Chapter 4

I can’t believe I’m nervous. I’m never nervous. Not in front of a judge or a jury and definitely not with a woman. But here I am, changing outfits again, like a pussy. I want to impress her but I also want her to feel at ease. I just want to get to know her, is the bottom line. I sent her a text earlier today that said, Even though I can’t stop picturing you in those leggings, I want to take you somewhere nice. So we’ll have to leave the leggings for when we do other, more physically intensive activities. The Mad Cow in Brickell at eight.

You’re a dangerous man, Mateo, she texted back. See you at eight.

Mateo. Hmmm. That throws me for a loop. No one calls me Mateo, and I don’t even remember telling her that was my name. But I guess I did.

My foot bobs up and down as I wait for her to arrive. I’m twenty minutes early, and the server has already asked me three times if I want a drink. Taking a long inhale, I try to calm my nerves. My lack of attention span and my excess energy have always been my biggest flaws, and it takes some serious concentration and self-awareness for me to calm down and focus.

When I look up for the umpteenth time, I see June walking in wearing a short canary-yellow dress. My breath hitches, and the mental talk I just gave myself flies out the window. I want to make things so perfect, I’m actually jittery. Standing up, I wave just as she finds me among the crowd. With a big unguarded smile she walks straight to me.

“You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

She bats her eyelashes and smiles coquettishly. “You say that to all the girls.”

“I don’t.” I’m serious—I want her to know this isn’t a line. “Truly, June. Wow.”

The tension is thick, and I know I’m not being my usual playful self, which seems to leave her disconcerted. “Thank you. You look pretty handsome yourself.” She runs her hand up and down my lavender tie. We are staring at each other, and it seems as if the world has paused around us. There’s no sound. No movement. Just me and June. Something has shifted. I’m not sure what it is, but the way she’s looking at me is different.

Clearing my throat, I gesture for her to sit. I’m unsure what to talk about or why she’s looking at me the way she is.

I unwrap the cloth napkin from the fork and knife and lay it on my lap. Then, without really giving it much thought, I grab the fork and move it around in my fingers.

“God, I’m nervous,” she says with an awkward-sounding laugh.

“You are?” I’m surprised—she seems so put-together and confident.

“Of course I am. I don’t date all that much. Do you?”

“No, actually I don’t either. I’m kind of feeling outta my depth here.”

She doesn’t say anything in response, so I continue. “And if I’m being completely honest, I’ve been partying kind of hard lately. Mostly drinking, and being on this date completely sober like this…I’m not sure you’ll find me fun or funny. Maybe you’re bored out of your skull at this very moment, or maybe I’m sounding like a complete pussy right now and you want to run away.”

Honesty is my mantra. I don’t lie to women. In fact, I don’t lie, period. However, this is possibly way too much honesty for a first date. I’m waiting to see what she says, my fingers twisting around the fork in anticipation. She is looking at me, mulling it over.

“Thank you for being honest.” She lets out a long exhale. “I feel a little better knowing I’m not the only one who’s nervous.”

“No. Definitely not. So, tell me, why don’t you date much? I mean, you’re pretty stunning. I can’t imagine men aren’t falling at your feet to go out with you.”

She shrugs. “I tend to scare men away.”

“Probably ’cause you pour martinis on their head. As dating behavior goes, that’s usually frowned upon.”

She giggles loudly, and damn, that sexy, girly giggle makes me want to reach over and kiss her.

“If you can believe it, that was the first time I ever did such a thing. Although, truth be told, I’ve been known to slam doors and throw things when I’m angry.”

“Can’t really say that surprises me. I am, however, a little more nervous now. I better not do anything to piss you off.”

She laughs again. “Both times the guys deserved it.”

“I’m sure they did.” I smile, smitten by this woman. “You intrigue me, June. Tell me more about yourself. Your family?”

“My father was a cop.”

“Ahh, so that’s where you get your badassness from.”

She giggles again. “Can I just say, I’ve never giggled before. Not once. Like, ever in my life, I think. You’re really funny, Matt.”

“I like it when you laugh. And when you smile. I’ll make sure to keep doing whatever I’m doing to keep you smiling, sweetheart.”

Her face pinks, and she looks down before gathering herself and fixing her gaze back on me through those thick lashes. “Maybe subconsciously that’s where I get my hotheaded streak from, yes. But I don’t remember him very much. He died in the line of duty when I was a baby.”

Shit. I mentally kick my own ass.

