He looked delicious.
He looked like trouble.
“Cuba,” I called out, feeling a lot like the heroine in some stupid romantic comedy where the girl finally shows up to claim her guy.
He tucked his cell in his skin-tight, rated R pants. Those should be illegal.
I came to a stop in front of him, panting from my run, but trying to hide it. Not successfully. “Who were you calling?” Me?
“My mom,” he said, his grin warming as he took in my crazy appearance. I smoothed down my ballet skirt. And realized I still had my slippers on. I’m a moron.
He got this pleased expression on his face. “Did you run all the way here?”
I cocked my head. “No.”As if.
“Uh-huh,” he murmured, picking his duffle off the ground, then taking mine from my hand. He took off toward the parking lot, and not knowing what else to do, I followed.
“I need my bag.”
He looked back over his shoulder. “You and I have a date. I’ve got a lot of ground to make up.”
“And what does that mean?” I said, catching up to him.
“I mean, you’ve been playing hard to get.”
I matched my stride with his. “I thought you liked the chase.”
“Oh, I do, I do. But you wear a boy out, Dovey. If you hadn’t come today—.”
I didn’t let him finish. “I don’t like quitters or manipulators,” I said with a huff. “Give me my bag. Forget you ever spoke to me.”
“Sorry, babe.” He kept marching, a determined look on his face. “And you came. Because you like me too.”
Whoa, all of that blew me away, but I went with, “I’m not your babe. Don’t even try.”
He stopped and grinned. “Fine, you’re not a babe. I can see you’re too good for it. What do you want to be?” He reached out and touched my cheek.
I backed up. “I’m Dovey to you, that’s all.”
He mulled this over. “No one ever call you Happy Feet or Twinkle Toes?”
“Pfft, they’re all dead now ‘cause I killed them.”
We reached his Porsche, and I got sidetracked..
“She’s gorgeous,” I breathed, running my hands across her smooth lines.
“She’s like you in a lot of ways.”
“How?”
“She’s got an aerodynamic body, like you. She’s sexy and hot and I want my hands all over her. I really want to crank her up and ride her, but I think I may have to wait, which is fine. I like delayed gratification.” He arched a brow.
I sputtered. Lost for words was an understatement.
He swung away from me, opened the passenger side, tossed my bag in, and then reached in and grabbed something from the back. He eased out, got down on one knee, and presented me with a lopsided bouquet of red and yellow wildflowers.
Holy shizzle. My mouth parted again. The surprises just kept coming.
“Dovey, first of all, I have never gotten down on my knees for a girl. But you’re a special girl who requires special measures, so here goes.” He cleared his throat and spoke as if he’d memorized it. “The first time I noticed you was through the window of the dance building. I don’t know jack about ballet, but I’d never seen anything more beautiful than the way you moved. The second time I noticed you, you waltzed into my art history class this year, and walked right past me, like you didn’t even care who I was. And…I don’t know…I wanted to get to know you.” He shrugged and looked down sheepishly. “I picked these up at the lake house this weekend for you. Been trying to keep them alive until I saw you, but well, I don’t think they made it, but here.”
I took the wilted flowers and stared into them.
That was, that was…
“I have a rep…and most of it’s true, I’ll give you that…but I can guarantee-dam-tee-you I have never gone this far just to ask a girl to dinner.”
“Are you saying I’m different from all the other girls?”
“I am.”
I let the flowers fall to my side as my arms went weak. This. This was insane and he needed his head examined if he thought for one moment…
“And if you tell me no, then I’ll leave you alone. Right now. I’ll call it quits and stop harassing you. I won’t sit with you at lunch or walk you to class. I will never speak to you again. No hard feelings. I’ll pretend like you don’t exist.”
And that made my heart clench.
Cars passed and students walked by, but I didn’t notice, my eyes on his impossible yellow ones, wondering how many other girls had stared into those orbs and believed they’d change him. But, he’d never gotten down on a knee for them. Right? That’s what he said, and I didn’t take him for a liar.
