“Hey, there,” she said when he walked past. “I was hoping I’d run into you.” The flush she felt pinkening her freckle-spattered cheeks, belied the bravado of her words.
“Um…hi,” he said. “Do I know you?”
“Hey, Cris.” Ainsley’s older sister walked up behind him and handed her a cup of coffee.
“Hey, Skye. Wait.” He turned and looked at her again. “Ainsley? What are you doing here?”
“Orientation. It’s always been her dream to attend Stanford,” Skye answered before Ainsley could.
“Yep,” she said, rolling her eyes, more embarrassed than she had been, if that was possible. “My dream come true,” she muttered.
“It was Stanford or nowhere,” Skye added, and Ainsley wanted to kick her.
“Well, wow. This is great. It’s nice to see someone from home.”
“Are you a doctor yet?” Skye asked.
“Yep. Second year of residency at Stanford Medical Center. What are you here for, Ainsley?”
You, she wanted to answer. “Business,” she said instead.
“It’s a tough school to get into; good for you. Congratulations.”
When he leveled his perfect smile at her, his two dimples creased his face, and Ainsley felt herself swooning. She longed to run her fingers through his thick, inky dark hair, which looked perfectly unkempt, and her lips over the stubble that made him look as rugged as he was handsome.
“Thanks,” she said, trying to look anywhere but at him. She couldn’t though. He was magnetic.
“She’s a brainiac,” Skye added. “Kind of like you. I don’t know where she gets it from. No one else in our family is.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true, Skye,” Cris said to her in his perfectly charming way. Then he looked at his watch, and Ainsley felt her heart drop.
“I gotta go, or I’ll be late, but again, it was really good to run into you. Let’s get together when I have more time. Maybe we can even carpool home sometime.”
“I’d love that.”
“Soon,” he said, waving as he hurriedly walked away.
Soon had turned into three years. They never carpooled home. Not once. And as hard as she tried to, she’d only gotten close enough to speak to him once between then and her twenty-first birthday.
She was walking up the stairs of the Stanford Clinic and saw him, a few steps ahead, in the crowded stairwell. When he reached the landing, he saw her, too. She raised her arm to wave, but Cris had looked away. “I can’t do this,” she thought she heard him mutter.
After that day, Ainsley stopped looking for him. She’d been so humiliated that, even if she had seen him, she would’ve walked in the opposite direction.
The night of her twenty-first birthday, her roommates, Gwen and Bryn, who were also her two best friends, insisted they take her out to celebrate.
It wasn’t as though she never drank alcohol before, she told them. Her family owned a winery, for God’s sake.
They ended up at Antonio’s Nut House on California Avenue in Palo Alto, where Grateful Dead music played loudly and there was an endless supply of peanuts to eat. The place was known for cheap drinks, billiards, retro arcade games, and decent Mexican food in its adjoining restaurant.
Used to being the designated driver, Ainsley was stunned when not one, but three shot glasses appeared in front of her, along with her third pint of beer, or maybe it was her fourth.
“The Fireball is from me,” said Gwen. “The Scotch Whiskey is from Bryn, of course, and the shot of tequila is from this handsome man I found sitting at the bar. He says he knows you. Is this true, Ains? Have you been holding out on us?”
Gwen’s eyes traveled up and down the length of Cristobal Avila’s body, whose eyes met Ainsley’s.
“Come on, then. Line ’em up.” Gwen held up her shot glass and waited for Ainsley to do the same. She looked at Bryn, who held up her hands, waiting her turn.
The Fireball burned as it slid down her throat, and the thought of having two more shots, each of different liquor, made her nauseous.
“My turn,” Bryn pushed in front of Gwen. “I want a full report tomorrow,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “He’s so hot,” she mouthed when she turned around to face Ainsley again and raised her glass. “Sláinte, my friend.”
“Bathroom break,” Gwen shouted after she and Bryn downed their whiskey, and Ainsley immediately stood. She didn’t need to use the bathroom, but the quick succession of hard alcohol made her brain fuzzy.
“Not you,” said Bryn, who pushed Ainsley back down on the barstool and walked away.
“So, it’s your birthday,” Cris leaned down closer, and when he went to kiss her cheek, Ainsley pulled away. He smiled then, and rested his arm on the table in front of her.
“It’s my turn now,” he said, motioning to their tequila shooters. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
Ainsley closed her eyes and shook her head. Had he really just said that he’d waited a long time to do a shot with her, or was she imagining things in her alcohol-addled state? She took a sip of beer and looked into the mossy green eyes he had leveled on her.
He brushed the hair away from her face and leaned forward again. “Happy birthday, Ainsley.”
She closed her eyes, remembering the day in the stairwell. Why was he being nice to her now, when then, he wouldn’t even say hello.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, leaning closer to her.
With his lips almost touching hers, was he asking if she wanted to kiss him? Absolutely. She wanted to do that all night long, but no, she couldn’t. She closed her eyes again, shook her head, and heard him laugh.
