Below the Belt

by Sidney Halston

  She wiggled out of his arms. “Shut up. Your body temperature,” she clarified, “is hot and you’re making me hot.”

  “So take off your clothes.” He sat up, and she could see from his silhouette that he was pulling off his shirt.

  “Are you taking off your clothes?” she asked. “I am not letting you sleep on my bed naked!”

  “It’s hot. Calm down. It’s only my shirt. Take yours off too. You’ll feel better.”

  “Oh.” Oh! “That’s why you said I’d be taking off my clothes soon. Since the AC’s not working.”

  “Exactly.”

  He was right, it was hot, but still, she didn’t want to get naked. She kicked the covers to the floor and threw herself back on the bed, her legs and arms slightly spread. He laughed. He brushed his palm against her collarbone and up her neck. “You’re sweating.”

  “I know. I feel gross,” she whined. “And sticky.”

  “And cranky.”

  “I hate being hot,” she said. “In our house in São Paulo, my father had air-conditioning installed because I hate being hot.”

  “So take off your clothes.”

  She stood up, walked blindly to the door of her room, and opened it. “The air needs to circulate.” She sat back down on the bed. She could tell he was lying on his side, observing her brattiness.

  “Telling you right now, cariño, you can leave it open, but the moment you start stripping, I’m closing it.”

  “I’m not stripping,” she said, flopping onto her back. “But if I were to strip, it would be purely because of the heat. No need to close the door.”

  She felt his body near her. “I don’t want the guys to see you naked. So I will close the door.” It was a statement. Not a question. Not a request. A fact.

  He rolled onto his back. They were both staring at the ceiling. Well, she was staring at the ceiling; she wasn’t sure if his eyes were already closed. They lay there in comfortable silence for a while. The only noise was the sound of the wind coming from outside, which was so strong now that it sounded like a freight train. It was loud and kind of scary, but at the moment she was more scared of the man lying next to her. Her feelings for him were terrifying. Never had she felt for a man what she felt for him. It was like superlust. Crazy superlust. She wasn’t sure how to handle it. How to handle him.

  She’d only slept with one man in her life, eight years ago, and he hadn’t been a man the way Tony was a man. She might not know him that well, but she knew enough to be aware that he was all sex.

  “I’m not going to try anything, I promise. You can relax, you know,” he said, as if sensing her tension.

  “I am relaxed,” she lied. “Anyway, I would totally kick your ass if you tried something.”

  Tony chuckled. “I actually believe that.” Then he added, “So are you going to tell me your story? Why are you always so nervous around me? Why the long sex hiatus?”

  “I already told you. It’s been a long time since I was with a man, so I get a little uncomfortable with men.”

  “That’s bullshit. You get uncomfortable with me.”

  “Okay, fine,” she admitted. “It’s mostly you.” Francesca took a deep breath before she continued. “Being intimate makes me nervous. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not looking for any kind of relationship or anything.”

  “I feel like such a jerk for thinking differently that night at the wedding. I always thought you’d be very experienced.”

  She turned and smacked his shoulder. “What the hell, Tony? You thought I was a slut or something?”

  “No. That’s not what I meant. I mean…you seem to be the kind of woman who would use a man and then spit him out. Poor guy wouldn’t even see it coming.”

  She guffawed. “Well, I’m not.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what? Why aren’t I a slut?”

  “Having sex does not make you a slut,” he replied. “Why are you afraid of being intimate?”

  “First, let’s get something straight. I said nervous, not afraid. It makes me nervous. By the way, these are very intrusive questions. It’s a long story and not something I want to get into right now, but the short version is that it’s just been so long that I’ve made it into this big thing in my head, worked myself up into a frenzy, you know? And now it’s just this overwhelming thing. S-E-X.” She wiggled her fingers, though she knew he couldn’t see her gesture. “And to top it off, I’m pretty sure I suck at it.”

  Tony didn’t speak for a long time.

