“Yes. He followed in his father’s and his grandfather’s footsteps.” She lifted the cream in a silent question.
“Yes, just a drop please. No sugar.” As she prepped my coffee, I placed the photo back on the table and took the mug from her hand. “Is that how he died?”
“No. He was killed in a car accident.” My shocked expression forced a short nod. “I know. Ironic, right? Every time he left me, I had to prepare for the worst and hope he came back. Once he did, and we were ready to move past his career choice into a safer more stable one, the unthinkable happened.”
I stretched a hand toward hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Sabrina.”
She shrugged with a small smile. “Thank you. Things happen for a reason, I guess.” The tone in her voice was off, strained. I didn’t want to push her into telling me more, and prepared to change the subject when she added, “I do love being back in New York City. So, there’s that.”
“Back?”
“I’m originally from Manhattan. Dillon and I moved upstate to his hometown before we married. His entire family lives there, small town, very Mayberry like. He felt it’d be a better place to raise a family.”
“That must have been hard on you, leaving your family.”
“That was very hard. But, with time I made friends, and his family welcomed me like one of their own.”
“Do you still visit often?”
“No.” She sipped her coffee and remained silent.
Assuming their relationship was strained after their son died, I offered my two cents. “People grieve differently.”
“Does that include denial? That’s not rhetorical.”
“I guess. They haven’t been able to accept he’s gone?”
“Or that he was a lying cheat.” I spit my coffee out at her nonchalant comment. “Sorry,” she said with a smirk, grabbing a napkin to help me clean up the embarrassing dribble on my chin. “I have to refrain from showing my real feelings so much around Mikey. When he isn’t here, my bitterness shines through.”
The lines on her face revealed what she must have gone through. I wasn’t going to steer this conversation, and waited to see if she’d continue or not.
Sabrina needed to get something off her chest, and her next comment made that clear. “His mistress showed up at the funeral. Such a display, making her grand entrance in her black dress with tears streaming down her face while sporting a nice baby bump. One for the memory books. I guess him not wanting more children only meant not wanting them with me.”
A vortex of anger toward him, and sadness for her and Mikey consumed me. It took a few long moments for me to speak. “How did you know who she was?”
“She was very forthcoming with her information. Of course, I didn’t believe her. This was my honorable husband she claimed loved her. When I told her as much, she showed me pictures that spanned back two years. I know that because in one of the pictures, Dillon’s most recent tattoo wasn’t on his arm.”
The more she revealed, the angrier I became. I set my mug down and regarded his picture. The respect I felt, for the man I assumed he was, vanished in a blink of an eye. How could he do that to such a genuine woman and his son?
“How ironic that at my husband’s funeral my mourning both began and ended that day.” Her gaze focused on the picture for a few seconds. “She had a boy. That’s all I know. Have no clue what his name is, or who’s helping her. I don’t want to know. I made my in-laws swear they’d never tell Mikey, otherwise I’d share what a wonderful man his father was. My mother-in-law hated my ultimatum, arguing Mikey should know he has a sibling. Dillon could do no wrong in her eyes, and somehow him cheating was my fault.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely,” she said with a shrug. “Whatever, it’s her issue, not mine. One day I’ll tell Mikey, but not until he’s much older and can understand the situation. Not a day sooner.”
She noticed me staring at the simple gold band on her finger. “You’re still wearing it?”
“Oh no, this isn’t my wedding band. I bought this at a department store. His is sitting in a drawer waiting to be sold someday. I’ll use it to buy Mikey his first car or something. I wear this because it’s easier to deflect the questions I tend to get.” After another sip of her coffee she placed it on the table and dragged in a deep breath. “Pathetic, right?”
“Yes, he was pathetic. Look at all you should be proud of. You relocated with your young son to a different city, picked yourself up, and moved on.” I reached over and held her face, forcing her to stare back into my eyes. “That’s far from pathetic.”
