“You first,” Samantha says. “I’m feeling a little tongue-tied at the moment, to be honest.”
I beam a reassuring smile at her. “What would you like to know?”
“I dunno,” Samantha says. “Maybe just give me a brief overview about yourself?”
“A ‘brief overview’?” I say. “Damn. The one time I didn’t bring a Power Point presentation with me to a bar and the prettiest woman in the place asks me for a ‘brief overview’?”
Samantha smiles sheepishly. “I sound like I’m conducting a job interview, don’t I? Shoot. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”
I touch her forearm. “I’m just teasing. It seems I’ve morphed into a fourth-grader with a crush around you. Next thing you know, I’m gonna be pulling your hair.” She raises her eyebrows and I suddenly realize what I’ve just said. Shit. “I meant,” I stammer, “you know, like a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground, not...” I trail off. Fuck. Now the only thing I can think about is fisting this gorgeous woman’s thick, dark hair while I’m fucking the hell out of her.
Samantha smiles. “I know what you meant. And, don’t worry, I can handle a little teasing—I’ve got two brothers.”
I take a deep, steadying breath. What is this crazy chemistry I’m feeling? “Ah, a woman with brothers,” I say, scooting my stool a tad bit closer to hers, my body on fire. “Now that’s a woman who’s learned some serious survival skills. I’ve got three brothers and a sister, and, thanks to all the merciless teasing we’ve put my sister through, she’s grown up to be the biggest badass of us all.”
“Hey, that’s a good item for your ‘overview,’” she says. “You’ve got three brothers and a badass sister. Where do you fall in the birth order?”
“I’m the second oldest. My older brother’s the heir and I’m the spare. The rest of my siblings were created solely for our entertainment.”
Samantha laughs.
“And, as far as the rest of my Power Point goes: I’m twenty-eight. Born and raised in Seattle. I’m a Taurus—which I only know because my sister used to babble about astrology at the dinner table every night when I was growing up. Oh, and I can fold a fitted sheet better than any hotel maid. Seriously, it’s my superpower.”
“That’s an impressive superpower. No matter how hard I try to fold a fitted sheet, it always winds up in a crumpled-up ball in a cabinet.”
“There’s a trick to it. I’d be happy to show you sometime. And while I’m at it, I could show you all my sheet-related tricks, some of them even more impressive, if you like.”
“Wow, how generous of you. I’ll be sure to add ‘skilled with sheets’ to your Power Point.”
“Please do. Oh, and here’s something kinda meta for my Power Point: I love Power Points.”
She giggles. “So do I, actually.”
“They’re the best, right? They get you everything good in life. When I was eleven or twelve, I used a Power Point to convince my mom to let me get a dog from the local shelter.”
“Power Points makin’ dreams come true,” she says.
“One manipulative kid at a time,” I add.
We both laugh.
“I did the same thing when I was fifteen,” she says. “I made a Power Point to convince my dad to let me go to a high school dance.”
“You needed a Power Point to get to go to a dance?”
“I wasn’t allowed to date ’til I turned sixteen.”
“Oh my God. The humanity.”
“It was okay—I went to an all-girls school so it’s not like I had lots of opportunities to date, anyway. But when I’d just turned fifteen, this boy who lived down the street asked me to the local public school’s dance, so I made this detailed Power Point and argued my case, and, finally, my dad relented and let me go as a ‘one-time dispensation.’” She laughs. “It certainly helped that the boy had zero game—oh my God, I could have been in a phone booth with that poor boy and not realized he was standing there with me.”
I laugh. “Did you at least have fun at the dance?”
“It definitely didn’t live up to the hype.”
“No first kiss?”
She shakes her head. “My first kiss was at age eighteen.” She shrugs. “But, hey, this isn’t my Power Point yet. We’re still on yours.”
“I’ve already told you everything, unless you have any questions for me.”
“You mean, like, ‘Ryan, where do you envision yourself in five years’?”
I laugh. “Whoa. This really is a job interview.”