I sighed. “It better be Italian, is all I’m saying, because I’m starving and I need the carbs.”
Relief flooded his face. “Then I have the perfect place. Vespucci’s just opened near the Galleria.” He opened the car door. “And I never want you to go hungry.”
That comment put me in a sort of sexual daze. The thought of a guy taking care of me, making sure I had my food, well, it was a turn-on. I never said I was normal, okay.
We must have looked interesting in the restaurant booth, him still in uniform and me in my ballet tights. I did manage to throw a long tunic on over my leotard, and he’d removed his pads and cleats in the car. Now he wore his jersey, the pants, and flip-flops. And we were going into one of the most expensive restaurants I’d ever been to. But he was Cuba Hudson. Any maitre de would bend over backward to serve him.
Three hours later, after we’d had a wonderful dinner and had talked about everything under the sun, I knew I had to go. Heather-Lynn was with Sarah, but I wanted to get home and check on her.
He’d been texting his own parents as well. First to check on his mom and then to make sure his dad was home with her. I thought it sweet.
He leaned in across the table. “Before I take you back to your car, give me a little something to dream about tonight when I’m all alone.”
“Like what?”
He nibbled on his bottom lip in a way that made me warm. “Let’s play a game. Tell me a secret.”
“So this is The Secret Game?”
“Totally made it up right this second, but yeah, that’s what we’ll call it,” he said.
“Are there rules to this game?”
“Yeah,” he reached across and played with my fingers, caressing each individual one. “Make it something you’ve never told anyone.”
I racked my brain, but couldn’t come up with a thing that didn’t involve hookers and mobsters. My secrets were not fun ones. “What do I get for telling you my secrets?”
“I’ll give you a kiss,” he whispered, his eyes on my mouth.
A tiny shudder went through me, but I said, “Nope, I need more than that.”
“What do you want then?” His voice deepened.
My eyes flicked out to the parking lot. “I want to drive your kick-ass car.”
He paled. And it was such a switch from the sexy vibe he’d been sending, that I laughed.
He sat back. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Take all the time you need,” I said, my eyes on his Porsche. A hundred thousand dollar car. I couldn’t wait to get my hands around that leather…
“For you to drive my car, I’d want a kiss to go with it. And two secrets, not one.”
I blinked. “This is getting complicated. I’m going to need some paper to keep up with all your rules.”
“My game, my rules. And I want my mouth on yours. Tonight.”
“Oh.”
“Well? I’m waiting,” he growled.
I cleared my throat. “First secret no one knows is I’m half-Russian. My father moved here as a young man with his parents to open a grocery store in Ratcliffe. Katerina is my Russian name Mama gave me for him. Dovey is her name for me.”
“Interesting. What else?”
“I love to play chess and had dreams once of being some kind of cham
pion. Goofy, right? The man who taught me to play was one of the renters in our building. His name was Elvis, and he was forever humming “You Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog”. Once, he made me this peanut butter and fried banana—”
“Come on, Dovey, stop playing around and let me in,” he said. “Tell me something real. Shock me.”
“I’ll have you know, Elvis was real. He lived in 2A and was the sweetest black man.”
His reply was to pull his keys out of his pants and dangle them. “Last chance, Dovey. Do you wanna drive my car or not?”
“I’m a virgin.”
A sharp intake of air and a look of wonder greeted me. Had he thought I wasn’t? Because I’m from Ratcliffe?
Seconds passed and passed and passed. Was this a deal breaker?
I shrugged. “I spent my younger years never having anything that was just mine. But I have dance and my body. It’s not much, but I’m waiting for the right person.”
“I think I just fell in love with you a little bit more,” he said.
I let that slide. I mean, what could I say? He was joking.
“Hand over the keys,” I said.
