Chapter 3

It’s Saturday, and I wasn’t able to make it to the club yesterday after work because the trial ran late. When I stopped off home to pick up my bag, I sat down on my couch for five minutes…and didn’t wake up until the next morning. I have a missed text from June asking if I was at the club. I didn’t reply because I was asleep.

Shit.

I send a quick text. Sorry. Just saw your text. Fell asleep after work. Leaving for Miami now. See you later?

Gulping down a Red Bull, I run out of my apartment and head straight to Miami Beach and Panic. I’m exhausted, but I refuse to make coke a habit, so I stick with the Red Bull.

A few hours later I’m lying on the white couch in my office, waiting for a shipment of liquor to arrive and hoping I can catch at least a few minutes of sleep, but I’m almost immediately interrupted by one of our security guys. “Hey, boss, there’s a chick knocking on the door outside.”

It’s early, just before noon. The club doesn’t open for hours. Yawning, I follow him into the security room, where I look at the monitor and chuckle.

It’s June. She’s wearing leggings and a sports bra and is knocking on the club’s huge wooden doors as if anyone would ever hear it. As I head down I take out my phone and text her. So you came to your senses?

Huh? she answers almost immediately.

There’s a beautiful woman banging down my front door.

She texts back. What does a girl have to do to get a bottle of water around here?

Just then I reach the door and open it. “You came all the way here for water?” I ask, leaning against the doorjamb, trying not to look like a creeper staring at her lean, sweaty, sun-kissed body. “Or is it because you were so worried about me not answering your text yesterday?” I have to hold on to the doorjamb to avoid reaching out to touch her.

She shrugs and winks. “What can I say? I’m thirsty and clingy.”

Chuckling, I step away from the door and motion for her to come in. “Well, you came to the right place.” She sends her gaze around the empty club; it looks so different without all the lights and people. I pull down a stool in front of the bar and then walk around to the other side and grab two water bottles.

Quickly she downs half of her water, then wipes her lips. “I was out jogging and thought I’d come by and say hi. I was joking about the clingy thing, by the way.”

“But not about swindling me out of a water bottle, huh?”

“Nope. I really needed the water,” she says with a smile. “So, this is Panic after hours.”

“More like before hours. But yeah, this is it. Different without the haziness from the alcohol and the people, right?”

“Very much so. Almost…”

“Eerie?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

I lean my forearms against the bar. “There are days I’m here alone unpacking boxes and I swear I can almost hear the beat of music. It’s like it’s ingrained in the structure.”

Smiling, she takes another sip of water as she looks at me from behind those long lashes. “How about a tour? You never did show me that other Picasso.”

A little surprised by her abruptness, I shrug. “Sure, but only if you agree to have dinner with me.”

“I don’t know….”

“Come on, one date. It’ll be fun.” She’s obviously interested—she’s been back to see me twice now. A date seems like the logical next step. Why the hesitation?

She plays with the cap from the bottle for a long minute until finally she says, “I’d love to.”

“I would’ve given you the tour regardless.”

“I would’ve gone on the date regardless.”

“You’re cheeky. I like that.” I grin widely, then lead her back the same way we went a few days ago—except now, in the daylight, it feels so different.

“Tonight? Eight o’clock?”

“Uh…yeah, sure.”

“You okay? You seem distracted,” I say, glancing at her. She’s looking around almost too intently, as if she’s making a note of where everything is.

“No, I’m fine. Sorry. It was hot today and the run must’ve…I’m just tired, is all.”

“So, dinner tonight, then. I’ll pick you up. At eight.”

“I’ll meet you.”

“Smart girl. Okay, I’ll text you the restaurant information.”

Upstairs, we bump into my father and one of his oldest friends, who are just walking out.

“Matty boy, we were just talking about you,” my father says.

“Hi, Dad. Dad, this is June. June, this is my father, Victor, and this is a family friend, Leo Castillo.”

She extends her hand. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Raven hair.” My dad laughs. “He’s just like his ol’ man, isn’t he, Leo?”

Leo laughs, and I feel June stiffen next to me. “Yes, black hair is a Moreno favorite,” Leo agrees as they walk away.

“Dirty old men.” I roll my eyes and I notice her skin has paled. “They were just teasing. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies distractedly, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She continues to look at them as they walk away. A moment later she says, “You look like your dad.”

“I hear that a lot. Wait till you meet Nick.”

“You’re twins—wouldn’t he look the same as you? Wait—are you fraternal twins?”

“We’re identical, but he has this stupid long hair and beard, which make him look more like Dad.”

“You’re only saying it’s stupid because you’re not man enough to grow a beard,” Nick scoffs, walking out of his office.

“I could grow a beard if I wanted to. I just don’t want to look like a douchy hipster,” I taunt back. “Nick, this is June. June, this is my brother, Nick.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“See, she’s clearly into men, not boys.” Nick winks at her, since she’s staring.

