no makeup. She looks badass and sexy all at once. I stare at her legs. She’s carrying a vase filled with water and the flowers.
“I see you’ve met my roommate. That’s Mister Sinister. I call him Sin. Aww, he’s purring. He likes you.” She sets the flowers on the table and sits next to me on the sofa, close enough that I can smell her perfume.
“I thought Sin was going to try to take me down like a lion does with a gazelle. He came out of nowhere.”
“That’s his signature move. He likes to charge at people. But after, he usually runs away and hides under the TV console. He’s not doing that with you. Do you like cats?”
“Yeah. I like all animals.”
Her wide grin is so sweet. “Good answer.”
“You mean some people don’t like animals?”
“You’d be surprised. Hey, are you hungry?”
We lock eyes and I laugh. “Ah. Yeah. I am.”
“I mean, for food.” She punches my thigh lightly, a little tap.
“Definitely. I haven’t eaten all day. And your lasagna smells incredible. You must’ve spent all day on it.”
A frown crosses her face. “Well. About that. C’mon into the kitchen.”
She rises to her feet and so do I. We make our way into her small kitchen and she motions for me to sit at the small table. She sets down two plates and utensils, then hands me a corkscrew and a bottle of expensive Cabernet.
“It’s a little casual around here,” she says, placing two glasses in front of me.
“I love casual.” The cork slides easily out of the wine and I pour. We grin and clink glasses, and I’m wondering when the last time was that I felt this comfortable with a new woman.
Oh, right. My ex-wife, decades ago. Hunh.
My mouth begins to water as I watch her bend slightly to take the lasagna out of the oven, then waters for real when I see the food. I haven’t seen lasagna like this since visiting my grandmother in Brooklyn as a kid.
“Damn. You’ve got skills.”
“So. Full confession.” She sets the lasagna on a potholder in the middle of the table, then turns to grab a spatula. “My mom made this. She makes incredible lasagna. I didn’t want to mislead you or anything, but, I’m not the best cook.”