  Did I say too much?

  —

  At that moment, with her candor, he realized something. He wanted to spend time with her—not just naked time, although he definitely wanted to do that too. He wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to learn what made her tick and what made her laugh. He wanted more with this woman. He wasn’t thinking about what exactly “more” meant, but he definitely didn’t want this night to be the only night they spent together. If she could be this open with him, he needed to do the same with her. He suspected this was a side no one else got the privilege of seeing.

  “You know what I like most about you?” Tony asked. “You have absolutely no filter. None whatsoever.”

  He felt more than saw her cover her eyes with her arm, and he chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed. I like it. I do. You’re honest. You curse, a lot. More than most men I know. You say it how it is. You don’t hold back. Ever. You just told me you thought you suck in bed. Most people would never admit that. And you did. To me. To someone I’m pretty sure you like. You didn’t know how I’d react to a woman telling me that she sucks in bed. And for the record, the sex—it didn’t suck. Actually, it was pretty great, and I, for one, am looking forward to it happening again soon.”

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered. He turned to lie on his side, his head held up by his hand.

  “I’m not going to run. But I am going to lay some truth on you, and I think you can handle it. Someone who just laid it out for me can handle it.”

  She sat up and took a deep breath. “Okay. Hit me with it.”

  “You have this need to control, but if you find the right man, someone you trust, you should trust him enough to let him take charge. If you did that, if you let go, stopped overthinking it, you’d probably find you aren’t terrible in bed and that you actually do like sex. When we kissed, you let go. You wanted it and it was perfect. I don’t know why you haven’t slept with anyone for so long, but I bet that part of the problem is your inability to let go.”

  She flinched. “Well…I don’t really know what to say. What the hell do I even do with your observation? I’m not going to just do a one eighty and change who I am. This is me. I don’t know how to let go. I don’t remember the last time I just relaxed.” Her voice lowered, and it sounded as if she was really upset at this revelation. “I’m destined to be a spinster. Maybe I’m on to something by just not dating.”

  “No. I just think you haven’t met the right man yet. And I think closing yourself off to men because you’re scared isn’t the right choice. Whether it be me or someone else, you shouldn’t stop trying to find someone, Francesca.”

  He was secure enough in himself not to give a flying fuck if she took charge. When it mattered, she would have to relax her iron grip. Actually, she’d done that a few times already. During this hurricane, for example, when he needed her to listen to him, she did. She needed a man strong enough to take care of her, even if she didn’t realize he was taking care of her. She needed a man she could be herself with, even if it was only in their own private bubble. A place where she could be vulnerable.

  He wasn’t sure how to get her to begin to lower her guard, but he sure as hell was going to try. Because that kiss—the kiss that had started off light and sweet and ended up being the same intensity as the hurricane currently wreaking havoc outside—had rocked him. Suddenly he didn’t want to see someone else break her out of her shell. It had to be him. He would be the ma
n to get her to let go and have some fun. Because if there was one thing Tony knew how to do, it was have fun. “I think we should date.”

  —

  She lifted her head and looked at him as if he was crazy. “Uh…excuse me?”

  “We should date. Or, at least, go on a date. I owe you that much. You like me, I like you. We had great sex. A date seems like the next logical step, don’t you think?”

  She snorted. “Maybe things are different in Cuba, ’cause you have the steps all wrong, honey.” With a laugh she added, “We fight all the time, then you fuck me, then you kiss me, then we sleep together without sex, then we do the pillow-talk thing, and now we date? Something doesn’t seem right with that order.”

  He laughed. “Come on, stop busting my balls and say yes.”

  Having been raised by a man in a gym full of men, she had been taught to take care of herself. To be tough. To be self-reliant. But eight years ago, everything had changed, and since then she had been trying so hard to separate herself from the Francesca she used to be that she’d become this other person she barely recognized anymore. Apparently, though, it had come back to bite her in the ass, because it sent out an I’m-so-sure-of-myself-and-I-don’t-need-you vibe that seemed to make her unapproachable. And when a man was brave enough to approach, she was too scared to do anything about it. That had been the crux of her problem. She had created this monster, and she didn’t know who she really was anymore.

