The statement fell off and he looked hesitant.
“But…?” I pushed.
“But…I don’t know. Maybe I have a few reasons to stay, too.”
Me. I’m a reason to stay. “When do you have to decide?”
“In a few months.”
A few months. Would it be worth it? I looked into his eyes and knew it was. Paul’s rightness drew me in. I had to know what could happen between us, where it would all lead if given the chance.
We fell silent again, studying each other. He was better at it than I was. A quiet, nervous laugh escaped me when his look became too much to bear. Paul shook his head finding something about me charming.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. You’re about to graduate aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said. “In May.”
“Have any plans?”
“Not really. I have a minor in Art History, but there haven’t been many openings in this area for something like that. No matter what I do, I’ll probably have to move too.”
Paul confessed that he didn’t know much about art, or what I could do with that degree, but he’d visited the New Orleans Museum of Art several times. It was ironic really. I’d never been.
“What?” he said when I told him. “Really?”
“I know,” I said, laughing with embarrassment. “It’s shameful.”
“Well, I know where I’m taking you next time.”
I hid my excited smile by propping my mouth against my hand. “I’d like that,” I said, trying not to seem too ecstatic.
When the food arrived, we dove in, sharing the plates. Everything was perfect. Creamy sauces. Hearty meats. Flavorful sides. It wasn’t long before my tummy was full and couldn’t take any more.
“Goodness,” I said, pushing the food away. “Can you cook like this?”
“No,” he chuckled, stuffing the last bit of meatball into his mouth. “Afraid not. My mother though…” He made a pleased grunt. “She’d run my uncle out of business.”
“What’s that?” a gentleman asked. He was smiling and approached Paul with open arms. Paul stood to give him a hug. “If Mamma Macione opened a restaurant, I would be working for her in two weeks. Tops.” He was older and had a slight Italian accent. He had to be Paul’s uncle and wanting to make a good impression, I smiled when he looked at me. “And who is this?” he asked, kneeling down in front of me. He took my hand and looked deeply into my eyes. It was unnerving and I chuckled hoping to hide my unease.
“Such a lovely lady. Is she with you Paul?”
“Yes,” Paul answered, exasperated. “She is. Now stop being weird.”
“Me? Weird? It is not weird to appreciate the beauty of a woman.” He turned to me, squeezing my hand. “What is your name?”
“Mia,” I said, leaning away from him. He seemed nice, but had no notion of personal space.
“Mia?” He smiled. “Do you know what ‘Mia’ means in Italian?” I shook my head. “Paul has not told you?”
“No,” I said.
“Mine.”
“Oh.”
He stood, pulling me to my feet. Still holding my hand, he gave me a twirl and my face heated. “Now, let me give you back to your beloved.” Paul accepted my hand in his then put an arm around my waist.
“She is lovely, Paul,” his uncle said. “You must bring her to meet the rest of the family.” He turned to me. “Next time you come, ask for Anthony. I will get you anything you need.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Dinner is on me tonight,” Anthony said, throwing his hands into the air. “Go. Enjoy yourselves. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mia.”
“You, too, Anthony.”
“Thanks, Uncle Tony,” Paul said, laughing to himself.
He kept his arm around me until we made it to the parking lot, only letting me go to retrieve his keys. “Sorry,” he said. “Tony is a little in your face. The rest of my family is more reserved.”
“It was…okay,” I said, smiling. “He thoroughly embarrassed me, but then again he did call me lovely and your beloved.”
I hadn’t meant to say the last part—that thought was meant for me and me alone. But now it was out there and Paul knew just how excited it had made me feel. His beloved. Such a sweet sentiment and one I desperately wanted to be true. If he didn’t know how I felt before, he certainly did now.
Maybe he felt the same way.
If I thought about it, the whole evening seemed surreal. He’d taken me to dinner at his family’s restaurant, knowing I would most likely meet at least one of them. Did he want me to? Was this more serious than a mere thank you dinner?
