I’m actually too busy appreciating him. “You’ll have to dress up,” I say, immediately realizing my reminder is completely unnecessary. Lukas is always dressed to the occasion, whether in a lovely linen shirt or an old t-shirt he’s always stylish and appropriate.
“I will do my best not to embarrass you,” he says as we step out onto the sidewalk of South Figueroa Street. The traffic bustles. The sun burns hot.
Everything I say to this man comes out wrong. “I wasn’t implying…”
“Of course not,” he says, pulling my hand so I turn to face him. “You have to relax a little, Mac.”
Excuse me, what? Mac?
“I’m not your drinking buddy,” I say, a little too softly.
His fingers brush past my temple to smooth a lock of hair behind my ear.
My mind fails any coherency as I sense he’s about to kiss me. I grow faint, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he lightly slaps my butt.
I step back. “What the hell, Lukas?”
“What’s wrong with drinking buddies? You could use a drink or two.”
My face must have gone red by now. “Don’t be so presumptuous.”
He grins. “I’m just saying, Nora, you don’t need to be so tense. I got you. I’m not going to fuck this up for you. We’ll get you what’s yours and then I’ll fade politely into the background. Like we never even met.”
The pit of my stomach tightens.
His future, permanent departure from my life does not sound as good to me as he thinks, but I’m not going to turn into a needy, drooling little girl just because of his unexpected muscled grace and charm.
I exhale hard. “Listen, Lukas. I’m just nervous. Acting is not my strong suit. I’m not sure I can do this at all. I’m not like you.”
There I go again. Foot in mouth.
Amazingly, he takes no offense. “Well then, good thing we have me. I’ll take care of everything,” he says before he grips my hand perfectly and pulls me gently towards the parking lot.
“What are we doing? I’m not parked here.” My protest is anemic at best. I’m not parked anywhere. I took a cab here but that seems so irrelevant right now.
He says nothing until he stops in front of a black motorcycle with two yellow stripes running across the fuel tank.
I stare at the bike in disbelief. “That’s your… means of transportation?”
“Yep. I’m a wind rider. Isn’t she a beauty?” He taps his fingers on one of the two helmets that are strapped to the motorcycle.
OMG…he calls his bike she.
“Are motorcycles like an escort thing?”
He stares into my eyes, intrigued. “How do you mean?”
“Didn’t the other guy have a motorcycle accident?”
Lukas nods, slowly, as if trying to understand my words.
“Don’t you remember? You told me.”
“Yeah, I’m just amazed that you remember,” he says as he taps his fingers on the motorcycle seat now.
“You know I’m never getting on this thing, right?” I say, walking around the motorcycle to take a better look at what has him so infatuated. It’s a Yamaha but beyond that, I’m clueless.
Lukas brings his index finger to his mouth. “Shush, she can hear you.”
“Please, tell me you’re not serious.”
His eyes lock brightly onto mine. “I’m just messing with you, Mac.”
Okay, that’s getting weird. “I’d rather you not call me Mac.”
“Don’t you want to be my buddy?”
I’m pretty sure the way he said that just turned me on.
“Enough, Lukas. I know you’re using some kind of charm here, but that’s not part of the deal. Okay, buddy?”
“Now I’m confused,” he says.
“Join the club,” I say, enjoying our banter more than is wise.
He studies me now in a new way. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, Nora. We’ll figure out how we have to be with each other.”
“Fine, but let’s avoid nicknames. I find it juvenile.”
“Done. Nicknames avoided,” he says as he unstraps one of the helmets and offers it to me.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” I say, refusing to take it.
“What do you think? Put it on your head. Riding a motorcycle without a helmet is very juvenile,” he quips. “And it’s deadly.”
“I’ve never…” I begin.
“Been kissed?” he says.
I shake my head, annoyed by his attempt at humor and feeling a little embarrassed for having admitted to never riding a motorcycle.
“I’ve been kissed plenty,” I say unconvincingly. “You know what I meant, you smartass. I’ve never ridden one of these.”
“Ah, you’re a virgin,” he says with a chuckle. “Quite a challenge.”
It’s amazing how he can make anything sound a little dirty. “You’re not a smartass, you’re a jackass,” I tell him. The truth is I don’t mind his failed witticisms, but I’m not about to let him know.
What did Jules tell me? Stay in control.
“It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced,” he says.
“I’m sure it is,” I tell him. “But your crotch rocket isn’t getting anywhere near me.”
“Just trying to get us from A to B,” he says. Even that sounds sexy. I’m not sure how. He has definitely mastered some type of dark arts.
“A car will do that much more safely and appropriately,” I say, clearing my parched throat.
“I don’t do cars, Nora. That’s the one thing I will not do.”
I’m flabbergasted. “Okay, that’s weird,” I say. If he wants to take me to places for our fake dates, he’ll have to change his tune.
“You should see your face,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “I have a car. It’s old but it’s a car. It’s too easy to fuck with you.”
“I can’t believe I need to say this, Lukas, but I prefer not to be fucked with. Are there women out there who do enjoy it?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe it’s just sexual frustration lashing out.”
“Oh no, not that again!” I say reproachfully.