She giggles. “I was totally kidding. But now that I’ve asked it, I’d love to hear your answer.”
I pause, considering how best to answer the question without sounding like I’ve got no game, and finally decide to just let it all hang out. “In five years, I envision myself married with children and the owner of my own bar.”
Her cheeks flush. “Oh.” She opens and closes her mouth like a fish on a line.
I suddenly feel the distinct need to change the subject. “Oh, I totally forgot the most important item for my Power Point: I make the best guacamole in the world.”
She bites her lip seductively. “‘In the world’?”
“In the world. It’s another superpower.”
“That’s a really bold statement, sir.”
“Bold, but true.”
“Well, I definitely gotta taste this ‘world’s best’ guacamole of yours. I love guacamole.”
“One taste and you’re gonna fall head over heels in love with me.”
“Sorry, it’s gonna take a bit more than some amazing guac to make me fall in love with you. I’m extremely left-brained, I should warn you. Just gimme the facts.”
“Ah, give you the facts and leave the guacamole? Got it. Sounds like I’d better make a Power Point with a whole bunch of charts and graphs and statistics about what a great guy I am if I want to make you fall in love with me.”
“No, no. Show me a Power Point with numbers and graphs while I’m tasting your guac.” Her face suddenly turns bright red. “That is, I mean, if making me fall in love with you... is... your... goal.” She literally palms her forehead and quickly takes a gigantic sip of her drink.
And just like that, the only thought in my head is: I want to make this girl fall in love with me.
The song playing in the bar switches from “Shape of You” by Ed Sheeran (great song) to a song I don’t recognize—but, by the way Samantha reacts to it, there’s no doubt she’s already a fan.
“What is this?” I ask.
“‘Bailando’ by Enrique Iglesias. It’s my absolute favorite.”
She sings along for a moment—and even though I don’t understand a word since the song’s in Spanish, the sight of her singing along to a song she loves is taking my breath away.
“What’s Enrique Iglesias singing about?” I ask.
“Oh, the usual,” she replies, smiling. “Lust and love. He’s saying he wants to be with her, live with her, dance with her, kiss her, have sex with her. He says she takes his breath away when he looks at her and that he’s having a chemical reaction to her. That sort of thing.”
My skin pricks.
“What’s your favorite song?” she asks, picking up her drink.
My heart is racing. “Probably ‘Sex on Fire’ by Kings of Leon.”
“Ah, a lusty love song for you, too.”
“Definitely. Add that to my Power Point, please.”
“Done. Anything else?”
I take a long sip of my drink and take a deep breath. Damn, this woman is making my head spin. “Nope,” I say. “I think we’re done with my overview. Your turn.”
“Well, hang on. We should probably add you like pirate-themed tattoos.” She motions to my forearms.
“Good point. Oh, and I’m a huge sports fan. Add that, too. You like sports, I hope and pray?”
“I love sports.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Soccer.”
&nbs
p; “Soccer? Well, shit. That’s the only sport I don’t follow. But that’s okay—it just means I’m a free agent. So what soccer team am I gonna start rooting for with you? The L.A. Galaxy?”
“Hell no. River Plate, baby. Viva la Banda.”
I look at her blankly.
“They’re one of the two biggest teams in Buenos Aires. My dad was born there.”
“Really? That’s cool. I’d love to go to Argentina someday. My sister’s been to Buenos Aires. She absolutely loved it.”
“Yeah, that’s my town. It’s the best.” She leans her elbow onto the bar and shoots me a sexy smile. “Holy hell, you’re good at this, Ryan.”
“At what?”
“This flirting thing. You’re almost making me forget about the flock of bald eagles flapping around in my stomach.”
I lean my elbow onto the bar in mimicry of her position. “Making you feel relaxed is all part of my master plan.”
“Oh, you’ve got a master plan, do you?”
“Of course.”
“What is it, if I may ask?”