We got up to leave, and he placed his hand in the small of my back, guiding me. The touch seemed almost gentlemanly from a guy who was anything but. It created a fire in me. And it scared me, too. Because usually in life the first time you meet someone, you’re strangers, but with Cuba, it hadn’t been like that. Almost as if we were meant to be, as if we’d known each other in another life and were reconnecting. And I know it was a silly thought, but it stuck with me. Like a dancer who automatically recognizes which toe shoes are hers, my heart sensed him as mine.
Bah. How ridiculous.
We stopped at his car in the parking lot of the restaurant. More than driving his car, I wanted to kiss him. Desperately.
Cuba was a mind reader. “I never got my kiss,” he said. “You gonna give me anything else tonight?” His eyes raked over my short skirt.
I let that go.
“Why do you like me?” I said, feeling bold, obviously delusional from all the carbs.
He scooted in closer to me, and my eyes got tangled up on his big-ass biceps. “It’s hard to say. I think it’s the whole package: the way you don’t care who I am, the way you smile, the way you don’t take any shit from me. But mostly, your ass is so tight from dancing—”
I slapped his arm and he laughed. Then he kissed my earlobe, and I stopped breathing. Our first kiss had been on the nape. Now the ear. My lips were jealous.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks,” he said.
Yeah. Ditto.
“So why do you like me?” he asked casually. But his eyes were filled with intensity.
“There’s a rumor going around you have these prophetic dreams. I want in on the action, maybe open a Tarot reading store or palm-reading or…” I lost my train of thought because he’d kissed my ear again, his teeth nibbling on my pearl earring.
“That’s disappointing. I took you for much deeper than that,” he breathed.
“Maybe I like you for your car.”
He chuckled. “Don’t think I’ll ever let you drive it now.”
“Do you want your kiss?”
“I want way more than a kiss, Dovey.”
Yes. “Like what?”
He didn’t say. Just tilted my chin up and bent down until our noses touched. And it should have been awkward because first kiss moments usually are, but for some reason it wasn’t. The air between us mingled and grew warm. Or maybe that was my face. My lips parted, and I wet them with my tongue. I prayed I didn’t have lasagna breath.
“Are you going to kiss me? Because the build-up is killing me. Just do it already,” I said sil kily, in a tone I’d never used with anyone.
“What if it’s not as good as my dream?”
“Make your dreams come true, then,” I said.
“You’re as cheesy as I am,” he said softly, cupping my face, and then the world went on pause as he pressed me against the car and eased between my legs. His hard body aligned with mine, and he took my mouth gently, giving me soft kisses and then harder ones, tilting his head this way and that, experimenting. He lifted his lips from mine after a while, breathing just as heavily as I was.
“Good?” he asked huskily.
“More,” I whispered, pulling his head back to mine.
He groaned and took my mouth fiercely, applying delicious pressure, giving me what I needed. We sky-rocketed right out of that parking lot as it went from sweet to hot and erotic and mouths wide apart. His tongue took control, and I willingly let him own it. Passion blazed, and my hands hung on to sanity around his neck. He kissed me so long and hard and perfectly until I was convinced I would die from suffocation but I didn’t care. Who needed to breathe?
Kissing Cuba Hudson was a good way to die.
He came up for air, wearing a dazed expression, placing his forehead against mine. “That was a hell of a kiss.”
“Yes,” I admitted. But what was I doing? I had no room in my life for a boyfriend.
He said, “Don’t pull away. I’m scared, too. And I know we’re young, but I feel older than I really am. I’ve gone through some bad shit in my life…” he trickled off.
I cocked my head. It sounded like he’d been through something serious. Maybe his life wasn’t so perfect.
He continued. “Maybe I don’t know your birthday—yet—or if you like country music or pop or rap or whatever. But I do know I’m fascinated by the way your lips curve when you smile. And dammit, now I want to kiss you again.”
“My birthday is October 20th , and I like all kinds of music. And yes, please kiss me.”
And he did over and over, making me pant, making me crazy for him.
Then he’d finally handed over his keys to his Porsche and let me drive.