“No, I…it’s just…you two look so much alike.”

“Yeah, well, twins,” he says matter-of-factly. “It was fun when we were young. Anyway, gotta run—meeting Naomi for lunch. Catch you later, Matt. Nice to meet you, June.”

“Nice to meet you too. Bye,” she replies as I take her hand and lead her into my dad’s office. “He seems nice.”

I snort. Nick is a lot of things, but nice isn’t one of them. “You are probably the only person who’d say that Nick is nice. Don’t worry—once you get to know him he’ll set you straight.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s ornery and grumpy and always trying to do everything. He’s not nice. He barks orders and stresses about everything.”

“Really?”

“Really. I think he only has long hair because he hasn’t had a chance to cut it. Between making sure every tiny detail of Panic is perfect and dealing with his crazy-ass girlfriend, the guy has no time for anything.”

“And you?” she asks, standing in the middle of the office. “You don’t seem stressed or concerned about much. In fact, you seem pretty laid back. Aren’t attorneys supposed to be angry or serious, or something? You look…” She looks at me intently. “Happy.”

I put down the pencil I’m twirling. “Anything wrong with being happy?”

“No, nothing wrong with it. It’s just that most people are stressed out about something or other. Yet you don’t seem to be. Not that I know you well. Maybe you’re just putting on your best face. Trying to impress me.”

I laugh and pull her close. “No, this is me. I can’t change things that are out of my control. My brother spends his days downing antacids. I don’t want that for myself. I guess we just handle stress in different ways. I have stress and worry like everyone else; I just don’t see the need to put it out there and make it worse.”

“And what is it that stresses you? Panic seems to be doing very well, isn’t it?”

“Well isn’t exactly the right word. It couldn’t be doing any better. After thirty years, it practically runs itself, which is why Nick should just hang back and relax a little. My stress is the usual life shit.”

“So what’s the problem? Why is Nick so grumpy, and what do you mean by the usual life shit?”

I don’t want to talk about all this. It’s too heavy and a bit intrusive. I take a small step back, running my fingers through my short hair.

“Too deep for midday, huh?” she says, noticing my retreat, which I quickly cover up with a smile.

“Yeah, no heavy shit before eight p.m.” I pull her around my father’s desk.

“I prefer my men clean-cut, by the way. I’m not a fan of the yeti look.”

“Glad to hear it.” I tuck back a piece of hair that has fallen from behind her ear. “I didn’t want to have to grow a beard.”

“You’d’ve grown a beard if I had said I liked it?”

“We’ll never know, now that you’ve admitted you like the way my smooth face feels against yours.”

“I didn’t say all that.”

“I think it was implied. You want smooth skin when I kiss you.” My lips skim closer to her cheek, and then I’m just a whisper away from her mouth. Her tongue sneaks out to wet her lips as one of my arms wraps around her waist and brings her so close she has to grab my shirt to keep her balance.

“I think it’s time we kissed,” I say, touching my lips to her cheek.

She moans, but shakes her head. “No,” she finally croaks.

“You sure about that, woman?” I ask, my lips hovering against the corner of her mouth.

She’s grabbing my shirt, rubbing her face against mine. Her body wants this. It’s practically buzzing with anticipation. But still she holds back. “We just met. I don’t kiss strangers,” she says in a barely-there whisper, her eyes closed.

“We’re practically boyfriend and girlfriend.”

That makes her laugh, which cuts the tension.

“Is that so?”

“It is.” I move back to give her the space she seems to want. She’s conflicted, and I don’t understand why. “We text each other.”

“We texted once.”

I wanted to text or call her earlier this week, but I was so busy with work, I just never got around to it. “Is there a magic number of texts that qualify for being someone’s boyfriend?” I ask teasingly. “Besides, I’ve seen you mostly naked.”

“What?” She playfully shoves my shoulder.

“Your transparent dress, remember? And I loved what I saw. So no worries on that front, Junebug.”

She’s laughing so hard she has to catch her breath. “I wasn’t worried.”

“Good. ’Cause you shouldn’t be,” I assure her. Then I continue, “You love my smooth skin. You’ve been here a few times. Had free drinks. You have my jacket, which I bet you sleep in. That’s what girls do, right? Sleep in their boyfriend’s T-shirts?”

“Yeah, T-shirt. Not an expensive silk Armani suit jacket.”

“Aw, look, you noticed all of that. You were sniffing it, weren’t you? Just admit it.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Fine, I’ll give you some more time before I kiss you,” I say, relenting. But I want to make my intentions clear. “It’s gonna happen, though. There’s chemistry here, June. You can feel it, I know you can. So today, say whatever it is you need to say to yourself to get ready, because tonight, on our date, my lips will be touching yours at some point.” Then I give her one last sweet kiss on the cheek and lead her to the Picasso, which she stares at in complete awe.

