A Lot Like Adiós

by Alexis Daria

  “Okay, I’ll email him, maybe set up a call,” Michelle said, pulling out of their parking space. The woman had a sixth sense for finding parking spots in Manhattan. “What’s next on the agenda?”

  “We’re heading to a restaurant near Columbus Circle to meet our investor, Richard Powell, and the celebrity spokesperson he has in mind.”

  Michelle shot him a quick look. “Shouldn’t it be who you have in mind? Or Fabian?”

  Gabe shrugged. “Powell has a lot of strong opinions. And this actor is a member at the gym.”

  “Ooh, it’s an actor? Let me guess.” She tapped her chin in thought. “Sylvester Stallone.”

  “What year do you think it is?”

  “John Cena?”

  “Only in my dreams.”

  They chatted about their celebrity crushes while she drove, with Michelle even going so far as to provide infomercial-like introductions to Agility Gym in their voices. By the time they made it to the restaurant, Gabe was laughing so hard, he was near tears.

  Michelle couldn’t find a space, so she dropped Gabe off and went to circle the block.

  Alone on the sidewalk, Gabe slipped on a pair of sunglasses and took a deep breath. Something about Powell made him nervous, and he never liked meeting him without Fabian present. It wasn’t that Powell was mean or evil or anything like that. He’d even helped Gabe set up a legal aid fund for people in ICE custody. But the guy was just a little too . . . forceful. Or maybe pushy was a better term. When Powell had a vision, it was hard to deter him from it.

  Even when it didn’t match your own.

  Gabe straightened his shoulders and strolled into the restaurant. The interior smelled heavenly, like garlic and basil, and was less pretentious than Gabe had expected, considering Powell had picked the place. The hostess brought him to their table.

  “Hey, Gabe!” Richard Powell shot to his feet and rounded the table to take Gabe’s hand and give him a one-armed hug. “Good to see you, man.”

  Sometimes Powell made Gabe feel like he was still that kid from the Bronx who didn’t know anything about the world. But he knew, at the very least, that Powell admired his physical prowess, so Gabe always tried to appear confident in their meetings.

  Powell was a few inches shorter than Gabe and probably twenty-five years older, with bright blue eyes, a ruddy complexion, and an excess of energy. He was in great shape for a man his age, and Gabe had a nagging suspicion that hanging out with fit younger guys—who were, often, POC—made Powell feel cool.

  The other man at the table was about as tall as Gabe but leaner, with a fighter’s build and dark, serious eyes. Rocky Lim, the handsome Chinese British star of a series of martial arts movies involving race cars, reached out a hand to Gabe, who shook it.

  “Hey, mate,” Rocky said, his voice still carrying a British accent despite his years in Los Angeles. Gabe had known Rocky since the actor had started coming to Agility to train for a role a couple years earlier. “How’s it going?”

  The table was square. Powell and Rocky sat perpendicular to each other, and Gabe sat on the other side of Powell, leaving a chair between him and Rocky. He’d alerted them in advance that he would be bringing a colleague, so Powell had made the reservation for four. Some part of Gabe didn’t want Michelle sitting next to Powell. Rocky, on the other hand, had always been unfailingly polite to the women who worked at Agility, and Gabe trusted him to be the same with Michelle.

  “Surprised to see you here in New York,” Powell began, and Gabe resisted the urge to grit his teeth.

  “Well, you know about everything happening with Fabian,” Gabe said lightly. “Plans change.”

  “That they do.” Powell gestured at the table, which was covered with no fewer than five platters and a basket of bread. “Are you hungry? I got here early and ordered some appetizers to start. I wasn’t sure what you or your assistant might want.”

  Gabe opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, Michelle’s voice came from over his shoulder.

  “I’m not his assistant,” she said, with the perfect amount of breezy confidence and flirtation only she could manage. She slid into the empty seat before any of them could get up. “Good afternoon, gentlepeople. I’m Michelle Amato, marketing consultant for the New York expansion.”