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you. After my outburst at the bar, I owed it to you. Besides my parents and Becky, I’ve never told anyone. But, you’re very easy to talk to… don’t you feel lucky?”
“Very.”
Our eyes connected and the air between us crackled. Whether it was from a sexual attraction or plain desire, all culminated into the same result… I wanted her. With each second that passed, I wanted to kiss her. With each second I waited, it appeared she wanted me to. But with kissing her came uncertainty. Was she ready for this? Was she ready for more?
No longer caring, the need to feel her full lips against mine won the battle. I pulled her closer, framed her face, and fused our lips together in a gentle kiss. The taste of coffee melded between us. Her lips were warm and just as soft as I knew they’d be. I felt her hands move to grip my wrists tightly. I heard a soft mewl when I pulled away.
The kiss didn’t last long, and that was purposeful on my part. If I continued kissing her I worried it would be a mistake, and even more so that she’d let me for the wrong reasons. There was too much I didn’t know about Sabrina, and kissing her intensified my curiosity tenfold.
Yes, she was a widow, a mother, and a woman hurting over the loss of her husband. And not because he was dead, but because he betrayed her in a despicable way. Still, I hardly knew her, and she knew even less of me.
Only an inch separated our mouths, but the cool air that replaced her warm lips had me going back for more. Wanting to feel them again, the second time I pressed harder. She parted just enough to convey she also wanted more.
My conscience nagged, forcing me to again break the connection and end the temptation. Her breath hitched when I added more distance, as if I removed her source of oxygen.
“I better go,” I whispered. The uncertainty in her eyes killed me. “Sabrina, I don’t want to… I need to.”
Chapter 7
Sabrina
Even hours later, I could still feel his lips moving against mine. Each time I closed my eyes, he appeared before me. Specifically, the expression on his face when I told the awful story about my husband’s affair. It was a humiliating tale, but for some reason talking to him about it was easy.
Laying in bed and thinking of Luca, was a sure-fire way to have sleep evade me. It was also the way to make me ache in places that hadn’t been touched by a man in over a year. On its own volition, my hand snuck its way under my sheet and rested on the apex of my thighs. I knew it wouldn’t take much to alleviate the pressure.
The lace fabric of my thong tickled my middle finger as I gently grazed it. Keeping my eyes closed, I pretended my finger was Luca’s. I imagined his strong arm resting on my stomach, his cologne engulfing me as he brought his lips, then tongue, to my oversensitive skin. For a moment, I hesitated when the palm of my hand moved past my stretchmarks. Dillon hated them and always wanted me to try different things to cover them up. Even when I wore his favorite bikini, that used to turn him on, it did the opposite.
My back arched when I slipped my finger under my panties and over my hot skin. I was wet, slick, and the longer I thought about him the more turned on my body became. I wanted him and needed him to touch me, to make me feel like a wanted woman again, just as he had when we kissed.
A frustrated moan escaped, my insides coiled like a snake ready to strike
. Strike it did when I rolled my clit under the pad of my finger. In a hushed voice I whispered his name and my climax took hold. Sated, I brought my finger out from under the sheet, waited a beat for my legs to feel normal and not like Jell-O, and walked into the bathroom. I stared into the mirror as I washed my hands.
For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful that maybe I found a great guy. Was it too soon to feel that way? I wasn’t sure. With Dillon it was a slow build of attraction and not an instant spark like I felt with Luca.
I crawled back into bed, pulled the comforter underneath my chin, closed my eyes, and drifted off to a nice peaceful sleep knowing I’d be seeing Luca in the morning.
The sun peeked through the sides of my window coverings. Normally when Mikey spent the weekend at my folks, I’d sleep in and catch up on all the hours I missed during the week, but today I was invigorated knowing I had a date.
After I showered, styled my hair, put on a minimal amount of makeup, I went to get dressed. My bed resembled a dressing room at Bloomingdales. Three different pair of jeans, four different tops, and a couple of different pairs of shoes were all strategically placed as if I was preparing for the runway. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. For Christ’s sake, we were going to breakfast, not a night club. Deciding on my favorite pair of light washed boyfriend jeans, a blue V-neck sweater, and my favorite wedges, I was ready.
