by Olivia Deici
“Fine. Ok.”
He laughed. “Don’t let me force you.”
My eyes cut to his face in annoyance, but the look on he gave me softened me.
“I’m sorry. Alright. Let’s eat dinner. But if you even once try to push the sale of my building-”
He held up his hands in surrender. “It’s off the table tonight, literally. We’ll just have an innocent dinner. I know the perfect place.”
My eyebrow raised.
What did a Zambrano know about innocent?
~*~
“Were you expecting something else?”
He had a smile on his face and a light in his eyes. I couldn't help the answering smile on my face. I really wanted to hate this man. His family, in addition to others, wanted to take from me what I'd worked so hard to build.
But I couldn't. He was so easy to speak to, so unlike what, how, and who I thought he'd be.
I looked around the dimly lit dive. Both pool tables had ongoing games. At one, the men wore jeans with chains swinging at their hip and worn leather jackets. The other had some regular college guys playing.
I shifted in the booth where we sat. The deep read pleather covering the seat was torn in a few places but was comfortable. The brown table between us was a good size, but Roman was so tall, I felt the brush of his legs underneath. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his expensive dress shirt and was reclined back as if he didn't have a care in the world. Tattoos covered his forearms and I tried to study them without seeming blatantly rude for staring. Those, and the tattoos peeking out from his unbuttoned collar, sparked my curiosity even further about the man sitting in front of me. What I saw of the base of his throat and chest reflected what I'd already suspected. He was very much in shape, and probably covered in muscles as much as the slips of skin revealed that his chest and forearms were covered in tattoos.
“Yes, actually, I was.”
He laughed as his cell rang. He looked at the number and sent it to voicemail.
“You expected smooth white tablecloths and gleaming silverware. Do you think I’m an elitist, who only eats caviar and oysters at restaurants who set too many pieces of cutlery with already-placed dinner plates on the tables? This dive serves the best freaking wings and burgers in South Florida.”
I mustn’t have hidden my reaction well.
“You think I'm some stuck up prick, don't you?”
I snickered. “I sure as hell do.”
His smile was disarming. “I like a challenge, Izzy.”
“Then you’re in for a doozy.”
The waiter came then, breaking our intense stare.
“I'll have the Artery Clogger, living on the edge, please, with a coke and a rum floater.”
Roman laughed. Shit, I would, too. As a doctor, I'm supposed to be a model for health.
Fuck that tonight.
Aptly named the “Artery Clogger”, I'd ordered a burger topped with a fried egg and bacon. “Living on the edge” way came with fries and a coke.
Yea. It had been a stressful fucking day.
I opened the paper napkin rolled around the cutlery and set them there. Finally, I looked up to find Roman staring at me. Surprise lit his eyes.
“What?”
He shook his head, looking down, and that fucking smirk I was growing to love, flashed on his face.
So did those gorgeous dimples.
“I like a woman who can keep up with me, whose appetite is hearty. “
I laughed. “It's been a hard day. I want a big ass burger, fried egg, and a hard drink.”
“I didn't take you for the rum and coke kind.”
My lips eased wide. “Now who's making assumptions? Did you think I was the kind to order colorful drinks with spears fruit on top?”
Nodding his head, he said, “Actually, yes.”
My smile was playful. “You wouldn't be wrong there. I like those, too.”
His laugh was boisterous and forced color into my cheeks.
His cell rang again. Did he ever get a break from that thing? In the little time I'd spent with him, it never stopped ringing.
“And she shall have what she desires.”
My eyes rose to see him quietly studying me as the server arrived with the drinks. The music was low for now, but I could tell the house band was gearing up for their set.
“So.”
I felt awkward and took a sip of my drink after I said the obviously awkward filler.
He smiled knowingly.
“You smile a lot.”
It broadened on his face.
“Does that surprise you of me, or is it that just someone smiles a lot in general?”
I laughed. “Both.”
“You're uptight.”
My head reeled. His tone wasn't insulting. He said it as an observation.
And I couldn't disagree with him.
He waited for my reaction, and maybe the rum was working its magic, but I laughed.
“You are very observant.”
He smiled. “Ah, but being observant is only useful if it's accurate.”
I laughed. “And accurate, too.”
“I can't say I'm surprised.”
“Boy, you're full of insults disguised as observations.”
He grew serious and I missed the smile on his face immediately.
“I apologize. I can lack tact but I try not to be rude. I am frank, though.”
My eyes widened in mocked surprise. “You lied to me.”
His eyebrows rose, but a smile hovered on his lips. “Did I?”
“You said your name was Roman.”
His laugh was as deep and rich. Goosebumps broke out on my arm. I watched him wipe his fingers down the condensation forming on his beer bottle.
“Do you use that line a lot?”
I played with the cocktail straw in my drink. I was almost ready for another.
“Only with men who have cute dimples.”