He laughed at her. Oh, God. What was she doing? She grabbed her purse and tried to push past him, but he put his hands on her waist.
“Where are you going?” His mouth was close enough to her ear that she could still hear him whisper through the noise of the crowded bar.
“I have to go.” She had to get away from him before she made an even bigger fool of herself, or had more to drink, in which case, she’d turn into a full-blown idiot.
“I meant the shot,” he said. “Are you sure you want another one?”
“Oh.” She tried again to leave, but Cris tightened his grip.
“Ainsley Butler,” he breathed. “You’re all grown up, now. And just as beautiful as I knew you’d be.”
He was drunk. He had to be. Or she was dreaming. That was more likely. Cris Avila hadn’t known she was alive. In fact, he’d completely forgotten she was at Stanford and that he’d told her he’d see her soon—three years ago. Except for that one time, when he’d intentionally ignored her.
He took her purse off of her arm, set it back on the table, and handed her the shot glass. When he lifted it to his lips and tossed it back, so did she, both disregarding the lemon slices and salt still sitting on the table.
She weaved a little, and then sat on the stool. She closed her eyes, but that didn’t help. In fact, it made the vertigo worse.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”
She snatched her hand away. “I’m not going anywhere with you…you…ignored me.”
Cris sat on the stool next to her and ran his hand through his hair. Why had he done that? Didn’t he know how much she longed to do just that?
“I’m sorry,” he muttered so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.
“Why?”
He looked at her mouth but didn’t answer.
“I know you saw me.”
They sat that way, staring at each other, for what felt like a long time. Neither spoke. Finally, Cris took a deep breath, and then let it out. “Do you know how old I am, Ainsley?”
She nodded and took a drink of her beer, and then another, even though she knew it was the last thing she should be doing. “What did you mean before, when you said you’d been waiting a long time for this?”
He shook his head and looked away.
&nbs
p; “Forget it.” She grabbed her purse and wound her way through the crowded bar, looking for Gwen and Bryn.
Ainsley looked everywhere, but didn’t see them. They wouldn’t have just left her here. Maybe they were still in the ladies’ room. When she finally found it, there was a line of women waiting outside the door. She grabbed the wall when a wave of vertigo hit her again, and then sat on a bench just around the corner.
She put her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. She’d just wait here a little while, and they’d see her when they came out, wouldn’t they? She closed her eyes tight, wishing she didn’t see Cristobal’s face every time she did.
She felt a hand touch her hair, and when she opened her eyes, Cris was crouched down in front of her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine,” she snapped, leaning away from his hand that was still stroking her hair.
“I don’t think you are.”
Ainsley tried to stand, but he had her caged between him and the bench. “Why are you here?” she mumbled. “Why tonight?” Her eyes filled with tears, and she silently cursed the alcohol that was making her so emotional. “Please, just go. Please, leave me alone. I’m begging you. Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”
He smiled. “I can’t do that.”
“You can,” she said, pointing at the door. “Just go.”
“I never meant to humiliate you, niña bonita. I had to stay away from you.”
“W-w-w-h-y?” She was full-on crying now, only adding to her already heightened embarrassment.
He tweaked her nose, making her feel like she was eight years old again.
“Our families…”
Yes, she knew their families were enemies, but wasn’t that more between their fathers? Alex and Maddox had been together forever, but that wasn’t a good argument since, even though almost everyone knew about them, they still kept it a secret when they saw each other.
“You spoke to Skye when she brought me for orientation.”
He nodded.
“Why can you talk to her and not me?”
“Because I never wanted to kiss Skye.” Cristobal held her still with the hand that he’d woven into her hair, and placed his lips on hers.
At first he was tentative and sweet, but then he coaxed her mouth open with his tongue. She could taste lingering tequila, and licked his bottom lip. When she did, he kissed her harder.
“Oh, oops!”
Ainsley heard a familiar voice, and broke away from him. She looked up and saw Bryn. Gwen was behind her. “I’ve been looking for you. Where were you?” she asked, hating the sound of her own voice. She not only felt like she was eight years old again, she sounded like it too.
“Mmmhmm.” Gwen stood, with her hands on her hips, looking at Cris. He was watching the exchange between her and her friends with his hand still woven in her hair.
“We’re on our way to the Stube,” said Bryn. She looked at Cris too. “Wanna come with us?” she smiled.
Instead of answering Bryn, he looked at her.
“Go,” she said, pushing his hand away from her. “I’m going home.”
“Come on, Ains,” Gwen pleaded. “It’s your birthday; we’re supposed to be celebrating.”
“I don’t feel like celebrating.” She crossed her arms and hoped she was being a big enough bitch that he’d just leave.
“I’ll make sure Ainsley gets home okay. I don’t think she needs anything more to drink,” Cris said to Gwen and Bryn as though she wasn’t sitting right next to him.
“Hey!” she swatted at him. “First of all, I’m right here, and I can hear you. Secondly, I can make my own decisions about whether I’ve had enough to drink or not.” For some reason, over-emphasizing certain words made her feel more in control of the situation. So did glaring at Cristobal, who grinned as she spoke.
