CHAPTER 6
I trail behind him with anticipation, our hands locked together. It feels so incredible to hold his hand. I wonder how it’s possible that I’ve gone eighteen years without it.
We get outside and I wait patiently on the corner as he walks to the street to hail a taxi. One pulls up and Vincent opens the door, waiting for me to step in first. For a moment, my mind catches up with me and I hesitate.
He seems to notice my nerves. “I can take you home, or we can go somewhere to eat if you’re down,” he says to me gently. He’s assuring me. And for some reason that I can’t fully comprehend, I trust him.
I shrug my shoulders casually, believing the feeling in my gut that I’ll be okay. “Sure, I can always eat.” I slide into the back seat of the cab and scoot over to the far window. When the door shuts, I feel like I’ve got skates on my feet and I’m being propelled forward. There is no stopping what’s happening to me. I’m in a taxi with a complete and utterly gorgeous stranger. I must be insane.
My buzz is simmering down, but I wish it wouldn’t. I feel his gaze on me and my breathing shallows. Instead of turning toward him, I sit silently, looking out the window and watching groups of people walking around enjoying the night. My brain is still shocked that I’m sitting next to him; making eye contact would be impossible right now. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind the quiet. From my side eye, he seems totally at ease, his long legs spread wide across the seat.
Finally, the taxi pulls up to a corner; I notice we’re still in the Meatpacking District. We get out of the car in front of a restaurant, Albero Di Limoni. Next door to the restaurant, there’s a club called Lemon Bar. I see a bouncer standing by the club entrance, looking imposing. There’s a line of people that spans the block, trying to get in. Vincent opens the door to the restaurant for us and I move inside.
I look around, gasping at the beauty. Dark, wood paneling covers the walls; in the center of the restaurant is a row of lemon trees. Fresh lemons, ready to be picked, dangle off thin branches. The smell of the restaurant is citrus-perfect. Fresh lemon, roasted garlic, and other spices permeate the air. Vincent takes my hand, leading me to a table in the back. I can’t believe I’ve just walked into this; it’s like a dream.
“Wow, this is incredible,” I say in awe as I look around the restaurant, taking in the scene. I lower myself into a plush, red-velvet chair still looking around. I notice him smiling at the fact that I’m so amazed. I want to be embarrassed at my excitement, but for some reason, he seems pleased by my reaction. The red chairs look spectacular against the backdrop of yellow lemons. I can barely believe where I am!
The waiter comes over, at first happy to see Vincent. But before he can get a word out, Vincent stares him down, his face glacial. It’s almost like he’s trying to communicate something to him, but I can’t understand what. On one hand, I’m happy as hell not to be on the receiving end of that look. On the other hand, I’m confused as to what’s going on here. The waiter clears his throat, asking what we’d like to eat—a perfect professional.
“We’re going to have a bottle of Pellegrino and she’ll have a glass of Sancerre. She’ll also have a filet steak, medium rare. Also, the Cornish hen. Side of roasted potatoes and green beans. Let’s do mashed potatoes too. You know what, also bring her a salad to start. I’ll have the wild salmon, simply grilled with no butter, no oil, no salt, and steamed broccoli on the side, also no butter, no oil, no salt.” The waiter rushes off.
“Wow, that’s a lot of food.” I lift my eyebrows at him, feeling overwhelmed. I’m not used to eating out and if I do, it’s usually at McDonald’s. I clasp my hands together nervously under the table; I can’t imagine how much this dinner must cost.
“Yeah, I guess so. I wasn’t sure what you’d like. Anyway, the food’s great. You’ll enjoy it. I know the owner… personally.” He leans forward with his elbows on the table.
I’m not sure what to say, so I go with something simple. “No butter, huh?” I smile. I’m doing my best to look into his eyes without melting into a puddle.
He laughs at my question, not bothering to answer. He looks pretty rough and I see some scratches on his jaw.
I turn toward the waiter as he places a salad and cold glass of wine in front of me. Vincent looks down at my food expectantly, waiting for me to start eating. I take the fork and dig in. The lettuce is so crispy and perfectly chilled, and the dressing tastes like mustard and vinegar. It’s simply incredible. When I sip the wine, I hum. My taste buds are in a very happy place right now. “So, I take it you workout a lot?” I ask, trying to go for another easy conversation topic.