We left Vespucci’s and drove off into the sunset.
Which is now why, sitting here in the same restaurant a year later, I felt like the universe was slapping me in the face.
There was a flurry of activity at Cuba and Emma’s table as they got their coats on to leave. Good riddance. He helped Emma with her jacket, a cropped, brown furry thing that looked like mink. I wasn’t surprised. PETA wasn’t exactly widespread in Texas. I looked down at my own jacket, a plaid red and black piece I’d picked up at the consignment shop. Wooly and warm, no one had killed an animal to make it. Whatever. That didn’t mean I was better than her, but still…
Cuba rested his hands on her shoulders and gave her a reassuring pat, almost brotherly, yet not. She leaned into him for a moment, smiling at him, and well, it was the nicest I’d ever seen her face. My mouth parted as she reached up to kiss him, her petite frame curving into his protective one. Did it make me happy when he turned his cheek and her lips hit the corner of his mouth? Maybe.
Across Emma’s shoulder, our eyes met again. Feeling like an intruder on a tender moment, I glanced away.
A few seconds later, she breezed past me, her Jimmy Choo’s tapping lightly on the marble tile of the restaurant.
I waited for him to pass, but he stopped at my table. “Spider leave?” he asked, sliding into the booth.
“No,” I said in a surly tone, my entire body going stiff. I folded my napkin in tiny squares, not meeting his eyes.
“Where’s Emma?” I asked. Your baby mama?
“We rode separately,” he said, a wary look growing in his eyes. I knew that look. It meant he didn’t want to talk about her.
“What do you want from me, Cuba?”
He rearranged the bread basket, his hands fidgeting. “Why so hostile? Earlier in the week, you mentioned us getting together and talking? Would you still want to?” He seemed to hold his breath.
“There’s no point. We’re not pals. And I don’t think Emma would appreciate it.”
He gave me a sad smile. “I’m not in love with Emma.”
What did that mean?
Oh, yeah. He didn’t fall in love.
<
br /> “Why do you think I care?” I said crossly.
“You care,” he replied, sounding beaten.
“Cared, past tense. I don’t anymore.”
“You don’t make a good liar,” he growled at me, eyes low.
“What do you want?” I bit out. Wishing he would go. But not. It was completely messed up.
He spoke then. Killing me.
“When we broke up last year, I went nuts. I’ve lost count of the number of girls I was with after you. It was awful and I—”
My face reddened. “Took that many to erase me? Why do you think I want all the details now?”
His jaw clenched. “I fucked them everywhere. In my house, at their house, in hotels, in clubs, outside, wherever I happened to be. It was a binge. Sometimes more than one at a time. But lately, something’s changed, and it’s like I’m waking up—” he stopped, rubbing his hand through his hair. He swallowed. “I can’t put words to it, but I’m sick of who I’ve become. And I’m sick of being a selfish coward. So you see, you’re lucky you got away from me. I’m fucked up, and I would only have hurt you in the end. More than I had already.”
“You make me sick,” I hissed.
A look of resignation hit his face. “Yeah, I’m not surprised.”
I tossed the napkin on the table, bitterness from the past rising up. “Then stop torturing me with your stories. I already know that you didn’t care about me, okay? There’s no point in rubbing it in.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Dovey, no. Please wait; let me explain. I don’t want to—”
“Is Emma pregnant?” I snapped out, closing my eyes briefly at the sharp slice of pain those words caused.
Silence descended on us, the air crackling with tension. He bit his lip and looked way, twisting his class ring around and around. Finally he faced me, his face hard, his shoulders tense. “She is. And she needs me, and maybe I need this.”
“Just. Please. Go,” I begged, his words killing me inside.
He tensed up. “Dovey, listen to me. I can’t explain everything right now, but you mean something to me, and I—”
“She told you to go. So, get the bloody hell out of my seat, Hollywood,” Spider bit out. He’d come around the corner and had been standing there for a while, obviously hearing most of our convo.
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