  Powell’s eyes lit up when he saw her, and he stood to reach across the table to shake her hand. “You’re the genius behind the Victory ads?”

  She inclined her head, easily accepting the compliment. “That I am.”

  “Richard Powell, of Powell Enterprises. Great to meet you. I was thrilled to hear you were taking this on.”

  “Thrilled to be here,” she said easily, then turned to Rocky. “Well, you don’t look familiar at all.”

  Rocky flashed her a genuine smile. “Rocky Lim. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Charmed.” She shook his hand, then reached for a plate of calamari. “How did you know my weakness, Mr. Powell?”

  “Call me Richard, please.” And from there he proceeded to focus approximately 91 percent of his attention on Michelle, offering to order food or wine, asking what it was like to grow up in New York—as if Gabe hadn’t grown up literally next door to her—and picking her brain on what Broadway musicals he should see while he was in town. He wasn’t hitting on her, per se, but he was too ingratiating for Gabe’s liking.

  Michelle, for her part, handled it beautifully. She slipped in an impressive amount of questions about the gym, Rocky’s involvement, and her own insights about the locations they’d seen that day. At no point did she seem uncomfortable, and she managed the flow of conversation with grace.

  For the 9 percent of the time Powell talked to Gabe, Gabe was distracted by the conversation going on to his right. It seemed like Rocky and Michelle were bonding over black-and-white photography.

  “Who are some of your favorites?” Rocky asked, leaning toward Michelle with an elbow on the table.

  “I mean, it’s hard to top Cartier-Bresson,” she answered easily. “The decisive moment, and all that.”

  Powell was still talking, though, and Gabe reluctantly turned his attention back to his investor. He flashed a smile, since he’d long ago learned that was the best way to make it seem like you were listening. And like Michelle said, it was his moneymaker.

  This kind of shit—meetings, schmoozing, cutting deals—wasn’t for him. Fabian was good at this stuff, whereas Gabe preferred to be on the ground, working with regular people. Not movie stars and venture capitalists. But as the business had grown, he’d spent more time behind his desk and less time on the part of it he loved—training clients, teaching classes, or doing bodywork on PT patients.

  For so long, Gabe had told himself the business tasks were the trade-off for success. And for the most part, Fabian had carried this particular part of the load.

  It’s not forever, Gabe told himself. Soon Fabian’s schedule would free up, and he’d be able to handle the rest of the New York launch.

  You think his schedule is going to free up after the twins are born? a little voice in the back of Gabe’s mind nagged at him.

  He pushed it aside. It had to. Because aside from Michelle’s hand patting his thigh comfortingly under the table, he was fucking miserable.

  And deep down, he knew he couldn’t do this forever.

  Chapter 12

  Powell was quite impressed with you.”

  “Yeah?” Michelle gave Gabe a quick glance as she drove them through Hell’s Kitchen to her apartment. The contractor had texted that morning to let her know the new toilet had been installed. The bathroom was still covered in plastic and there wasn’t a sink, but since the toilet was hooked up, she could be in the apartment if she needed to be. She’d told Gabe she wanted to check it out while they were in the city, but really, she wanted to show him her apartment and see his reaction.

  It was a hot August evening, and tons of people were out choosing between the little restaurants and bars that dotted the first stories of m
any of the buildings in her neighborhood. Michelle was on a quieter side street that was mostly residential, aside from a laundromat and a parking garage.

  “Well, I am pretty impressive,” she quipped, in the hopes of making Gabe laugh. It worked, and he let out a low chuckle.

  He’d been moody since she arrived at the restaurant. She didn’t know what had happened while she was parking the car, because he’d been laughing and joking with her right beforehand. Not that he’d said or done anything unprofessional. He’d been serious, which made sense, considering he was talking with his investor. But it was the sort of serious she remembered from their youth, when she’d seen him around his father. At her house, he’d been silly and fun, but in his own home, he’d been more subdued. Serious Gabe was almost . . . quietly macho. He stuck to short answers, with fewer flashes of dimples and a slight deepening to his voice.