With a sly smirk, he looked down to his watch. “It’s just after 7,” he said. “Do you have somewhere you need to be tonight?”
“No.” Smiling, I stepped into his car. This was more serious. It was date! A proper date!
“Do you want to watch a movie at my house?”
“Yeah. That sounds good. Great.” My ridiculous smile was making my cheeks hurt and I tried to hide it by looking down to my hands.
“Okay,” he said and reached over to interlace our fingers.
Paul was elated that my mother and I had fixed his couch. The stitches were thick and noticeable, but they were better than holes. Ferdinand attached himself to his side, not leaving his owner no matter what room Paul went in. While they had their reunion, I settled on the couch and waited for him to pick a movie. A few minutes later, he came in with a bowl of popcorn and two large glasses of soda. I smiled as he placed them on the coffee table. It had been years since I’d stayed in and watched a movie with a man. Most of my dates consisted of meeting at bars or going out for coffee. This was sweet, intimate.
On his battered couch we snuggled in close and shared a bowl of popcorn. It felt like something a couple would do and I grinned. The movie was one I’d seen before, but I kept that to myself because it allowed me to focus solely on him.
Our fingers brushed and he grabbed my hand, rubbing the back of my knuckles with his fingertips. I was so starved for him even that slight touch sent warmth through my body. My sigh brought a smile to his lips and I wanted to kiss it away, but let him set this pace.
I was hyperaware of his movements. A shift of his leg. A caress of his hand. A casual glance in my direction. Every time I looked at him, I let my stare linger a second longer, wondering if he would lean in and put his mouth on mine.
He didn’t.
The credits rolled and he yawned, stretching his arms into the air. He turned off the TV and stood from the couch.
“Are all your bags packed?” he asked. “I’ll help you bring them to your car.”
Well, if that didn’t deflate me, nothing would.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Yeah. They’re upstairs in the guest room.”
Not sensing my disappointment, he disappeared to retrieve them. I took an extra-long sigh. Ferdinand walked over and put his paw on my knee. “Thanks, boy,” I said, pretending he knew I needed the affection. “Your dad is an idiot,” I whispered and he barked, making me chuckle.
“He’s gonna miss you,” Paul said, walking down the stairs.
“I’ll miss him, too.”
With my bags waiting at the door, I gave Ferdinand a hug and followed Paul out to my car. Hoping our night wasn’t quite over, I hovered at the trunk as he pushed them in.
“They weren’t heavy,” I said. “I could have carried them.”
“No,” he said. “I wanted to.”
He shut the trunk and gave me a smile. “Thanks, Mia,” he said. “For watching Ferdinand and tonight.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t a problem. Any time.”
He took a step towards me and I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He was watching me closely, trying to make sure I wanted whatever he was about to give. Afraid he might read me wrong, I brought my hands to his stomach and pulled him closer.
Paul took his hands and cradled my face, brushing my hair back.
/> The light of the streetlamp illuminated us. I heard voices—his neighbors out on their patios or getting into their cars. They were completely unaware of how monumental this moment was.
His smile—his crooked, lopsided smile—nestled into my heart and my eyes grew heavy. Kiss me, Paul. Please, kiss me.
Our noses brushed. My hands gripped his shirt. His mouth touched mine.
Once. Soft. Gentle. I sighed, my knees feeling weak.
Twice. Firm. Open. When our tongues brushed, I felt his moan all the way to the tips of my toes. His hands were tender, touching my cheeks and neck with sweet affection.
I refused to pull away. We could stand here all night under a buzzing florescent streetlight, and I’d want to stand longer. I opened my mouth wider, giving him more and he pulled me up against him. My hands abandoned their position on his shirt and tangled into his hair.
Paul kissed me with the same intensity as he looked into my eyes. Searching. Seeking.
He moaned, pressing his forehead against mine. Our mouths hovered over each other, quick breaths bleeding together.
A car sped by. “Get a room!” a man yelled from the open window. I chuckled as the thumping bass died away.