The buzzer on my intercom sounded. Nerves laced with adrenaline coursed through my body. I cleared my throat, pressed the white button on the speaker. “Yes?”
“Good morning, it’s Luca.” Like that sexy accent could belong to someone else?
“Come on up.” I checked my face in the small mirror next to my door. Quickly running my hands over my hair to calm any stray fly-away strands, I then grabbed a light-colored lipstick out of my bag and swiped it over my lips.
Three knocks sounded on my door. When I pulled it open, I wasn’t fully prepared for who stood before me. Holding a bouquet of pastel-colored flowers was the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on. I took a moment to rake my eyes over his body from head to toe. His dark denim jeans, accentuated the length of his legs ended at a pair of casual black loafers, a maroon crew neck sweater was covered by a black leather jacket. If it wasn’t for the gold chain peeking out of his neckline, and the silhouette of a cross under his sweater, he’d look sinful. “Come on in.”
He handed me the flowers and gave me a swift kiss on the cheek. “These are for you.”
“Thank you.” I brought my nose to the blooms and inhaled. When was the last time I received flowers from a man? “They’re lovely. Gerbera daisies are one of my favorite flowers. They remind me of when I was a little girl, and my grandfather would leave one for me on my swing set.” The memory hit me full force. I used to sit and pluck petal by petal, reciting the childhood limerick, he loves me, he loves me not. Even knowing they were my favorite, Dillon never gave me Gerbera daisies, which hadn’t occurred to me until now.
A proud smile graced his handsome face. “I’m glad you like them.”
“I love them. Let me put these in water and then we can leave.”
The air was crisp, the sun was shining making for a perfect New York morning. As we approached where his car was parked, it looked even sleeker in the daylight. It was then I noticed the make and model—a Jaguar F-Type. My eyes went wide thinking Mikey had something similar in his collection of Matchbox cars. Of course, being the gentleman he was, he opened my door and waited for me to slide in before closing it behind me.
The black, supple leather seat formed around my body. Just as I thought last night, this was the perfect car for a single man—two seats, pristine interior, no crumbs on the carpet, or an errant French fry left behind from a kid’s meal. It even smelled clean and masculine, like Luca. And not like a pair of soccer cleats that had been worn in the rain and forgotten under the back seat.
Luca slid into the driver’s side, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. “What?” He smiled at me and pushed the start button on center console. Listening to his car rumble to life was exhilarating—I really needed to get out more.
“Mikey would love this car.”
“It’s my pride and joy. I’ll need to take him for a ride one day.” Luca pulled away from the curb and we were off to the Seaport. Although a two-seater Jaguar was not child friendly, the way he wanted to include my son warmed my heart.
“Or, you can save yourself from being harassed and just let him sit in it,” I suggested to avoid the hassle of a booster seat messing up his leather. “He’s at a very obsessive age right now.”
A chuckle filled the small area, “That’s fine. I’d be the same way if I was his age. Hell, I’m the same way now on some days, thus explaining the impractical sports car in New York City.”
Our conversation was easy during our drive. It wasn’t long before we pulled into the lot, left the keys with the parking attendant, and walked to the restaurant.
The narrow path the hostess led us through in the crowded restaurant ended with a table in the corner. The warmth of Luca’s knuckles on my skin as he helped me remove my jacket elicited goosebumps to emerge. After he pulled out my chair and we sat, I ordered a cup of coffee and Luca ordered an espresso.
We each took a few minutes to study the menu. Deciding on something simple, I set my menu down and admired the man sitting across from me. The waiter came back and with him the aroma of rich coffee wafted around us. He placed a large mug of my morning drug before me and a small demitasse cup in front of Luca. We placed our orders, pancakes for me and Nutella French toast for him.