He seems bored with my question, licking his lips and glancing around the room. “Yeah, I’ve been doing MMA for a while now.” I stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. But a few minutes of silence, I realize that he isn’t going to answer me.
“Do you plan on going pro or something?”
“Nah. I just do it for fun, actually. It started with me just messing around and sort of grew from there.”
Our conversation seems to halt after that. Luckily, the wine seemed to numb any filters I usually have. Before I can think twice, I open my big mouth and ask, “So, what do you think about all the problems going on in the Middle East?” His eyes widen, and he starts to laugh. I’m relieved my attempt to shake him out of his seriousness worked. He probably thinks I’m a dork now but well, whatever.
Without hesitating, he leans closer to me. “I gotta say that Netanyahu doesn’t mess around. He’s all about keeping Israel safe and I gotta respect that. Yeah, he pushes boundaries. And the UN hates Israel’s guts, that’s for sure…” His voice trails off, but my heart starts to pound.
I lean forward, putting my elbows on the table. “Have you read his autobiography? Netanyahu’s, I mean. I went through a phase where I was trying to understand the Middle Eastern conflict better. It was actually really good.”
“Believe it or not, it’s sitting on my desk. I usually buy ten or fifteen books at a time and tell myself that I’ve got to finish them within the year. I just finished The Autobiography of Malcolm X.”
I swallow hard. “I read that,” I tell him quietly. My heart is filling up; that’s one of the most influential books of my life. Thoughts of my childhood reading partner, Javi, enter my mind, and all of a sudden, I feel a combination of hot and terrified.
His throat moves as he drinks from his cup of water. “Yeah? What did you think?” He places the glass down, entirely focused and waiting for my reply. I’m not used to this type of conversation, and it’s both nerve-wracking and exciting. He’s looking at me as if he’s actually interested to hear what I have to say. Even though I’m scared to sound stupid, a large part of me yearns to rise up. I push away any anxiety and reply.
“Most people stick to what they know because they don’t know that any better option exists. They have no one in their lives who shows them a path that’s different from the one they see everyone around them taking. Or, they make certain choices in their youth that result in shutting down any possibilities for the future. By the time they get older and understand the mistake, it’s too late to back out. They’re incarcerated or dead. Or maybe they’re involved in some gang that won’t let them out.”
He chimes in. “But sometimes, things happen to us that propels us toward a different destiny. And I think that when Malcolm X goes to jail and makes a conscious choice to refrain from eating pork, that one small act was the catalyst in changing the entire course of his life. So, change is possible, right? If, of course, you can survive long enough to get to that point.” He’s staring at me seriously, and this time the feeling goes way beyond the physical. I’m gazing into his dark eyes, and somehow, his presence makes me want to rise up in all senses of the word.
I swallow again. His expression turns thoughtful, as if he’s really waiting to hear my reply. I want to show him what I think; I feel as if I don’t have to hide with this man. I push my worry in the back of my mind again, and allow myself to speak freely. The alcohol is definitely helping the situation, shutting up my nerves and loosening my tongue.
“I hear your idealism. And I know it seems possible to believe we can all change, especially when reading about a man like Malcolm X. But for most people, experiencing a world outside of their poverty is near to impossible. I mean, it’s easy for a rich guy to believe that a kid from the ghetto can turn his life around if he just stopped with the violence, or picked up a book, or got into religion. But, you can’t protect yourself from violence with a book. The streets are dangerous, Vincent. And most people do the best they can to protect themselves. And when protection is on your mind, and feeding your family—or when other basic necessities are at risk—there is no time for introspection or higher knowledge. That makes changing really, really difficult, although not impossible.”
“Well, jail is certainly a place where you have nothing else to do but think and reach higher knowledge, huh?” He exaggerates his shrug, and I start to laugh.
A flicker of amusement passes through his face at my reaction, but his stare somehow intensifies. I feel my face growing red.
He continues. “Well, let’s get real for a second. If you’re willing to die to get out of your circumstances, that may be the answer. I mean, you can easily say, fuck it. Forget protection and basic necessities. Forget being smart on the street. My goal is getting out, even if I may die trying.”
I’m in a state of utter shock right now and I’m sure my face shows it, because he’s smiling like he just won a game. I’m not sure if he realizes that he just pegged me, but he did. He hit my nail on the head.
I take another huge swallow of my wine. “Well, what do you make of the fact that once Malcolm X finally found peace, he was assassinated?”
