by Robin Leaf
She opens the bathroom door and talks with her toothbrush in her mouth.
“I neeya dasch a day,” she slurs around the foamy toothpaste filling her mouth.
“Babe,” I smirk, “I am not to the understanding-your-toothpaste-speak phase of our relationship just yet.”
“Ah, hay on.” She turns to finish brushing, rinsing and gargling cutely.
After wiping her mouth, she walks over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist.
“I said I need to dance today. It’s Saturday, so that means it’s been a full week since I have, and if I don’t do it today, I’ll probably spontaneously combust.”
I smile and move her hair off her forehead. “The doctor said you shouldn’t do anything strenuous for a few days.”
“Ugh, Mr. Protective, dancing isn’t strenuous to me. You’d rather watch me blow?”
Yes, yes I would love to watch you blow, as long as it’s me.
My smirk must give away what I’m thinking. I watch her confused look morph into a full-on eye roll when it clicks how I took what she said.
Pushing against my chest, she growls. “Dios mío, Noah, you know what I meant.”
“I like what I thought better.”
She walks to the door and looks back at me before she opens it. “I need coffee before I do anything.”
Following after her, I round the corner into the kitchen. I love how she just instinctively knows where everything is, and I love how comfortable she feels making herself at home in my home.
“I was just about to go to the gym to work out,” I say. “I’m usually the only one in there this early on a Saturday. If you’d like to join me and you don’t mind an audience, there’s a space we use for sparing that is more than big enough for you to do whatever you need to do.”
She turns and leans on the counter by the coffee pot and crosses her arms, waiting for the pot to finish brewing. “Translation: you’re not going to let me go anywhere by myself, and you will hover over me like a pit bull because of my massive head wound?”
I shrug and place my hands on her hips. “Tomato, tomahto, but yeah, that’s pretty much what I meant.” Bending down, I kiss her forehead quickly. After reaching around her to grab mugs, I pour us both cups of coffee.
“I like this waiting-on-me thing, güero. You could spoil a girl.”
I wink. “All part of the plan.”
“And just what plan is that?”
I watch her over my mug as I sip slowly. “The one where you admit you like me finally.”
She clinks her mug against mine. “You had it right the other day, Noah.” Standing on her toes, she kisses my cheek, whispering, “I more than like you.”
***
God. Why did I think it would be a good idea to work out when that woman is dancing in the same room as me?
Why?
There’s no way I can concentrate.
Not on anything but her anyway.
She’s not doing anything rehearsed; that I can tell. She’s simply letting the music move her. She’s so lost in it. Passionate. I can’t take my eyes off her, not even when I put my earbuds in my ears and play my music to distract me.
I nearly killed myself on the bench press when I didn’t reset the bar in the rack properly. I lost my grip on the dumbbell and missed dropping it on my foot by less than an inch. Practically broke the pec deck when I didn’t secure the pin. And forget about the row machine; the handle slipped out of my hand and slapped back, almost hitting me in the eye. Now, I’m on the treadmill, trying like crazy to pay attention to what my feet are doing so that I don’t fall on my face and rocket myself backward onto the floor.
Luckily she’s too focused to notice me. Like hyper focused. And it’s sexy.
There is nothing distracting to her.
God. She’s fucking amazing.
I slow to a cool-down pace for ten minutes and just enjoy my private show. Watching her is feeding my soul. My machine beeps indicating only one minute left; I didn’t notice the time pass. When it stops, I lean forward, resting my forearms on the handles of the treadmill. All I can do is be mesmerized by her.
I watch her pick up a water bottle and bring it to her lips, pausing before she can tilt it back. “Are you gonna come here, or do you want to keep fumbling through your work out?”
Damn, she’s not even dancing, and just taking a drink from a water bottle is hypnotic.
Wait. She said something, and I work to replay it, shaking my head when it doesn’t make sense. “What?”
Smiling, she locks eyes with me and motions me over. “Just get over here.”
I grab my towel and wipe my face and neck before striding over to her.
“Sorry, but I’ve been a little distracted by you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I noticed.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she pushes her hip out. “You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt.”
I see what she’s doing. I’ll play.
Rolling my eyes, I huff, “You sound like my mom.”
“Yeah, well, safety first, güero.”
I put my hands on her hips and pull her to me. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Yeah, well,” she smirks, “you like to boss me, so I thought I’d give it a whirl.”
I drop me head to hers. “The difference is I like it when you boss me.”
Her eyes flash. “So, you first saw me at that dance, huh?”
“Yeah,” I press my lips to her forehead. “I watched you then like I did today.”
She smiles. “You didn’t come talk to me?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I told you. You were too young. And dancing at that thing would have been social suicide. I was only there for Fionn.”
She giggles. “You were worried about your rep? I wouldn’t think something like that would matter to someone like you.”
I shrug. “It didn’t. Honestly, I knew you’d be trouble for me, even then.”
She pushes away from me. “Trouble?”
“I mean that I knew you’d be someone I’d have a hard time leaving.”