“If you’re sure…” Gwen said, and Cris nodded.
Ainsley couldn’t believe her ears. Her friends were actually going to go on without her? Seriously?
He stood then, and held his hand out to her. “Come on now, niña bonita, I’ll take you home.”
“But…but…” Ainsley watched Bryn walk away, waving behind her and blowing a kiss.
“See you tomorrow,” Gwen shouted, waving, too.
She followed Cris, not sure what else to do. As soon as she got out of the overly warm bar, and got some fresh air, she was sure she’d feel better, and then she’d tell Cris she could find her own way back to the apartment she shared with the two so-called friends who had just deserted her.
When they got outside, Cris whistled so loud it hurt her ears.
“Sorry,” he said when he saw her wince. “It’s the only way to get a cab on a Friday night.”
Instead of feeling better, now that she was outside, she felt even more woozy. Without thinking, she grabbed Cristobal’s sleeve to steady herself.
“Come here,” he said, tucking her under his arm.
“Where to, lovebirds?” the driver asked when he pulled up to the curb.
“Twelve Beacon Way,” he said and helped her into the back seat.
“Where are we going?” she asked once they pulled away from the curb.
“My apartment.”
“No, we can’t do that,” she whined. “I have to go home.”
A wave of wooziness hit her again, but this time it felt more like nausea. “Um, please pull over.” She put her hand over her mouth as the driver crossed two lanes of traffic and stopped.
She made it out of the cab in the nick of time, losing the contents of her stomach in a nearby shrub. Cris held her hair away from her face and rubbed her back as waves of nausea reverberated through her.
“My apartment is around the corner,” he told her once her heaving had subsided. “Come on.”
She went along, not sure what else to do. Once they got to his place, she could ask him to take her home.
When she woke the next morning, her head felt fuzzy, but she didn’t feel nearly as hungover as she’d expected to.
She opened her eyes, looked around, and cringed. There, on top of what she assumed was his bed, lay a fully clothed but sound asleep Cristobal Avila. Thankfully, she was still fully clothed, too.
She felt him move, and opened her eyes to see him staring at her.
“How do you feel this morning?” he asked.
“Okay. I guess I didn’t have as much to drink as I thought.”
“No, you did. Three shots on an empty stomach, plus beer—that’s a lot.”
“How did you know I had an empty stomach?”
“I guess you don’t remember begging me to go get us a couple of burgers last night.”
Ainsley gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. “Did I really? I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t go.”
“Oh, good.”
“I had them delivered.”
Ainsley put her face into the pillow and groaned. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Hey. Look at me.”
She turned her head and looked into his perfect eyes.
“Don’t be sorry, Ainsley. I feel at least half responsible for how inebriated you got last night, which was only one of the reasons I wanted you to stay here. So I could look after you.”
“What was the other reason?” she asked softly.
“Are you sure you want me to answer that?”
She nodded.
“I’ll tell you over breakfast.”
“Yoohoo, Ainsley?” Bryn was waving from her office across the hall. “Are you listening to me?”
“Sorry. Uh…what?”
“I was telling you I really didn’t want to go home for Christmas…never mind. Someone is here to see you.”
She’d been working on a presentation comparing organizational structures and how each affected productivity levels, but that really wasn’t what she’d been thinking about. More often than not, she found herself thinking about the same thing—why she’d let things go so wr
ong with Cris.
Bryn was standing at her office door with her hands on her hips. “What is up with you?”
Ainsley heard Bryn mumble something about letting whoever it was in, since it didn’t appear she was going to do it.
The Kensey Management Center was locked up tight on Saturdays. Only faculty, PhD candidates, and graduate students had key cards that worked on the weekend. Everyone else had to be buzzed in by someone with proper credentials.
She wasn’t expecting anyone that she could remember. She opened her calendar, thinking she may have had an appointment that she’d forgotten about.
When she looked up to ask Bryn who it was, Cris was standing where Bryn had been, and her friend’s office was dark.
10
Cris didn’t walk into her office, he bounded. By the time she rose from her chair, he was standing so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. He laced his hands in hers and leaned forward so their foreheads touched.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered. He dropped one of her hands so he could move the hair from her neck, and nipped at the spot where her shoulder curved.
She breathed in the musky scent of his maleness, and every part of her tuned in to him despite how her brain screamed that they needed to talk. He was so close that all she had to do was turn her head and she could kiss him. Instead, her knees went soft, and she clung to him as his lips trailed from her neck, up to the curve of her cheek, and finally, thankfully, to her lips.
He lifted her then, so her bottom rested on her desk, and angled his neck so his mouth could ravage hers. How had she gone a whole month without his lips on hers? It was never just a kiss with Cris; it was a full assault on every one of her senses. She slid her hands inside his jacket and clawed at his chest through his shirt.
He was the first to pull back, resting his forehead against hers again while they both caught their breath.
“I need to be alone with you, Ains.”
The Gift Page 7