He leans forward, even closer. “I think that America likes to claim that in this country, there’s mobility within the classes. But in reality, even if you transcend your upbringing, there’s someone who will push you back down again. Maybe in reality, change is actually impossible.”
“No!” I exclaim, dropping my fork onto my plate. His eyes widen in surprise at my outburst, but I can’t believe that what he’s saying is true. “Change has to be possible…” I turn my head down, trying to process my thoughts.
“Eve,” he starts. “It’s not just people in poverty who suffer from this… I mean, shit, there’s always someone controlling all of us. None of us are really free, are we? In every single realm from impoverished up to Arab Sheiks, we’re all victims of how we were raised. Did you read The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace?” I nod my head.
“He may not have been assassinated, but he was brought back down and into the rabbit hole of his upbringing, regardless of the Ivy League college he attended and all the schooling in the world combined with incredible natural brilliance. Because change is—”
“No,” I stop him. “Change is not impossible. It has to be possible! And yeah, I see what you’re saying. But Rob didn’t have to sell drugs. He chose it in the end, and that was his downfall. His bad choice. His refusal to let go of where he came from.”
“So, you’re saying that if you want to change, you need to cut ties with your past?”
“Yes.” I nod vigorously. “I do. I think that sometimes you need to burn bridges. I think that in order to transcend a life of poverty, you’ve got to do just that—leave the hood behind.”
“But what if your past isn’t necessarily bad blood? Like, maybe you’re poor and live in the ghetto, but you’ve got a huge amazing family. You still want out, though. Do you have to leave all those people behind? It’s not always one-dimensional.”
I immediately think of some friends from the Blue Houses, with huge but loving families. “Well, yeah. I think you can bring them into your new life, but I don’t think going back to your old life is smart. You’d be surprised at how impoverished cultures aren’t interested or supportive of people breaking out of the mold; it’s almost as if they feel like if you leave the community, you’re denying their value. Like, if you leave, it’s because you don’t think they’re good enough or worth staying for. It’s offensive to them. Maybe your own family is supportive and proud. But the community as a whole, not so much.”
He stops and we get quiet, looking at each other. My chest constricts from the intensity of our conversation, and he looks at me with all the interest a set of eyes can convey. Deep down, I feel angry and upset. He doesn’t know that I’m that person. I’m that girl with nothing and a shitty upbringing. I’m the one who is willing to die trying.
“Eve, look at me.” I bring my gaze back up to his. “I wasn’t trying to say that it’s impossible to change. I mean…” he swallows. “I’m not poor by any stretch,” he admits. “But, I’ve been raised in a certain way. I’ve also made choices that were in line with expectations placed on me. I’ve also picked a path that maybe, under other circumstances, I wouldn’t have chosen. But now I’m here. In that life. And there’s no way out.”
I’m surprised by his admission, but assume that he’s talking about being forced into grad school or something. A man like him doesn’t have real problems. I mean, look at the place he brought me! Everything about him screams confidence and money.
“But Vincent, you don’t have to live that way if you don’t want to. You can wake up one morning and leave. You aren’t behind bars or dead. You aren’t in some gang where the only way out is in a body bag.”
He pulls his head back, looking as if I’ve slapped him. Maybe I said something that touched too close to home. I want to say more, but before I can continue, dish after dish comes out of the kitchen and onto our beautiful table. I can’t help myself as I dig into the delicious food. He watches me quietly as I eat my dinner. We’re silent, and I’m glad for that. The silence with him is comfortable and somehow, full of warmth. We went from challenging each other to enjoying each other.
I’ve never eaten a filet steak in my life, and the meat melts in my mouth like butter. I moan from the taste, and he gives me a heated look.
“What?” I ask him, smiling with my mouth full, taking another sip of the cold wine. I look at my glass and realize that somehow, despite how much I’ve drunk, my glass is still full.
He leans closer to me. “Watching you eat is... let’s just say that I don’t usually see girls enjoying food like you do. I like it.” His voice is a whisper, and I feel it straight down into my core.
I put my fork down and lick my lips, feeling the urge to engage him once again. “Yeah, you’re probably used to girls picking at their salads, huh? No butter, no salt, no pepper, no taste?” I reply, starting to laugh. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying the hell out of the moment. Apparently with Vincent, I can go from serious conversation to banter in a matter of minutes.