There’s something about this woman.

It’s not just the way she looks. It’s not just the easy flirty banter.

She’s mysterious.

At first glance she seems like an open book. I mean, I know she wants to kiss me, even though she’s hesitating. But her expressive big blue eyes tell me that she’s hiding an entire world of information. Not just from me, but from everyone. She kind of reminds me of myself. Outwardly she looks fine. But there’s something more profound going on beneath the surface. And I think she’s worth sticking around for and digging deeper. I’ve never felt the need to get to know a woman, but I want to with this one. And I’m not even sure why.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” she says, standing close to the artwork, her hand hovering close but not actually touching it. “I can’t believe he has two Picassos.”

“I don’t know much about art, but this one is pretty cool.”

She turns those big clear blues at me. “Cool?” She snorts and shakes her head. “Are you that spoiled that a Picasso is just a cool thing?”

“No. I mean, well…okay, I’ve seen it so many times I forget it’s an important piece of art.”

“Look at the colors. The way her eyes are at different angles, almost like it’s two different women, one standing in front of the other.”

I look at the painting, never having dissected it.

“Art should make you feel something. ‘Cool’?” She shakes her head again. “That’s not a feeling. What does it make you feel, Matt?”

I look at it—really look at it—for the first time.

“It shows her different sides. It shows the complexity of women,” I begin. But as I look at it a little longer, I realize that the painting is about more than that. “Well, not just women. We all have two sides, I guess. The one we show the world,” I say, pointing to the eye that is staring out at us, “and the one we hide from the world.” I point to the eye that is looking sideways, the one we only see the side of. “She’s thinking. No, I think she’s plotting. She reminds me of the people who come here. They want to forget their troubles, but their troubles are going to be there when they walk out of the club.” I can feel June’s eyes on me, but I keep looking at the painting. The big painted eyelashes look fake, much like the rest of the figure on the canvas. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like what?”

“The painting. I don’t like it.” I finally turn and notice how intently she’s looking at me. “You asked me what I thought.”

“I know. But I didn’t expect you to go that deep with it. Did you come up with all that just now?”

I shrug uncomfortably and pull her close. “Let’s talk about you some more, shall we?” I change the subject. “I like this casual look on you. I think leggings should be incorporated into our date.”

“You don’t like deep. Got it,” she observes, not letting a single damn thing slide. But I don’t care, I don’t want to talk about anything else right now other than her and those tight-ass pants.

“You like seafood?” I ask, and she looks confused. “For our date, tonight?”

“Oh.” She breaks into a smile. “I prefer steak.”

I laugh. “Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She has her hands on her hips now and is leaning back a little.

Her skin is so smooth and soft, and I can’t help rubbing my face against hers, though what I really want is to rub my entire body against hers. “I just like that you know what you want. It’s refreshing and sexy at the same time.”

“Well, this will really turn you on,” she says in that gritty voice of hers. “I want to eat a big juicy steak for dinner, with a baked potato slathered in butter. I may even lick my fingers like the lady that I am.”

I groan. “God, that’s so hot.”

Before I can say anything else, someone knocks on the door, startling us. “Lynn’s outside!” Jamie, one of our employees, bellows from the other side.

“Be right there!”

“Lynn?”

“The company that delivers our provisions—mixers, stirrers, shit like that.”

“Oh…okay.”

“Let me go sign for it. I’ll be right back,” I say, then kiss her cheek and walk away. But before I leave I can’t help but add, “And I like that you got a little jealous there. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

I’m downstairs reviewing an order when I see June and Nick walk out of the elevator together. “Left my wallet,” Nick says, and hurries off.

“Hey, sorry this is taking so long,” I apologize to her, but she looks…off. Like she’s seen a ghost.

“It’s cool. No problem,” she says quickly, sounding flustered. “I’ll let you get to work. Text me the location of the restaurant for tonight.”

I put the pen down and place my hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”

“Fine. I accidentally went into your brother’s office thinking it was yours. I think he’s mad.”

I chuckle. Oh, so the issue is Nick. Yep…it was bound to happen. “So now you’ve met dick Nick, as opposed to nice Nick. Don’t sweat it.”

“He looked really mad.”

“I warned you he was a jerk.”

“Guess you did. But I shouldn’t have been in his office.”

“It was a mistake, no big deal.”

The Lynn driver is waiting impatiently, which June notices. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

“I’ll text you later, sweetheart,” I say, looking down at a clipboard.

“Uh, yeah. Sounds good.” She kisses my cheek and practically runs away, but I stop her right before she walks out the door.

“And Junebug? I’m spending the rest of the day finding a steakhouse where you can wear those leggings.”

She snorts loudly and leaves the club.