“Sorry,” he says, shrugging, “but you’re the one who has put me on the sidelines. I’m just not used to it. You know, chemically.”
I’m completely flustered. Anger and affection attack each other. “Just shut up, okay?” I catch my breath and stare at the motorcycle. “Will this thing take us to the Metrolink station?”
“It will if that’s what you want,” he says quietly. “We can take it slow. It’s not far.”
He swings his leg up over the motorcycle. His strong thighs tense as he helps me on behind him. I try to keep my chest off his strong back as I put the helmet on. He helps me like I’m a child. His ability to twist is too much. Time for my yoga breathing technique.
My god, this man.
“I got it,” I say, almost angrily, as I snap the chin strap on. It fits perfectly. He has somehow pre-adjusted the strap or, more likely, he has a series of female companions riding with him.
“Arms around my waist,” he says.
He turns the key and an ungodly engine roar makes me tremble all over. I quickly wrap my arms around him. He’s warm and all muscles. He’s perfect.
I need to remind myself again that he is an escort. I need to remind myself that every girl who’s ever been on his bike gets weak-legged and feels these same intense urges to squeeze the ripped trunk of this man.
Lukas is for every woman. He’s not for me, or any one woman specifically. And, anyway, I don’t really need a man right now. I need this money. I keep repeating every sexless thought I can muster.
“The station is like six blocks from here,” he says loudly as we pull into traffic.
“Thank God,” I whisper into his broad back as the pit of my stomach both thrills and tightens.
Chapter 4
Nora
FIRST DATE
“You call that coffee?” Lukas says, arching an eyebrow. “It
looks like melted marshmallows in caramel. Willy Wonka would be proud.”
“I love Willy Wonka,” I say with a playful sneer as I bring the frothy Caramel Waffle Cone Crème Frappuccino to my lips. I’ll never understand why the black espresso people like Lukas act like health advocates. They think their plain, tasteless cup of mud is so good for you. It’s not. I need to live a little. I’ll drink my dessert and enjoy it. Thank you very much.
To my dismay, Lukas looks nearly as delicious as my drink. His black t-shirt highlights his powerful upper body, making my heart pump blood feverishly into a million electric tributaries. He wears fashionable faded jeans and black leather cowboy boots—or are they motorcycle boots? Too hot. He’s a hazard. Flammable. He should come with a fire extinguisher.
Luckily we’re not at a workplace or anywhere else where absolute concentration might be needed. We’re at a Starbucks again. Apparently it’s the only place I can come up with when I hear his voice on the phone asking me where I’d like to meet.
His eyes sparkle with an intensity that’s almost devious, topping off the perfection of his chiseled features. Despite all this, I feel more relaxed with Lukas today than ever before. I think that means I’m in a good mood. It’s been a long while since I’ve allowed myself to feel this way.
“We’ll call this the official first date,” Lukas says, picking up my coffee cup to take a closer look as if carb-infused coffee is a fascinating study object.
“Why must you persist?” I say, grabbing my Frappuccino from his exquisite fingers.
He narrows his eyes. “Persist?”
“You know, treating this like it’s real,” I say, opening my arms wide to point at everything and nothing in particular.
“If it’s real, just a little, it will be far easier to pull this off when you introduce me to your family at the wedding.”
I can’t help myself. “We’re not having sex just to be convincing,” I blurt out. Too loud. Half of Starbucks heard.
Lukas grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about getting our stories straight. You really have a one track mind. It’s okay, I don’t mind. Not even a little.”
I must be red now. I want to be mad at him but I can’t. All I do is say the wrong thing when we’re together. I can’t blame him for using what I give him. He’s right, though. It’d be good if we get our stories straight. We need to be able to answer the basic questions we’ll be asked about each other. “I knew that,” I say quietly. “It was a joke.”
“No problem. I like your shy side,” he says, grinning again.
“Please, Lukas,” I plead. “Save your tricks for your customers.”
For the first time, he seems to be a little hurt by my inference. He nods, barely.
“I don’t mean to be a bitch,” I hasten to add. “You’re just really good at what you do.”
He looks more injured now. “First, I’m not doing anything. And second, you are my only customer right now.”
Oh God. “I know,” I say. “I know and I’m grateful.”
He recovers in no time. “No need to be. This is business, right?”
I don’t know what to say. I have no clue where this conversation is at right now. I have no clue where he’s coming from. Or myself for that matter.
“We’re all good, Nora,” he says. “Let’s start with your family.”
“My family. Right. I guess this is necessary. My mother is in Florida. She moved back when my parents divorced seven years ago and I got into college.”
Lukas takes out a small notebook from his pocket. “Okay, mother in Florida, check,” he says as he scribbles something in the notebook.
“You’re taking notes?”
“We’re going to be tested. I’m not leaving anything to chance,” he says with a smile so wide I can’t be sure he’s serious.
“Okay then. Here in LA there’s Aunt Sonya, my father’s sister. Her daughter, Joci, is the one getting married. Are you getting all this?”
“On second thought,” he says as he puts the notebook away. I knew he wasn’t completely serious.