  Not that Michelle had minded that last part. The deep rumble had done things to her while she’d chatted with Rocky, who was unexpectedly down-to-earth. As they’d talked, she’d been hyperaware of Gabe to her left. The low notes of his voice. More enunciation, less of an accent, less slang. He held himself still, his posture unwavering throughout the meal, fully embodying his size and stature.

  She’d found it sexy as hell, but she didn’t know why he felt like he had to do all that posturing with Powell. The guy had seemed to like Gabe a lot. He’d been easygoing, informal, and excited about Agility’s growth. In fact, she’d gotten more concrete answers about the gym and the brand from him than she’d gotten from Gabe. Even Rocky had only good things to say about the gym. He seemed to enjoy training there, and said Gabe was a great PT. She could already see how Rocky would be an excellent celebrity spokesperson.

  Except none of it jibed with what Gabe had told her about his original vision for the gym.

  To help people feel better in their bodies and achieve a full range of motion.

  She couldn’t imagine Rocky didn’t already feel good in his body. And she’d seen his movies. There was not a damn thing lacking in his range of motion. The man did all his own stunts, for fuck’s sake.

  But at one point he’d turned sideways to show Michelle the line of his neck where it led to his back.

  “See how straight that is?” he’d asked, in those lovely clipped vowels. “That’s all Gabe. Whenever I start to hunch, he works on me, gets my muscles and joints moving in harmony again. It’s like magic. Painful, beautiful magic.”

  As far as testimonials went, it was perfection, and Michelle had jotted it down on her phone verbatim the second she’d had the chance.

  Meeting Rocky had made her wonder something, and now seemed as good a time as any to bring it up.

  “So, Rocky . . .” she began, and Gabe turned a wary look on her.

  “Are you going to fangirl over him now?”

  “I’m way too cool for that. But I am curious. Did you and he ever . . . ?”

  Gabe huffed out a laugh. “No. Not that I didn’t think about it. I mean, you’ve met him.”

  “Gorgeous, charming, and not a jerk. Hard to find someone with all three qualities these days.”

  “Especially in LA. But he’s a client, and I have rules about that.”

  “Don’t shit where you eat?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That makes sense.” A car pulled out of a spot right in front of her building as they approached, and Michelle slid her car right in. “We’re here.”

  Gabe peered outside and mumbled something about her being a parking psychic. She grinned and swung out of the car.

  Michelle lived on the second floor of a redbrick five-story walkup. It wasn’t fancy, but the management company weren’t total dicks and the building’s super kept everything clean as a whistle. He was also Puerto Rican, and he said Michelle reminded him of his daughter, so nothing in her apartment ever stayed broken for long.

  She used her keys to let them into the lobby, paused to check her mail since she hadn’t done it in a week, then led the way up the narrow staircase to the second floor.

  “God, that ass,” Gabe muttered behind her, and she let out a surprised laugh.

  At the landing, she unlocked the door to her apartment and was about to say “Welcome to my humble abode,” but what came out was “Mi casa es su casa.”

  Oh god, she had not just said that.

  She turned her face away as her cheeks heated. For one thing, it was the most cliché thing she could have said, even more cliché than what she’d originally intended to say. But it also didn’t sound like a joke, especially when he was currently staying with her at her parents’ house. Bringing him into her own space felt even more intimate than that.

  She quickly stepped inside and turned on the light, illuminating her combination living/working/kitchen space.

  “Shoes off,” she murmured, bending down to undo the straps on her sandals. Gabe unlaced his stylish leather sneakers and set them on the mat beside the door, next to a small basket of Jezebel’s toys. Then he straightened and took in the apartment.

  Michelle was proud of her home. It was small, but it was hers. She’d busted her ass to buy it, working long hours at the office while commuting from the Bronx and saving every penny she could. Sure, her living room also served as her office, the kitchen led right into the living area, and the bedroom was teeny tiny. But the apartment had high ceilings and got a fabulous amount of reflected sunlight through the living room windows. The street was quiet, and her upstairs neighbor was hardly ever home. Plus, it allowed cats. What more could she want?