“Sorry for bringing that up, June.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s fine. It’s actually nice to talk about it.” I get the feeling that she’s not the type of woman who opens up easily, and it makes me feel ten feet tall that she’s doing it with me.

“How about your mom?”

“My mom was never in the picture. She had Crohn’s disease and died from an infection soon after I was born.”

The server comes by, and we both order before I nudge her to continue her story.

“I lived with my grandmother for a few years, and when she passed away I went from foster home to foster home. It wasn’t easy, and at seventeen I got my GED and started working as a waitress. Paid my way through college and eventually was hired at—at—” She stammers for a moment before she continues, “As a rep for Pharmtech.” She sighs. “Like I said, I haven’t dated much either. Actually, if I’m being honest, I don’t even really have any friends. I’ve been busy surviving, working, moving forward.” She pauses and glances down, then looks back up at me. “Yeah, I’m definitely nervous. Which I guess is the reason for me telling you this sad, not-appropriate-for-a-first-date story.”

“This isn’t really a first date, though. We’ve had all those other dates.” I wink. “You’re pretty fuckin’ incredible, Junebug. I had my father’s help every step of the way, but you had to do it all alone.”

“It made me learn real fast who to trust.”

“And me? You trust me?”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” she sasses.

“Trust is really important for me, so I hope I can earn it.”

She averts her eyes, and I’m about to ask her if I said something to make her uncomfortable, but at that moment the food arrives.

A couple of minutes later, once we’ve gotten started on our dinner, I decide to go with my first impulse. “Did I say something wrong?” I cut a piece of steak and shove it in my mouth, my eyes on her, waiting for her to put me out of my misery.

“Nope. Nothing at all.” She smiles, but there’s something off about her smile.

“Tell me more about your job.”

“Uh…nothing more to tell. I travel a lot. I’m actually leaving on Monday.”

“How often is a lot?”

“Pretty often, a few times a month. I like it, though. I like seeing different places.”

“I haven’t traveled much myself.”

“Is it that you don’t like it?” she asks, as if it’s a deal breaker.

“No. I’ve just been busy. Law school, work, now the club.”

“Maybe you should take a break, see the world.”

“Maybe I should,” I say with a smile.

Eventually the vibe shifts back to a cool, relaxed feeling, and the conversation flows so easily that before we know it, we’re done eating.

“Oh my goodness, I’m stuffed,” she groans, patting her stomach. “I have a food baby.”

I look at her swollen stomach and chuckle. “You didn’t even eat half of the steak.”

“Yeah, I did. And I also ate all that bread and that potato, and now I’m going to eat a slice of key lime pie.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. I may go into a carb coma after this.”

I signal for the server and order her dessert, which we share.

“This was fun, June. When can we do it again?” I ask, putting my fork down on the empty dessert plate.

“I’m still on the current date and you want me to think about the next one?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, when would you like to see me again?”

“When? Well, I’m hoping I’ll see you all night long and then for breakfast, but I have a feeling you’re going to put a halt to my fantasy.”

“Smart man. Anyway, I told you, I’m traveling next week.”

“All of next week?” I’m crestfallen by this news, even though the truth is I’ll probably be too busy to see her anyway.

“Pretty much, yes. I leave Monday and come back Friday night.”

“Where are you going?”

“Texas.”

“Texas is a big state. Where, specifically?” I chuckle.

“Um…” She takes the napkin and fidgets with it. “Houston.”

“I have to be in court most of next week. It’ll be crazy at the firm.”

“So I guess it works out, then. You’ll be busy and I’ll be busy.”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow? Sunday?”

I chuckle again. “Yes. That usually falls after Saturday.”

“I can’t. I’m busy. But next Friday, when I get back from my trip, that would work.”

“Should I be worried about a husband or pissed-off boyfriend?”

“No, why?” she practically yelps. Her answers are coming out more like questions and she looks like she’s about to rip the napkin in half. I reach forward and gently pry the napkin out of her hand. “No reason. Just wanted to make sure.”

She smiles and her shoulders relax. “Sorry, sorry. Okay, so Friday it is. I can meet you at the club.”

“No, I’ll make you dinner at my house.”

“What? No. That…no.”

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman. I promise.”

“Yeah, right. I thought we already established you’re no gentleman. And anyway, isn’t the only reason you drive down on weekends to help in the club?”

“Well, looks like now I have a second reason,” I say with a wink.

“You hired Stephanie?” Nick asks before he’s all the way into my office.