She smiles, turning to walk to the stereo, and plays a song. “I’ll show you trouble.”
“That’s the Way Love Goes” begins, and I laugh. “What? You wanna torture me?”
“Dance with me?” she purrs, holding her hand out to me.
“I’m sweaty,” I warn.
Shrugging, she answers, “So am I.”
I nod, taking her hand, wrapping my other hand around her waist, and pulling her close.
We sway for about a minute, just staring at each other, until I secure my hold and spin her around the mats.
“Impressive, güero. What else ya got?”
I pull her to me, busting out the Dirty Dancing move, holding her while she arches her back in a circle, making her giggle.
“Wow, somebody watched the movie.”
I nod. “A few times.”
“I’m surprised. Isn’t it a little girly for you?”
Holding her hips to mine, I move them, and she follows easily. “It’s Swayze. He gets a pass.”
Her giggle makes me smile.
“Did you ever take lessons,” she asks, “because you’re really good?”
“Nope, just a natural I guess.”
“I mean, I knew you could move when you did the whole stripper thing, but –”
“Speaking of stripping, I kinda had to do it again yesterday.”
She stops moving with me and backs up a step, raising her eyebrows.
“It was for the greater good.” I shrug. “I had to pull out the big guns and distract a room full of people to allow Scotty time to access their mainframe. Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad.” She steps closer, grinding her hips into me. “I’m just sorry I missed it.”
The song ends, switching to something I’ve never heard.
“C’mon, güero. Let me show you some moves.”
***
“Why are you making me do this?�
�� she almost whines, placing the protective ear wear around her neck.
“Because we did your thing earlier, so it’s only fair we do my thing now.” I load the clip into my Glock. “Now, you’re gonna want to keep your feet about shoulder width apart, but don’t lock your knees.” Picking up the gun, I demonstrate and explain how to aim and fire it. “Aim for the center of the chest. It’s a bigger target. Once you get comfortable firing it, we’ll try for a head shot.”
She narrows her eyes and looks from the gun to me a couple of times.
“You want to watch me first?”
“Yeah,” she says nodding. “Show me.”
I motion to the ear phones. “You may wanna put those on now.”
She pulls them over her ears, and she looks so fucking cute, I have to force myself to turn and concentrate on my target. I pull off six rounds, three to the chest, clustered pretty close, and three to the head, all within millimeters of each other.
I click the safety and step in front of the second silhouette target, placing the gun on the counter, and turn to face her. She pulls her ear protectors down and looks at me like she wants to lick my forearms.
“That was fucking hot,” she growls. Looking up at me, swinging her shoulders back and forth, she asks, “Is it my turn?”
I nod, stepping aside to let her approach the counter. She picks up the gun and slides the safety off. I step behind her, correcting her hold, and step back.
She pulls off two shots, one right between the eyes and one dead center of the chest.
Holy fucking shit. She shot better than I did. I don’t know if that turns me on or pisses me off. Maybe a little of both. Either way, I’m impressed.
She engages the safety and lays the gun down before taking off the protective gear. “Is that good? I couldn’t tell.” She smirks.
Raising my eyebrow, I fold my arms across my chest. “You’ve been trained.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Nope, that was my first time to ever shoot a gun. Can we go fuck in your shower now?”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, I want you to fuck me in your shower.”
I roll my eyes. “No, I mean about the shooting.”
Nodding, she holds up her right hand. “Lo juro por mi vida.”
Wow. She swears on her life.
I surprise her by grabbing her around the waist and lifting her to the counter, careful to keep from getting too close so I don’t lose control of myself. “If there weren’t security cameras in here,” I say, pointing to the corners of the room, “I’d fuck you right here, right now.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re worried about cameras?”
I smile. “Not usually, no. Wouldn’t think twice about it, but today, your brother is here working with Scotty, and I don’t think you want to risk the psychological damage we might inflict on his tender psyche.”
“I can’t speak for Scotty’s tender psyche, but you’re right about my baby bro. He’s crazy enough without watching you violate me.” She scoots off the counter and walks to the door, throwing a sexy look to me over her shoulder. “So… shower?”
God, I love this woman.
“Sorry, babe. You’ll have to wait until after our date tonight.”
She raises her eyebrows. “To shower?”
“Nope. You will have to wait for me to fuck you.” I lean in and open the door for her. “It’ll be worth the wait, I swear.”
She sighs. “Fine, but it better be, güero.” Smiling, she adds, “I’ll just have to take care of myself alone in the shower. Watching you work out, dance, and shoot in one day?” She saunters away from me, putting an extra swing in her hips, throwing a smirk over her shoulder. “It’s not like I haven’t gotten off to images of you for years.”
God. I. Love. This. Woman.
Thirty Nine
Cristiana
“You did not,” I snort, almost spitting out my chicken at this fancy ass restaurant Noah chose because it’s close to his building.
He lifts his water glass and points it at me. “I swear I did. Mrs. Hanson never suspected.”
“But why did you stick gummy bears to her car windows, and how did no one see you?”