Did that just come out of my fucking mouth? I looked away, cheeks reddening, wishing the ground would swallow me.
And this, folks, is why I don't drink very often. I don't go out often, either. It's easy to be a recluse when you're broke.
He chuckled.
“I told you my dimples made the women crazy. I guess you're not immune either.”
I rolled my eyes refusing to meet his. “What's horribly apparent, is that I haven't been out in a while. Since I haven't been out in a long time, I've become a lightweight. One drink does me in.”
He sat back and I finally met his gaze.
“You need to build your tolerance up again. Especially since you're what, a buck ten?”
“Something like that.”
“I won't complain about cheap dates.”
My heart sped up and slipped a beat. The house band began playing but we could still maintain a comfortable conversation.
“Is that what this is?”
He shrugged and took a long tug from the bottle while staring at me. His eyes were amazing.
“Do you want it to be?”
My heart skipped again. I might need to see a cardiologist if this arrhythmia continued. No man had ever affected me like he did.
He was as electric as his eyes were.
“I suppose that's a loaded word. It has a romantic connotation to it. Strictly speaking however, it's a social engagement.”
He had a point. He took another long swig of his beer and stretched out his legs. This time, I felt his legs touch mine without hesitation. The fabric of his pants was soft against my leg.
“So I guess, yea, this is a date.” His voice was deep, and I couldn't even begin to list the things it did to me.
His eyes continued to study me. I wasn't necessarily a shy person, but I didn't like to be the center of attention. I avoided eye contact. His gaze was too direct. This was the kind of man who saw everything about everyone, whether you blatantly displayed a trait or tried to hide it. I had a feeling that there was no hiding anything from Roman Zambrano.
“So what about today was stressful?”
I steeled myself and willed my eyes to look up from my drink.
“I had a seminar today.”
“Boring. I hate those. For continuing education credits?”
“Yes, it counted. But I was also one of the speakers.”
“Ahhh.”
One side of my lips smiled. “What?”
“You're a brainiac.”
I shrugged and finished my drink. The server came and replaced it.
“No, it's ok. I really shouldn't-”
Roman waved. “Enjoy, Izzy. I'm driving anyway.”
His empty bottle was replaced with a full one.
“What were you asking?”
“I just mentioned that you're a brainiac.”
“Went to medical school and I enjoy what I do. That's all.”
He sat back, resting his hands palm down on the table.
“Top 5%.”
“What?”
“You. Graduation.”
I smiled. “Yes.”
He studied me another minute. I turned the tables on him.
“I'm wagering you did, too.”
“What makes you say that?”
I played with my napkin. “You look and act the part.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me and my stomach tightened. Damn, this man's appeal was too much. He could go toe to toe with me with just about everything- words, running, intelligence.
“You'd be right.”
The server brought us our food just then. I saw my burger and erupted in a fit of laughter.
“Wow. When they said artery clogger, they meant it.”
The burger was bigger than the size of my two fists together. Roman had ordered a different type of burger- the Cowboy Double Bypass. It was a double patty with cheese, bacon, barbecue sauce, and onion rings. It was equally as large. His fries had cheese on it.
“Want to try it?”
“What?” My eyes found his.
“You keep looking at my burger. Want a bite?”
I shook my head. “I was just looking at the enormity of it. I can't imagine you eat like this often.” I grabbed my drink and took a long swallow.
“Why?”
“Looking the way you do.”
He chuckled. “Work hard, play hard.”
I started cutting into my burger.
“You're not seriously going to use a fork and knife, are you?”
“It's big and messy. The yolk is running.”
His eyes shifted behind me, and his chin jutted out. “There's a bathroom there. Just get down and dirty.”
The way he said it made those damn goosebumps spread on my arm. I'll bet he was dirty, alright. I could picture him dirty in many different facets of his life, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in seeing some of those ways myself.
I shrugged and picked up my burger. I took a gigantic bite and he laughed as some of the mess was left behind on my chin and fingers.
“So, what else had you stressed out?”
Chewing, I put my burger down. I wiped my mouth, and dipped a French fry into ketchup.
“A patient of mine. That's really what has me upset. She just had a baby, and she has a history with her husband.”
He set his burger down and finished chewing.
“I'd hope so, if they're married.”
“Not that kind of history. Domestic violence. Repeatedly reported. She's left him many times, and returned many times. The last beating had her in the hospital prematurely delivering their baby.”
I wiped my hands again. My appetite was dwindling as I recalled their history.
“She's been a patient of mine for several years, and I've seen her go back and forth many times.”
I exhaled slowly, and took the last bit of rum and coke from my glass. Closing my eyes, I massaged my temples. When I opened my eyes, another rum and coke had appeared as if by magic, conjured up by my broken spirit and worried mind.
“You care a lot for her.”
Giving into temptation, I drank. I felt the rum working it's magic in my neck and shoulders. I averted my gaze.