  She wondered how Gabe saw it. He probably thought it was too small, like her family did. That hadn’t stopped them from helping her with the down payment, though. Technically her dad owned a third of the apartment, but he said she’d saved him money by getting scholarships and choosing a state university, so he was happy to help. And owning real estate in New York City was always smart.

  After moving in—and making a shit-ton of repairs and upgrades—Michelle had decorated slowly and thoughtfully. She didn’t want a home full of hand-me-downs from her parents or tías. That didn’t stop them from trying to push off everything from sofas to flatware on her, but she turned them all down, or donated the things they refused to take back.

  She wanted her home to be hers. Every bit of it. From the black and white furniture with red accents to the explosion of houseplants hanging above her desk, which was positioned near the windows.

  Gabe wandered a few steps in while Michelle fidgeted with her purse strap.

  Nerves kicked in and she couldn’t stay quiet anymore, waiting to see what he thought. “It’s small but—”

  “Really nice,” he said, sending her a quick smile. “It’s perfectly you.”

  Fuck, her cheeks were getting warm again. “Thanks.”

  She gave him the nickel tour, starting with the living room and her office setup.

  At her desk, he crouched next to the ergonomic chair, eyeing the dual monitor setup critically. “This is an okay work-from-home setup, but you probably want to raise your main screen an inch or two and get a different mouse pad.”

  “Sure thing, Dr. Gabe,” she teased.

  He sent her an amused smirk that made his dimple flash, then peered around a little more. “To be honest, I thought there’d be more nerd shit everywhere.”

  “It’s here and there, if you look closely.” She went over to the kitchen and took down the oven mitts to show him the tiny Mickey Mouse heads printed on them, black on red. “For example, all my kitchen textiles are Disney.”

  “Classy.”

  She put the mitts back on their hook and when she turned, Gabe was behind her.

  Tension thickened the air around them, making her heartbeat quicken and her skin hypersensitive. All of her awareness narrowed in on her own body . . . and his.

  “I need you, Mich.” His voice was raw with longing, and all she could do was close the distance between them.

  He slipped his arms around her
waist and pulled her close. His mouth came down on hers and she shivered at the first taste of him. Her fingers were shaking when she reached up to tunnel them through his hair, and she clung to him to steady herself.

  When he dragged his mouth away to press burning kisses down her neck, she struggled for air.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered, and she realized his fingers were pressed to the pulse in her neck.

  “Nothing,” she said, her voice broken and breathy, but that wasn’t true. “Why does it feel like this?”

  He cupped her cheeks and peered into her eyes. “Like what?”

  “Like I’m going to fall apart if you don’t touch me?”

  She hadn’t meant to say it, but nothing felt real right now. Why not say what she was thinking?

  His lips parted but he didn’t answer. She didn’t feel like her usual flippant self. She felt as raw and needy as he’d sounded.

  She cleared her throat. “Do you want to see the bedroom?”

  His gaze heated as it swept up and down her body. “Yeah, I do.”

  She took his hand and led him down the narrow hallway. The bedroom door was closed to keep out the dust from the bathroom renovation. She opened it and stepped inside.

  As always, entering her room brought her a feeling of peace. It was small, with dark hardwood floors, and it didn’t receive a lot of natural sunlight. To brighten it up, she’d decorated with light colors and earth tones. The bedding was white with tan accents, and she’d covered the wall behind the bed with removable wallpaper that resembled a misty gray forest with skinny trees.

  Gabe followed and closed the door behind him. He didn’t touch her, but the look on his face stole her breath.

  “Gabriel,” she whispered.

  “I’ve got you.” The words were almost lost, so quiet they were, and then, oh god, those wonderfully soft lips were moving over hers. He murmured her name between kisses, trailing his mouth down her throat as his fingers drew the fabric of her dress up over her thighs. She gasped at the feel of his hands on her bare legs. They were so hot, and with his PT expertise, he probably gave amazing massages.