I’m suddenly having crazy thoughts that simply can’t be said out loud. “Well, getting you into my bed, of course,” I say smoothly. It’s a gross oversimplification of what I’m actually thinking, of course—but a true statement, nonetheless. “There’s no particular time frame for execution of my master plan, by the way,” I add. “As far as I’m concerned, this is a marathon, not a sprint, baby.”
She assesses me for a long, heated moment, until, finally, she raises her glass and levels me with burning eyes. “A toast,” she whispers, a sexy smile dancing on her lips. “To master plans.”
8
Ryan
“Enough about me,” I say to Samantha, putting my refilled drink back onto the bar. “Let’s hear your ‘brief overview’ now.”
Samantha takes a long sip of her new drink, puts it down on the bar, and exhales. “I’m twenty-seven. A Virgo, though I know nothing about astrology other than the fact that Virgos effing rock—well, if you think people who are ‘kind, perfectionist, hard-working, dependable, and practical’ effing rock.”
“That’s the list of Virgo traits?”
She nods. “We Virgos are real party animals, aren’t we?”
“Bah. Party animals are overrated. Personally, I’m a big fan of ‘kind, hard-working, and dependable’ animals.
She smiles broadly at that.
“Do all the Virgo traits accurately describe you?” I ask.
“To a tee. I’m a total left-brainer, like I said. I’m organized. A perfectionist. I like to have all the facts and plenty of time to process before making major decisions. Virgo, Virgo, Virgo, right down the line.”
“I’m a Taurus right down the line, too: stubborn, independent, materialistic, ambitious, reliable, and, most importantly, sensual—a real sex god.”
“And, just like that, we’re back to your master plan.”
“And skills with sheets.”
“Awfully clever of you to slip ‘sensual sex god’ in there. Bravo.”
“I’m not ‘slipping’ anything into anything. It’s an astrological fact: male Tauruses make the best lovers. Look it up—it’s written in the stars, baby.”
“Okay, I will.” She pulls out her phone and taps out a search. “Well, whaddaya know?” she says after a long beat, her eyes trained on her screen. “Taurus men are sex gods!”
“Like I said. It’s cosmically pre-ordained.”
Her eyes widen. “Does all this stuff accurately describe you?”
“I dunno. Lemme see.” She hands me her phone and I read the blurb on her screen, which basically says: The male Taurus reaaalllly loves sex (true); he takes his sweet time in the bedroom because, to him, the journey is just as important as the destination (amen); he’s got Olympic-level endurance in the sack (yup); and, most importantly, he’s ultra-focused on pleasing his partner (fuck yeah!). “You’d think that blurb was written specifically about me,” I say, handing Samantha’s phone back to her.
Samantha raises an eyebrow but doesn’t speak.
“What does that site say about female Virgos’ sexuality?” I ask.
She taps out a search and reads something on her screen and, ten seconds later, her face contorts into an adorable expression I’d call “embarrassed pride.”
“By the look on your face, I’m guessing whatever that says is dead-on-accurate?” I say.
She nods. “Amazingly so.”
Samantha hands me her phone and I read the blurb out loud: “Female Virgos have strong, adventurous sex drives and are up for anything—with the right partner. But, due to their naturally cautious and perfectionist inclinations, female Virgos are highly selective about their sexual partners and usually not at all promiscuous. In fact, the typical Virgo woman would rather abstain from sex altogether, sometimes for long stretches of time, than leap into sex with a partner who, in her view, falls short of her incredibly high standards.” I hand Samantha’s phone back to her, my pulse quickening. “Sounds like getting the green light from a female Virgo is the brass ring. I ought to print out that blurb and tack it to a vision board. ‘Hashtag: life goals.’”
Samantha chuckles. “I’m not quite as big a perfectionist as this makes me out to be.” She flashes me a sexy smile. “But close.”
Oh, man, my entire body’s buzzing. So, my little Virgo’s been waiting for a guy worthy of her for the past nine months, has she? And when she finally finds him, she’ll be “up for anything”? “Give me more of your ‘overview,’” I say, my dick tingling. “We got sidetracked by our cosmically pre-ordained sexual inclinations.” I glance down at Samantha’s incredible curves. “Or, at least, I did.”