“So, there is Aunt Sonya’s husband, Uncle Paul, and two more cousins, Joci’s siblings, Mark and Alice. The wedding is in Santa Barbara. You’ll be meeting everyone.”
“Is that all of them?”
“As far as my closest LA family? Yeah. If we were in Palm Beach it’d be a different story.”
Lukas sips his espresso and chooses his words. “How does your mother feel about the will and the fake wedding?”
This just got awkward. I have to tell him the truth. “I haven’t told her.” I quickly gulp down my candy coffee hoping to avoid a follow up.
Lukas furrows his brow. “Really? Are you two… close?”
“It’s not that. We’re close in our way. I just—”
“You’re just not comfortable with what we’re doing.”
That is an understatement, Lukas Dupree. “Should I be? I’ll tell her, but I need to get my head around it first. The right moment kind of thing.”
“I respect that,” he says.
“Do you? Well, okay, what do I need to know about you?” I stop, realizing that what I need from him is not his actual story, but the appropriate story, one we make up together. “I mean we can’t exactly tell them the truth.”
“I’m not some cautionary tale, Nora,” he says, smiling. “Most of my story will work just fine. We agreed the truth will be easier to remember.”
“Okay, tell me your story, Lukas Dupree. I’m all ears.”
“I could be the boy next door,” he says.
“I didn’t have any boy like you living next door,” I say. “Or my friends would have wanted to sleep over every weekend.”
“That’s kind,” he says. “I grew up in Fresno. I came down here to study Computer Science at UCLA. And I can sing. I have a great rock voice.”
“You lost interest in all that?”
“No. I think I told you I got mixed with the wrong crowd and did some time in prison, but I went back to college once I could afford it. I’m studying at UCLA again,” he says, slowly, as if trying not be hurt by my assumption. “And I do pop up at Karaoke on the reg.”
I bend my face. The wheels in my brain creak as they turn. I’m finding it hard to comprehend a single word. “That’s all true?”
He exhales. Not mad, just tired. “You’re a funny girl. That’s why I’m here, yeah. School. Now we just have to figure out how we met.”
I’m still far from convinced. “Do you have a family?”
“Up north, yes. They know nothing more than what I’ve just told you. My parents are together and I have two brothers. Aunts, uncles, cousins. I told you, I am the boy next door.” He notices my uncertainty. “Why is this so strange to you? Did you think I grew up in a brothel? Maybe a street urchin?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I really am a snob. I always made assumptions about people in your profession. I thought you were all alone in the world and struggling to get by.”
“I do sometimes feel alone, Nora. And I would be struggling if not for my profession. It provides me with everything I need to live in this city and pay for school.”
“Cool,” I say, a little dazed. An uncomfortable thought rises. “You’re a college boy. So, do you have a girlfriend? An actual, real-life girlfriend?”
He leans in, bringing his face and his scent closer. “Would you mind if I did, Mac?”
Uh-oh, careful how you answer that question, Nora. “I would if it meant she’d cause trouble.”
His expression is so cool, yet sincere. “The answer is no,” he says. “If there was a girlfriend, I would not have accepted your proposal.”
I realize with considerable delay that he just called me Mac. Again. I don’t have the energy to scold him anymore. Especially after a whole series of insulting insinuations on my part. “Of course not.”
“Another box checked off,” he says.
I’m not completely sure what he means by th
at. What worries me is that he always gives me the perfect answer. Is it all sincere or is this one of the talents of his profession?
His phone rings. After looking at the screen, he turns the sound off and puts the phone away. He looks straight into my soul now. I slip into the deep ocean color of his eyes. “Tell me something cool about you,” he says.
I try to smile. I’m afraid I only manage to blush. “Sorry, there’s nothing cool about me. I’m a cool free individual.”
“That answer was cool,” he says. “And don’t you work at the Disney Studios? That’s pretty cool in my book.”
“You have a book?” I ask. “Is it the same one you write little notes in?”
“Tell me something cool about your job,” he says, ignoring my question.
“Well, something happened the other day. I don’t know if it was cool. There was a meeting about a future animation project and they couldn’t decide if the main character should be male or female, so I told them what I thought and I was convincing enough that they went for it.”
“You don’t say. You got to be the one to decide if the next Disney movie will star a girl or a boy?”
“Don’t get too excited. I influenced what was already a 50/50 decision. I didn’t find a cure or anything. For the time being, I’m nothing more than a glorified assistant. It’s not like they’ll even give me a credit on the project. I wasn’t even supposed to be in the room. They’ve probably forgotten I was there at all.”
“You’re not as forgettable as you think,” he says.
“And you’re not as charming as you think,” I immediately fire back. Although it’s not true. He’s every bit as charming as he thinks.
“An assistant, huh?” he continues. “Do you make coffee?”
“Ha. No, I’m not that kind of assistant.”
“Do they pinch your butt when you walk by?”
“I’m definitely not that kind of assistant. Watching Mad Men much?”
He plops back onto his seat, tangling his fingers behind his head. “I don’t watch much of anything, Mac.”
“Not the Mac thing again,” I say, rolling my eyes.
His heavenly eyes take on a darker shade of blue. “Is there anything you want more than anything else?”
Tremble Page 3