  Even making friends was a problem. It had taken months to get Chrissy and Jessica to even speak to her. Jessica had even thought she’d been flirting with Slade, which had been the furthest thing from Francesca’s mind. She didn’t want to be that woman. She didn’t want to be meek and needy, but she didn’t want to ooze that stay-away-because-I’m-a-bitch vibe. That hurt her most of all. She wasn’t sure how not to be standoffish. But this man next to her was willing to explore that side of her. She needed to learn how to loosen up and have fun. And then it hit her like a ton of bricks. In her attempt to be independent, she’d actually pushed everyone away, and instead of being stronger for it, she was lonely.

  For years she hadn’t cried. Not one single tear. But suddenly she felt a sting behind her eyes. She wasn’t ready to show this side of herself to Tony. To anyone, actually. She wasn’t even sure she was ready to show it to herself.

  Finally she said, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.”

  Both of them were lying on their backs looking up at the ceiling, shoulder to shoulder. She felt his hand slide across the mattress and his pinky touched her pinky. She stopped breathing. She felt like a teenager on a first date. Her body heated up, and it wasn’t because of the broken AC. She didn’t move. She couldn’t move. Then his other fingers found hers and he threaded them through hers. They were holding hands. On her bed. She was holding hands with Tony, on her bed! During a hurricane! His big callused hand was intertwined with hers.

  For the first time since she could remember, she felt lost and unsure of herself. That’s what this man did to her—he made her question who she was. For eight years, that tightly constructed wall around her heart had kept her nice and safe, but somehow this man had clawed his way inside those walls and had made himself comfortable. He’d rocked her core by digging and probing into her psyche, asking questions she didn’t have answers for, and it didn’t seem he would be stopping anytime soon. She didn’t know how to proceed, but she did know that he was right. She needed to start letting go a little. She wanted to let loose and have some fun, and she wanted to do it with Tony, who seemed to understand her better than she understood herself.

  They lay in bed this way for some time, neither speaking.

  She felt his head turn to look at her. “Breathe, cariño.” She closed her eyes, willing her heart to beat more slowly and her body to relax. Her eyes became heavy and soon the comfort of Tony’s grip soothed her into sleep.

  —

  The heat woke Tony up a few hours later, and he found a warm arm on his face and his hair sticking to his neck. Gently he moved the arm, snuck out of the bed, grabbed the flashlight, and went to the bathroom. He turned the faucet on and washed his face and neck with cold water. Then he found a hand towel and wet it before walking back into the room. He shone the light on the bed. Francesca looked like a starfish. She was splayed in the middle of the bed, facedown, all her limbs spread out. He sat next to her on the bed and moved her hair to the side. Her neck was wet from sweat and her skin was hot. It was midsummer in Tarpon Springs, which meant that it was probably close to ninety degrees outside, even though it was night. The house felt more or less the same temperature. He put the cold towel on the back of her neck. She didn’t stir.

  “Cariño, wake up,” he whispered. “Let’s take off some of your clothes.”

  He carefully helped her flip over and sit up. Her eyes opened a little. “So hot,” she murmured sleepily.

  “I know. Lift.” He guided her arms. She obliged, and he managed to slip her shirt off. Then he laid her back down, and to his surprise she hooked her fingers on the waistband of her shorts, lifted her butt, and slid them down, kicking them off. He wasn’t sure if she was asleep or awake, but he was sure that if she knew he was staring at her black lace underwear like a hungry man, she wouldn’t be happy.

  He wanted to take them off and bury his head in between her legs. Find out if she was a natural redhead. Taste her. He groaned and instead did something he’d probably never done before: be a gentleman.

  It sucked!