Her eyes devour me from head to toe for a long beat. “Oh, I’m equally distracted, I assure you.”
Holy shit, I want this woman. “So tell me the rest of your Power Point. I’m dying to know everything there is to know about you.”
“You now know everything. Other than, as previously mentioned, but it bears repeating: my heart shall always belong to my beloved River Plate. Viva La Banda.”
“Were you born in Argentina?”
“No. L.A. But, growing up, I spent summers in Argentina, visiting my dad’s side of the family. Their winter, my summer.”
“And your mom is from the U.S.?”
She nods. “From L.A. My dad came to L.A. to open a dance studio in Hollywood—he was a championship ballroom dancer in Argentina. And that’s how my parents met—my mom and her fiancé came into my dad’s studio to take lessons right before their wedding.”
“Ooph. Sounds like your dad taught your mom’s fiancé how to cha-cha right out the door.”
“Exactly.”
I laugh. “Holy shit. That’s savage.”
Her face turns bright red. “My dad always says the fiancé was nothing but a ‘minor inconvenience’ to him ‘taking what he instantly knew was rightfully his.’”
I lean forward, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to kiss her. “Do you look like your dad?”
“I’m his twin.”
“Then it’s no wonder your mom dropped her fiancé like a bad habit when she met him. She’s only human, after all.” I touch my fingertips on Samantha’s forearm, and the simple act of touching her sends goose bumps erupting all over my body.
Our eyes are locked for a long, heated beat.
She clears her throat and takes a sip of her drink—a move that prompts me to move my hand from her arm and place it on the bar.
Slow and steady, Ryan. She’s telling you not to rush her.
“Are your parents still married?” I ask.
“Yup,” she says. “Thirty-five years.”
“Still in love?”
Her face turns red again. She nods. “My dad likes to say my mom ‘hung the moon.’”
“Oh, I like that. I’ve never heard that expression.”
“What about your parents? Still married?”
Why the fuck is my heart poun
ding like a steel drum all of a sudden? “Uh, yeah. And my dad definitely thinks my mom ‘hung the moon,’ too. My whole family does. She’s an incredible woman.” I swallow hard. Oh, Jesus. I don’t understand why my heart is suddenly racing. I look down at her hand on the bar, suddenly overcome with the desire to not only touch it again, but to hold it in mine. But I stop myself, fairly certain she’d pull back. I’m definitely not getting a leaps-before-she-looks vibe from this girl.
“So, did I get the job, sir?” she asks playfully, picking up her drink again.
“Not quite yet,” I reply. “There’s still one bit of information we need.” I lean my elbow onto the bar and flash her my most seductive smile. “Why the fuck haven’t you been kissed in nine months? It’s incomprehensible to me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh my God, I’m gonna kill Charlotte.”
“I gotta assume you get hit on every day, especially in your line of work. You got something against kissing?”
“Of course not. I love kissing. I’ve just had one of those lulls that tends to happen after a break-up when you’re not a bar-hopping, Tinder-swiping kind of girl.”
“In other words, a Virgo.”
“Exactly.”
“But why not so much as a kiss? Haven’t you, you know, been on a date?”
She shakes her head.
“Wow. And you haven’t missed human contact?”
“Of course, I have. A lot. But, you know, there are mechanical substitutes for boyfriends these days.”
“Baby, there’s no substitute for the real thing.”
She blushes. “True.”
I lean forward. “Please don’t feel shy or embarrassed to talk to me. Revealing our vulnerabilities is the only way true intimacy can happen.”
She looks absolutely floored. “‘True intimacy’? Not words I’d expect a tattooed dude in a bar to use.”
“Well, I don’t live in the bar. Sometimes I walk the streets. Go to work. Go to the gym.”
“You know what I meant.”
Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection Page 115