Once our server took the menus from us and retreated, I said, “Thank you for taking me out this morning.”
He reached across the small square table to rest his hand on top of mine. “Thank you for coming.” With our gazes tethered, the fluttering I felt whenever he looked me directly in the eyes began. Along with it, came the chagrin I felt telling him about my husband’s infidelity. Sensing something was off, he squeezed my hand. “Sabrina, what’s wrong?”
I hesitated a bit before admitting, “After all I dumped on you last night, I wasn’t sure you’d still want to go out with me.”
That was the god’s honest truth. Having a woman tell another man her husband had been cheating on her didn’t bode well. Did he wonder why? What would make Dillon want or feel the need to be with someone else? Didn’t I satisfy him? Wasn’t I pretty enough? Loving enough? These were all the things I thought of—how could he not?
“Sabrina, why would you think that? If anything, I commend you for your honesty.” He flipped my hand so that our fingers linked together. “I enjoy spending time with you. I know we just met, but I feel like we’ve known each other for a while. It’s strange.” I felt the same and smiled at his admitting that to me. “Plus, Mikey is a great kid and I can’t wait to start teaching him some soccer moves. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be the captain of his team.”
Once again, I respected the genuine fondness he had for my son. “He’s so excited about it. You know, he didn’t stop talking about you last week after lunch. He even called my parents and told them about a cool guy he met at his soccer game that was going to be his private coach. My father has bad knees and can’t help him with sports.” I omitted the part where my mom grilled me on who this man was. My parents knew what Dillon had done; there was no way not to tell them since I didn’t show much sadness after his funeral. Yes, I was sad he wouldn’t be around to see our son grow into a man, but my heart no longer held love for him, just gratitude for our little boy.
“Does he have a game next week?” he asked, his fingers tightened between mine. It was obvious Luca was a very affectionate person, something I wasn’t used to. Each time he squeezed, an electric current ran right through me.
Remembering what he had asked, I nodded. “Yes, but it’s later in the day on Saturday.”
“Perfect, we can go to the park in the morning and get ready. Then have an early lu
nch before he needs to play. If that’s okay.”
I smiled wide at his suggestion, even more so because he wanted to see me next week. “Yes, he’d love that.”
My gaze drifted to the view outside. “It’s beautiful here.” The restaurant Luca picked was in the heart of the Seaport. From where we sat, the view was of the Brooklyn Bridge and various sized boats leaving white-capped slices in the dark blue water of the East River.
“It’s a tourist trap,” he said, staring out the window as well. “But it reminds me of a little place in Venice that I enjoyed, less the Brooklyn Bridge, of course.”
“I’ve never been to Italy. Sadly, that was one country we didn’t visit while stationed overseas.”
“You should go one day. I go back once a year, although my parents don’t think that’s frequent enough.”
“That’s a dream of mine. Mikey would love it—especially all the gelato.”
“We can go to a place in Little Italy that makes the best Nutella gelato.”
“See, Nutella gelato makes sense… Nutella French toast, not so much.”
“You have no idea what you’re missing. It’s my favorite. You may want to be forewarned, I’m a Nutella junkie.”
Before he could go on, the waiter appeared with our breakfast. My three-stack of pancakes seemed boring compared to his culinary masterpiece. Luca twisted his plate so the fresh berries were at the top and the powdered sugar dusted bread was in front of him.
With the side of his fork, he cut into it. Soft chocolate oozed from the slice he speared and offered to me across the table. My nose crinkled with uncertainty. “Trust me.”
Tentatively, I leaned forward, opened my mouth, and watched Luca eyes focus on my lips as they dragged the piece off the fork. The nutty confection assaulted my taste buds. I wasn’t expecting it to taste so delicious. My soft moan followed by my tongue poking out to lick my lips proved as much.
“It’s good, right?”
“Yes, very. I’m regretting my decision.” Out of nowhere, he swapped our meals. “What are you doing? You said it was your favorite.”
The Mr. Wrong Series Page 59