I close the screen of my laptop and look at my brother. He’s a mess. He has bags under his eyes, he looks like he’s lost weight, and he has crumbs in his stupid beard. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“You can’t hire staff based on the size of their tits and ass,” he lectures.

“Excuse me?” I push my chair back, but then I take a breath and force myself to relax.

“Who the hell is this Stephanie chick? Does she have any experience? Where the hell did you find her? Aside from your bed.”

With my hands laced together on top of the desk, I’m the picture of calm, cool, and collected. It’s why I make the big bucks at the firm. I can tell you to go fuck yourself with a smile on my face. It’s a gift, really. “I didn’t fuck her, if that’s what you’re saying, not that it’s any of your business. She’s Blue’s sister and she was just laid off from Fritz’s. She’s been a server for eight years. Her rack has nothing to do with it, asshole.”

“W-well…” He’s stuttering slightly. I’ve got him right where I want him—feeling guilty for jumping to conclusions. “You need to run these things by me first.”

“Why? Margo quit. We needed a server. Blue mentioned her. I interviewed her. She’s perfect. I was trying to get one thing off your plate.” I shrug.

“I don’t need help,” he snarls, then turns around and slams the door behind him. I stare at the empty room for a minute before opening my laptop again.

Asshole.

Naomi is going to be the death of him. He’s always been strung tight, but this is a new low for him. I get back to working on a contract I drafted for a party that’ll be going down at the club in a few months and will bring us nearly five figures in revenue.

Not two minutes later, Nick walks back in. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

I sit back, ankle over my knee, my hands behind my neck. “I couldn’t quite hear that. What did you say?”

“I said, I’m sorry.”

“Again, I didn’t hear.” I cup my ear. “All that hair around your face distorts the sound. A little louder, please.”

“Fuck you,” he says loudly. “I’m sorry.”

I laugh and sit back. “Want to talk about it?”

“No. Naomi is being a pain in the ass. I’m going to play pool at Jimbo’s with Roger. I’d invite you, but someone needs to stay here and take care of the club.”

“I’m good. Go and have fun. Besides, I need you to cover for me next Friday night. I have a date.”

“With the weird chick who was in my office the other day?”

“She’s not weird. Her name is June.”

“There’s something off about her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Not sure. Maybe I’m overreacting. This place is a maze. She probably really did get lost and end up in my office. Whatever.” He shrugged. “I got it covered next week.”

“Have fun on your date with Roger.”

“Fuck you!” He grins as he walks out. Nick and I can’t stay mad at each other more than a few minutes. He’s my other half…when he hurts, I hurt too. It’s a twin thing and it’s hard to describe. But it’s been like this all of our lives. He’s the ass, I’m the one who lets it slide. It works for us, mostly because I know he’s usually coming from a good place. Right now, it’s stress from Naomi. And Roger? They’ve been friends since we were kids, but he’s been MIA lately. I’m glad he’s back. Nick needs friends away from Panic.

MONDAY, 1:27 P.M.

Matt: Is everything really bigger in Texas?

June: Yes, it really is. How are you doing?

Matt: I have thirty seconds between meetings and am trying to wolf down a burger. You?

June: You have thirty seconds and you’re wasting it on me? Go eat your lunch.

Matt: Wasting? No, “talking” to you is my highlight. Regardless, I’m great at multitasking.

June: I can sense the innuendo through the phone.

Matt: Smart girl.

TUESDAY, 7:49 A.M.

June: We still on for Friday?

Matt: Absolutely. You can’t back out. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since Saturday.

June: Not backing out. Just double-checking.

Matt: Running into court. Have a great day, sweetheart.

June: Kick ass, Matt.

THURSDAY, 8:13 P.M.

Matt: Didn’t hear from you yesterday.

June: Miss me, huh?

Matt: You have no fucking idea.

The week’s been a bitch. Things are getting worse. I’m pulling seventy-hour weeks at the firm, and there were a few screw-ups at the club that I had to handle remotely. Things that were beyond Nick’s scope. Like threatening a vendor with a lawsuit because he didn’t deliver on the goods promised. The only thing that got me through it was knowing that I’d get to see June on Friday.

It’s finally Friday.

At four-thirty in the afternoon, I’ve had enough. I give our interns three motions and one memorandum to finish up over the weekend, then I jump on my bike and gun it to Miami. I’ve been leaving more and more clothes at my apartment in Miami. Not on purpose. One Sunday I just didn’t feel like bringing back the bag I’d carried down on Friday. Then the week after that, the same thing happened. Now I have most of my clothes here instead of at my real home in Fort Lauderdale. It works out perfectly on days like today when I just need or want to leave work and get straight down to Panic.