  He gently wiped the wet towel on her forehead and neck before getting back into bed and turning off the flashlight. He didn’t try to touch her, and he didn’t kiss her; he just lay back down next to her, took her hand back into his, and closed his eyes. Seconds later, her head was on his chest, her hair was in his mouth, and she had swung her thigh over him. He would surely die of heat this way, but he’d never felt so peaceful, and by the time she had settled herself into him and sighed, he was asleep again.

  Chapter 6

  “Thank you for letting us stay over, Frances,” Violet hollered from Cain’s car. It was the next day and everyone was heading home, except for Cain and Violet, who were going to go check on her car. Francesca had awoken to an empty bed, sweaty and sticky in just a bra and panties. By the time she’d made her way to the living room the guys had already opened up the shutters and removed the plywood while the women were packing up their things.

  “Thanks for letting us crash here,” Jessica said.

  “Call me and let me know how your houses withstood the storm,” she called to the group, who were all getting into their cars. Looking outside, she saw lots of trees down and many big puddles, but she couldn’t see any major damage.

  Tony was rummaging through her refrigerator when she walked back inside. “What are you doing?” Francesca asked.

  “Making us an omelet,” he replied. “Sit.”

  “You’re staying?”

  He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I am.”

  “And you’re making breakfast.”

  “And I’m making breakfast,” he said with a laugh. “Sit down, cariño. Relax. It’s just breakfast.”

  She sat at the table playing with a napkin while he prepared their food.

  “I was thinking about what you said last night. You never really answered my question about why I make you nervous and other men don’t.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. She laid the napkin down and put her hands on her lap, trying to seem relaxed, but her hands twitched for something to do. She felt the urge to pull her hair into a ponytail, something she tended to do when she was frazzled, but instead she forced herself to seem calm and cool.

  He continued to speak as he served her a delicious-smelling cheese omelet. It was lucky she had a gas stove, she thought, because they could have a hot meal even though the electricity was still not working. “I think it’s ’cause you like me. Otherwise you’d just be the same tough-ass woman with me as you are
with every other person.”

  “I am that way with you.”

  “True. You can be a huge pain in the ass to me too. But I can also see how you get a little fidgety, and avoid making eye contact, and try to run away when we’re alone in the same room. You’re still tough as nails with me, but you’re also nervous around me. It’s cute.” She opened her mouth to say something, but he pressed on. “I don’t mean it in an arrogant way. I just think I make you nervous because you like me and you don’t know how to handle it since you aren’t so great with men. But it’s fine. I can handle nervous.” He slid into the chair next to hers with his own plate of food. “I’m finding out I like nervous.” He winked and dove into his omelet.

  “It’s all the sex talk that is always coming from your mouth that makes me uncomfortable. Not you. I’m not nervous around you.” She took a bite. “So good.” It was. Fluffy and light—just what she needed.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, obviously not believing her. “I want to start over again and forget about the wedding night.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, it’ll be hard to forget because for me it was great, but knowing what I know now, I want you to forget and I want us to start over. Take it slow, and see where things go. I like you, Francesca, and I think you like me. So, what are your plans today?”

  She waved her fork around as she spoke. “Going to clean up a little here, and then I’ll probably head to WtF to see how it withstood the storm. You?”

  “I’m going to go to the hotel and make sure everything’s okay there. Then I’m going to go work out. And then tonight I’m going to take you out on that date.”

  The orange juice she was sipping sprayed everywhere, coming out of her mouth and nose. “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she said between coughs. Tony patted her on the back, laughing.

  “Not the reaction I expected,” he said ruefully as she dabbed at the table with a napkin.

  Finally able to speak again, she responded, “One thing at a time. First, I want to say that I’m proud of you, Tony.” She reached for his hand and awkwardly laid hers over it. “I’ve heard you’ve really been working out and training hard lately. You’re going to win the fight. I can feel it. I made a good choice with you.”