“Have you ever tried to remove stuck-on gummy bears before? It’s almost impossible. Plus, she wrote on Fionn’s paper that he was dumber than the pack of gummy bears she had on her desk. I couldn’t let her get away with it. And I’m pretty sure the parking lot security monitor saw us, but she didn’t turn us in. She ran interference with the principal, too. No one liked Mrs. Hanson.”
“That woman hated me. Not only did she use a whole box of red pens on each one of my papers, but she told me she didn’t understand how my last two brain cells didn’t collide and kill me. Of course she announced her retirement at the end of my junior year. God, I was so pissed. That bruja should have retired ten years before she did.”
He smiles. “That’s true.”
“Don’t you think it’s crazy how much she loved The Great Gatsby? I mean we spent a whole term on that stupid book, dissecting it, analyzing every stupid word, and writing research papers about all the fucking symbolism. Jeez, lady, maybe the car was yellow because Fitzgerald just liked yellow. Ever think of that?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “The car was yellow because it needed to be recognizable, and there were not many people who owned yellow cars in the twenties. George Wilson had to recognize the car so he could identify the driver, which he thought was Tom, since he’d seen him filling it up earlier in the day, but it was really –”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, güero,” I interrupt, holding up both hands. “I didn’t intend for this date to become a book club discussion. I read the book. I watched the movie. I get it, thanks to the Hag-son.”
He chuckles. “Hag-son. I forgot about that nickname. But yeah, I didn’t like her, and she had no use for me until I won her over with my essay about Gatsby. I called him ‘the greatest, tragically-romantic hero in literature.’”
I hit the top of the table. “Oh my God, you wrote that paper? The one she quoted and said was the best paper she ever read?” I close my eyes and hold his imaginary paper to my chest, much like Hanson did after she read it, and add an aged, gravelly quality to my voice. “‘This student truly captured the essence of Jay Gatsby, like he was a kindred spirit, like he was him.’” I open my eyes to see his amused expression. “Seriously, Noah, a dust cloud emanated from under her skirt from her old-lady orgasm when she read us lines from your paper. She had to splash water on her face afterward.” I sit back and take a casual sip of my water. “You were probably the only student ever who didn’t disappoint her.”
When he smiles, I tingle everywhere. I seriously hope that never changes.
“I do understand Gatsby. He did anything he could to get the woman he loved.”
Carefully, I set down my glass. “He compromised his morals. And Daisy was a horrible person. She never deserved him.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, and that’s why he’s so beautifully tragic. He may have put his faith in the wrong person, but he loved her so completely, that it led to his ruin.”
I raise one eyebrow. “And that’s beautiful to you?”
“The beauty is that unconditional love is a rarity. What’s tragic is that it wasn’t reciprocated in time to save him.”
“But again, that was because Daisy was a horrible person.”
He shakes his head. “I believe she was her absolute self around Gatsby. She let down her guard, her shield, because she had no need to be anyone else. That’s who he fell for, who she truly was. She wasn’t really an awful person. She was just a victim of her upbringing, one where appearances are everything. In the environment she was raised, no one loved who she really was, so she became someone else to fit in with everyone else, and that became her safety net. I like to think that if she and Jay had more time, she would have eventually chosen Gatsby.”
I sit back in my chair and marvel at the wonder that is Noah Daniel Reed.
> “I can’t say I agree with you, güero, but the way you present your impassioned plea makes me want to look into Gatsby again.”
“Maybe I should read it to you,” wagging his eyebrows, he leans forward and lowers his voice adding, “in bed.”
I feel my face get hot. Great, I’m blushing in front of the man I just realized I love while on a date that I’m not supposed to have with him in a pretty high-profile restaurant. And this little conversation where he defends characters in a book just solidifies my total devotion to him. My mind wanders thinking of how fucking perfect he is. I watch his mouth move while he speaks, see his expressions, his passion, and realize how lucky I am to have found someone so fucking perfect, so damn sexy… one who seems to feel the same way about me.
Yeah, he’s worth anything I might lose by being here with him.
I should probably be listening to him instead of internally drooling over him.
“… gave them permission to search his luggage for his prescriptions. They appear to not be the correct medications. And if that’s the case, Shawn T. Smith has a whole new mess of charges coming her way.”
I might be grasping at straws, but I think I’ve found a solution to my problem.
I look down at my plate, clearing my throat to try and regulate my voice so that I don’t sound too excited about my question. “So how does this affect his record company?”
He looks at me and narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they’re the ones who assigned the loca to be his assistant. Could they be held responsible?”
The fork lands on his plate as he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “No, it doesn’t quite work that way.”
I clear my throat again. “Well, could he sue them for putting her in his path, especially if he can prove they knew about his illness?”
He narrows his eyes, watching me for a beat. “I mean, he could, but then his illness potentially becomes public knowledge, and since he never came clean to you about it, someone he seems to trust, he probably doesn’t want that to happen.”
Fuck. He’s right. I try to hold in my disappointment, but the way he studies me, I know I’m not doing a good job.