“Yes. I care about all of my patients, but especially her. She's such a good person and deserves so much better.”
I heard him sigh. I looked at him as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.
“She only deserves as much as she believes she does.”
My exhale was full of frustration.
“You're right, but she's a domestic violence victim. I've helped her every which way. I've reported it several times and he slithers out of trouble like the snake that he is.”
I heard him groan and when I looked up, he wiped a hand down his face.
“What?”
He shook his head. “I've known you for two days. I've concluded that trouble seems to follow you.”
I grimaced. “Yea. Seems so, I guess.”
“You need to be careful with Semenovia and with that husband. Has he threatened you?”
I bit my lip and grabbed my drink.
“Fuck, Izzy. DV men are dangerous. If they treat the woman they allegedly love that way, what do you think he'd do to you for meddling.”
My jaw dropped open. “You seriously didn't say that.”
He splayed his hands palm down again on the table.
“I'm not meddling. I'm required to report domestic violence.”
He nodded his head. “I know you are and I know you're not meddling. I used that word because it's how he sees you.”
Thank God. I thought I was speaking to an insensitive asshole.
“That's twice today that you've told me to be careful.”
“That's twice today you've told me of people you needed to be careful of.”
I picked my drink up and tipped it in feigned toast.
“Touché.”
We spoke of lighter topics for the remainder of dinner. I was only able to eat half my burger and fries. Roman finished all of his food.
The rum and coke had done its job. I was loosey goosey.
“Feeling better?”
“Much.”
He looked over at the billiards table. I followed his gaze. The college group had been replaced by a bunch of guys in street clothes- and by street, I meant the wrong side of it. Ordinarily, I'd be wary of that group, but with my own giant beast next to me, I wasn't fearful.
Standing, Roman extended his hand.
“Let's play.”
I hesitated for a moment. He misinterpreted my action.
“I'll teach you.”
I controlled the smile that wanted to be set free.
“The tables are being used.”
He shook his head. “Don't worry about that.”
I stared at his extended hand. Why the fuck not? He's been surprisingly pleasant to be around this evening, and I haven't caught his eyes stray once- not to my boobs and not to other women.
Shocking.
I placed my hand in his, and we walked over to the guys. I was baffled when they took one look at Roman, collected the balls to rack them, nodded to him, and left.
“You some big shot here?”
He stopped rolling them on the table to look up at me.
“I have a moving effect on people.”
“Yea. Literally.”
I stood patiently as he explained a “man's” game to my little woman's mind.
“Go first?”
I swept my hand. “By all means, show me how it's done.”
His dimples flashed me. Roman leaned over and broke like a pro.
He pointed and said, “Solids. You're stripes.”
I nodded my head, but it may have been too fast. It was either that or I'd drunk too much.
That damn cell phone rang. The pattern continued when he looked at the name and sent the call away.
&
nbsp; Did this man ever get a night off?
The call was forgotten when Roman sunk four in a row before missing. “Let's see how you do.”
I pointed to a pocket and shot. I snuck little looks at him, smirking as I went. When at last I sunk the eight ball, I looked up at him fully.
“Did I get that right?”
I didn't know what reaction I expected from him, but I was satisfied when he laughed and shook his head.
Maybe he wasn't the macho chauvinist I thought he was.
Chapter 8
Roman
I didn't remember when I'd last laughed so much. My work was serious. I was my father's general counsel, the family's counsel, and Pop's “whatever he needed me for” son. I wasn't naturally serious- it was a byproduct of my workload. I could kick it back and have a good time, but the last several years had rained shit on my family. I was literally the janitor, cleaning up everyone's messes. I didn't have time for my own life. I was the reliable son. I could take stress and pressure like no one else on these broad shoulders. This life left little room for enjoyment or easygoing times. Izzy was easy to be around.
I liked it.
I liked her.
And man, did she show me.
It had been a challenging night, and it had nothing to do with her attitude or mood. The will power it took not to ogle her was huge. Izabella Laurenti was a knock out. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid these experienced eyes on.
I wanted her in my bed.
I wanted her bent over my desk.
I wanted her on her knees in front of me.
I enjoyed that she put me in my place. I'd assumed, stupidly, that she wouldn't know how to play billiards. I didn't consider myself one of those men who made assumptions about women. I was pretty modern despite the world I lived in, where some of the men believed that their women should be cooking in the kitchen on their bare feet with a bulging baby belly. I didn't want that, not that it was bad. It just wasn't for me. I didn't want my woman to believe that her only place in our life together was the kitchen- unless she wanted to be there.
I always pictured myself with an intelligent woman who could go toe to toe with me. I wanted my equal, and not some shell of a person who took orders. The underworld I straddled was biased and favored men. Some segments were misogynistic. That Izzy mocked my error in stereotyping her, in the manner in which she did, made me feel alive.