Nick’s in a worse mood than last week—that’s the first thing I notice. He lives in an apartment above mine in the swanky new building on the beach. This apartment is smaller than the one I have in Fort Lauderdale, but I like this one better because it overlooks the ocean. June already texted to let me know she’s on her way, but I have a two-hundred-pound broody man hanging around with no intention of leaving, it seems. My cranky brother is in my apartment with a beer in his hand, bitching about being stood up.

“…and I waited one hour for the sonofabitch.”

“So, you’ve been stood up by both your girlfriend and your boyfriend two weekends in a row now.”

He glares at me, not finding any of this funny. I just want him out of my home before June gets here. “Don’t you have a club to lord over? If I’m here and you’re here, who’s there?”

“It’s still early.” He glances at the huge, expensive watch on his wrist. Our father gave us identical watches when we graduated from college.

“Listen, Roger is an asshole,” I informed him. “Always has been. You never realized it because you’re an asshole too. You’re an asshole by character; he’s an asshole because he’s high off his ass most of the time.”

“He is not.”

“Brother, get a clue. Your best friend is drugged up all the time. And since we’re being real here, I’m going to lay it down for you. So is your girlfriend.”

“Naomi is not high all the time. She drinks sometimes. Maybe smokes some weed once in a while. Nothing serious.”

I don’t have time for this shit. “Whatever you want to believe, brother. But you need to get your ass out of here. I have a date and I don’t want you here when she arrives.”

He tosses his empty beer bottle in the trash. “Afraid she’ll take one look at me and realize she’s with the wrong brother?”

“No, more like afraid she’ll take one look at you and run screaming when she sees your grisly-looking yeti face.”

“Don’t be jealous of my ability to grow a beard. It’s a man thing. You’ll get it one day. Maybe when you hit puberty,” he says, slapping the back of my shoulder on his way out.

Once he leaves, I start pacing around my apartment waiting for June to get here. I’ve known her now for a few weeks, but every time I see her it’s like the first time all over again. I’m anxious and eager to impress her, and when I see those clear blue eyes, it’s as if I’ve been stabbed in the heart. Every. Single. Time. I haven’t even thought of taking a hit of coke or sleeping with anyone else. But I’m okay. More than okay. The high from being around her is enough.

I gave her name at the desk downstairs, so now I won’t even have a heads-up before she arrives. I sit down with a beer in my hand, then stand and walk over to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the ocean, and a minute later go back to the couch. I probably do this ten times before I hear the knock on the door.

I’ve become a lovesick idiot, I think as I practically run to the door. Taking a calming breath, I open it. And just like every other time, it’s an arrow right to my chest.

She’s in jeans, a glittery tank top, and a sweater. She’s casual but cute and oh so fucking sexy, and God, I just want her. Like, want her want her. Like, against the wall, on my dining room table, on the floor by the door. Anywhere and everywhere I can have her.

But at the same time, I want to talk to her. Get to know her. Hold her. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m losing my goddamn mind. It must be the sober horniness that’s getting to me.

“Hi,” she says in that voice, and I’m lost. So completely fucking lost that I just can’t control myself. I pull her inside by the waistband of her jeans and attack her mouth. I know this is wrong. We haven’t kissed yet, and attacking her without having even said hello is not the way to begin a long-lasting relationship.

Is that what I want? A long-lasting relationship? Isn’t it too soon to even be thinking these things?

With her, the answer is a resounding yes. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a thirty-three-year-old man. I’ve had plenty of meaningless sex, but this woman makes me want something different. Something more. It’s not that I’ve been avoiding it all these years; it’s that I’ve never really thought about it until now. She’s like a puzzle piece I didn’t even know was missing.

At first she hesitates. Of course. I’m a lunatic who attacks her within seconds of seeing her, grabbing her caveman style and thrusting my tongue in her deliciously sweet mouth. But soon she’s clawing at my shirt, meeting my tongue thrust for thrust. Biting my lower lip, sucking it into her mouth. She kicks the door shut behind her and I push her against it, unable to get enough. She doesn’t protest how fiercely I am kissing her, the need I have for her. It makes me want more of her. All of her. I snake my fingers into her hair and pull back, elongating her neck so that I can kiss her and bite her and trigger those fucking goosebumps all over her body I know she gets when I get close to the shell of her ear. I fucking love it.