Paul smiled and pulled back to look at me.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes. Absolutely yes,” I said.
He gave me another quick kiss. “I’ll call you,” he said and walked back to his apartment.
I drove home unable to stop from smiling the entire ride.
CHAPTER NINE
I PRACTICALLY PRANCED UP the steps to my apartment. Nothing could bring me down from my high. Not the angry music beating against my door. Not my fumbling fingers as I dropped my keys. Not the mess of clothes and trash scattered across my living room. Not even the two people fornicating on my dining room table. Wait.
I screeched, quickly closing my eyes. They noticed me, yelping out in surprise.
“I, uh, I, uh…”
I was walking, or trying to, suddenly unsure of where I should go or what I should be saying. The music turned off and I stumbled towards my bedroom.
Finally, I found my voice. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“No worries, Mamma Mia. Ain’t nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Ugh. Fiona and Fontenot. On our kitchen table.
“Puts some clothes on,” I yelled shutting my bedroom door.
His obnoxious chuckle put a scowl on my face.
All right. There was one thing that could bring me down from my high. Seeing Fontenot’s naked behind, smearing his sweat and, eww, whatever else all over my home.
The two of them burst out laughing, finding their unexpected show amusing. I had a feeling Fiona was only going along with it. This wasn’t really her. She was trying to act carefree and fearless in front of Fontenot. Any other time she would have been mortified.
What does she see in him?
Not wanting to see or hear them again, I turned on my stereo and lay on my bed.
Paul.
Paul Macione had kissed me. I smiled up at the ceiling, loving the excitement and joy that coursed through me. It had been over a year since I’d met him, and finally, after months and months of waiting and wondering, he finally kissed me. An elated chuckle burst from my mouth. Was he really going to call me tomorrow? Was I going to go out with him again? Where would he take me?
With a pleased sigh I settled in and daydreamed about Paul until sleep finally found me.
The next morning low voices seeped down the hallway. Fiona’s low murmur, flirty and sensual, found its way to me as she whispered to Fontenot. I didn’t see them, but it sounded as though they were in our kitchen—hopefully, not about to have repeat of last night. Half awake, I stumbled into the bathroom.
Great. So now Fontenot was going to be here all the time. Frustrated and annoyed, I showered and brushed my teeth. When my hair had been blown dry and my makeup applied, I crept back to my room and dressed for the day. My phone was silent and I frowned. It was still early, but I’d hoped Paul might have texted me. He, after all, was all I could think about.
Every Sunday Faeries and Moonbeams was closed. I had nothing to do all day. In my usual attire of flowing shirts, short shorts, strappy sandals, and about ten silver bracelets, I walked into the living room, ready to scowl at Fontenot. Even if Fiona wanted him there, it didn’t mean I did.
But it wasn’t Fontenot sitting at my table. It wasn’t Fontenot who Fiona kept giving sensual eyes to. Her robe was falling open, barely concealing her nude body beneath it. She was leaning towards him, smiling from ear to ear. I cleared my throat.
Paul startled and stood from the chair. “Mia,” he said. “Hey, how are you?”
Fiona gave me a patronizing smile. “Told you I’d meet him sooner or later,” she said. “But I understand why you’ve been hiding him away. Isn’t he just the cutest thing?”
I narrowed my eyes as she walked up to him and placed a hand at his shoulder. Her lips went to his ear and likely whispered something slutty to him. Paul just shook his head.
Grinning, she walked past me towards her bedroom. Her wink made my fists clinch.
“Sorry for just showing up,” Paul said after she’d gone. “I was hoping to surprise you.”
“You did,” I said, trying to forget about Fiona and her trampy self.
“Good.” He walked up to me, placing a hand at my waist and suddenly I really did forget about her.
My face was bashful, unaccustomed to his affection, but I still smiled when he brought his hand to my cheek. “It’s good to see you,” he said and gave me a sweet, soft kiss.