I’m moving lower, definitely pushing her boundaries, when she grabs my face and pulls me back up. I’m just inches from her cleavage and I whimper a little at the loss of contact. I just want my face in there.

“Are you pouting?”

“Maybe?” I whine.

“You kissed me. You didn’t even ask.”

“I know. You didn’t seem to mind.”

“I didn’t,” she admits, and kisses me on the lips one last time. “I brought your jacket back. I may have slept in it.” She hands it to me and then steps around me. I gently bang my head against the door two times, making her laugh, before I follow her into my living room. “So, this is where the rich and famous live.”

“Not famous. And not really rich either. Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour later. If you set foot in my bedroom, I’ll probably end up sliding your panties down your legs and busying my face between your thighs. So let’s make dinner, cool off, and stay in the safe zone.”

She stares at me, her cheeks red.

“See, you need to cool off too,” I add, taking her by the hand and leading her to the kitchen.

“You have a dirty mouth, Mr. Moreno.”

“Woman, my mouth is the least dirty part of me,” I say, lifting her and planting her ass on the kitchen island. “Okay, so I bought steaks, chicken, shrimp, and pasta. What do you prefer?”

“Jeez, Matt. You bought everything.”

“Wasn’t sure what you liked. I mean, I know you like steak, but we just had that and I wasn’t sure if you wanted that again. We can throw the steaks on the grill outside, if that’s what you prefer. Then I bought chicken, thinking that if you didn’t want steak and maybe didn’t like shrimp, you’d want the chicken. Then I bought the shrimp because I like shrimp and maybe you do too but just felt like eating steak that day. And then the pasta is…you know…just in case you didn’t like any of the above.”

She laughs and pulls me to her by the back of my neck. She wraps her legs around me and gives me a hard closed-mouth kiss. “You are sweet, Matt.”

“I’m really just trying to get into your pants.”

She laughs again and shoves me away. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have bought all those things. And it all sounds good. Really. You pick.”

“Shrimp it is, then. You want to help?”

“I’m a shitty cook, but yeah, I’ll help. Just show me what to do. I’m good at following instructions.”

For the next twenty minutes I show her how to prep the shrimp while I cut up the vegetables for a quick shrimp stir-fry. We work in tandem, while I tell her all about my horrible week.

She dumps the shrimp into the wok where I’ve cooked the vegetables, then washes her hands as I stir the sizzling mixture. “So, I’ve bored you to death,” I say. “Tell me about your trip.”

“It’s not nearly as exciting as what you do. I went to Houston, met with doctors, went to a conference. Mostly it was boring. I want to hear more about your week.”

“I’ve talked your ear off, sweetheart. There’s nothing more to tell.”

“Do you think you’ll eventually work at Panic full-time?”

“And leave the firm?” I stir the food in the wok. “I always thought I’d run Panic, but I’m not so sure if that’s what I want to do anymore. Or maybe I do want to do it, but not at the cost of quitting the firm.”

“I get it. Must be hard, though, balancing both jobs. When I met you, you were bartending. Is that what you do? Help with the bar?”

“I do it all. Nick does too, but he gets the brunt of it. He’s always at the club. Nick does a lot of the administrative stuff, and when I’m there, I take over all the grunt work so he has time to do all the paperwork bullshit. When I have some downtime, I go up and help him. And even during the week, if there are issues, they’ll call me and I handle them. Like contract kind of problems.”

“But is it, like, your club? Like you make all the decisions?”

“Hell, no. My dad can’t seem to let go. He’s still calling a lot of the shots, and Nick is always so high-strung I don’t want to add more stress by giving too many opinions. I just go with the flow, help where I can. Like if a DJ quits, I’ll hire one. Then Nick will get mad and fire her or him.”

“Damn, seems stressful.”

I shrug. Yeah, it’s stressful, but it is what it is. “It’s my family. I’ll do anything for them. Anyway, grab those two plates, will ya?” She hands me the plates, and I portion our food. “And grab that bottle of wine and the corkscrew and follow me.”

I lead her to the balcony overlooking the ocean. It’s a beautiful night outside, and in the distance you can see the cruise ships. “Wow, Matt. This is gorgeous.”

“I love it. Every morning that I’m here in Miami, I sit out here and drink my coffee.”

“I can see why,” she says, her eyes closed, the breeze on her face, her hair whipping around. I put the plates down and walk behind her. Unable to resist, I kiss the back of her shoulder and neck.

“Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.”