“You too,” I responded, breathless.
He was dressed impeccably again—a white dress shirt with grey pinstripes tucked into his slacks. It never failed. He always looked immaculate, well put together, as though he was about to attend a board meeting. My hand went to his soft brown hair and I ran my fingers through it, loving that I didn’t have to ask permission.
His lip turned up. Crooked. Playful.
“Your roommate is…interesting,” Paul said, pulling me closer to him.
“I know,” I said with a defeated sigh. “Try to ignore her.”
He laughed. “Oh, come on. She’s nice.”
Great. Perfect. Amazing. Fiona would eat that up if she heard him say it. Not wanting to talk about her any longer, I changed the subject. “When did you get here?”
“About an hour ago. You were still sleeping. I’m sorry. Is it okay that I came by?”
“Yes.” My smile was genuine. “Want a tour of my place?”
He looked around the room. From where he was standing, he could pretty much see everything, but he was polite. “Of course.”
“Here’s our kitchen,” I said, taking two steps into it. I swung my arm out dramatically for effect. He chuckled. “The living room.” I swung my arm in the other direction.
“It’s lovely,” he said.
I grinned and took his hand, leading him down the tiny hallway. “This is Fiona’s room,” I said, pointing to her closed door. “Here’s our bathroom.” Nervous, but also excited, I brought him to my room and shut the door. “And here’s my room.”
It wasn’t very big. Most of my things were squished in tightly. Paint supplies and clothes were strewn all over the place. Like a nerd, I owned a day bed, covered by a pale comforter. The flowers on it made it look like a grandma’s, but my mother had made it. Sometimes I missed my parents, and the blanket made me feel close to her.
Paul put his hands on his hips and surveyed my sanctuary. “It’s very…you,” he said.
“How so?”
He moved, stepping over a stray shirt, and reached my bed. “Like this,” he said, touching the comforter. “It’s sweet. Innocent.”
“You think I’m innocent?” I smiled, regarding him with affection. Seeing me through his eyes was cute. “I’m not really.”
He turned over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow
s.
“All right.” I sighed. “Maybe just a little.”
Paul sat on my bed and pointed at the random paintings I had propped or hung around the room. “Scenes. Colors. Themes. None of them are the same.”
“And?”
“They’re all different. They’re all unique parts of you. Days. Moods. Feelings. You express yourself beautifully on canvas.”
No one had ever taken the time to decipher even that small insight about my work. Paul’s thoughts on my paintings made me feel proud—even validated.
I went to him. I had to. My legs moved and before I knew it, I was straddling his lap. Paul hesitated, but brought his hands to my hips and looked me deep in the eyes. He was searching again.
Unable to hold back, I kissed him. Paul jumped right in as if he’d only been waiting on me. His lips were soft but not lacking in passion. Each of his gentle movements were sensual. Desperate. His skin was warm, and I shivered as his hands pushed under my top to caress my skin.
My weight pushed into him and we went tumbling back to the mattress. The hard length of him was undeniable in his slacks. He used it, pushing against me as our bodies moved.
I was inexperienced in this area but not completely. My intimate relations were few—only with one other in fact.
Still, my body knew what it wanted. I moaned and sat up, stripping off my shirt. Paul’s eyes flared and he gripped my waist, moving his hands to my breast. Squeezing, he let his head fall back.
“Jesus,” he whispered. I started to unbutton his shirt, but suddenly his hands were on mine—stopping me. “Wait,” he said. “Just wait a second, Mia.”
“What’s wrong?” I was breathless and hot, still straddling him.
He took a deep, calming breath. His hands found my shirt and he sat up, moving me off his lap. “Not yet, okay?”
All my passion dissipated, insecurity taking its place. “Did I do something wrong?” I asked, pulling my shirt over my head.
“No,” he said, shaking his head with amusement. “Absolutely not. You were perfect. You are perfect. But I just…just…not yet.”
Mia Found (Starting Fires Book 3) Page 5