“Oh baby, you have no idea. Between my usual clean food diet and these super skinny girls I’m normally with, we’re like a restaurant’s worst nightmare.” Realizing he’s making fun of himself, I can’t help the giggle that erupts from my mouth. He chuckles with wonder when he sees my face.
“So, are you saying I’m not super skinny?” I raise my eyebrows, daring him to call me fat.
He drinks me in with his eyes, staring at me from my face down to my chest and back up again. “You’re perfect; that’s what you are.” I open my mouth and then snap it shut.
“You know, when I saw you enter the ring, I was afraid for a few seconds. That meathead was practically foaming at the mouth.” I cut up another piece of steak.
He snorts. “Yeah and that name Jack the Ripper?” Putting his fork into his food, he takes another large bite.
“Yeah,” I nod enthusiastically. “That name is too ridiculous to take seriously.” I roll my eyes, putting the meat in my mouth and moaning again. He looks at me incredulously as if I’m groaning for his sake. I ignore him and keep eating; nothing is going to stop me from enjoying this incredible meal. Just a few hours ago, I was sitting in my shitty apartment, eating Dominos with my sister. And now here I am, eating a however-many-course meal with the most gorgeous and intelligent man I’ve ever laid eyes on!
My mouth is full, but I continue, “I mean, I can think of a hundred better names than that stupid one.” I swallow, clearing my throat. “If I were a fighter, I’d call myself the Raven.” I can’t help the smile that forms on my face.
He chuckles. “Is that your alter ego?” He’s joking around with me and I…well, I freakin’ love it!
“Oh yeah, that’s me…poverty-stricken-book-nerd by day, pecking on people’s windows by night and scaring the crap out of them,” I deadpan.
He laughs out loud and the sound fills up a spot inside my chest. The table next to us turns around, but I barely register them. All I can see is the man sitting in front of me.
“Or you can go really wild and call yourself Poe’s Raven.” He’s waiting for me to catch his drift and I’m squealing for joy inside. I want to scream, I’m nerdy too! I know the poem!
I can’t help myself but recite it. I’m just really dorky like that and apparently, drunk enough to show it. “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary…”
He stops me, a look of shock passing over his chiseled features. “Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—”
My eyes widen and he guffaws. We’re quoting poetry right now and my heart is so full I want to jump up and down and scream. Who the hell is this man? No, really. Who? An MMA fighter from an underground fighting ring? A poet? A few seconds pass. Or maybe it’s minutes. But we’re quiet, staring into each other’s eyes. We’re not even waiting for someone to talk. We’re just staring. Glowing. Something is passing between us that I can’t rationally explain.
Before I can stop myself, my subconscious blurts out, “Do you see me?” I immediately drop my head, shocked I just said that out loud. I’m not even sure what I meant! I turn red again, embarrassment blazing. I risk a glance at Vincent only to see him grinning, apparently pleased by my word vomit.
He moves forward in his chair, leaning closer to me. “Yes, Eve. I see you. And for the record, I like what I see. A lot.” His eyes actually twinkle with his words. It dawns on me that this may be the first time I’ve ever been truly looked at. I never knew how much I ached for this feeling, until now.
“How did you get the name the Bull, anyway?” I’m smiling so wide that my cheeks are starting to ache.
“Well, you want the true story or the story I tell people?”
“Hmm.” I press my lips together and stare at the ceiling, as if deep in thought. “Give me the truth.” I stare into his eyes. “Always the truth.” I drop my elbows on the table, not wanting to miss a word.
“How about I tell you both. And you tell me which one is real and which is the lie?” I nod my head, excited to play along.
“All right,” he clears his throat. “Once upon a time, Zeus sees Europa. The second his eyes are on her, he knows he wants her. But he also knows she would never come to him out of her own free will. So, one day he disguises himself as a beautiful white bull. After a few minutes of petting the bull, she decides to sit on him, expecting him to be as gentle as he is beautiful. But as she sits on the bull’s back, he runs away, stealing her and bringing her to Crete.” He takes another bite of his food. “So basically, Zeus saw what he wanted, and he found a way to take her.” After swallowing, he lifts a glass of water to his lips.
“Um, doesn’t the story go that he steals and rapes her?” I ask, my eyebrows furrowing together.
He’s silent until bursting into laughter, clapping his hands like my response was the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “You little genius, huh? When can I watch you on Jeopardy?” His smile is blinding me. He’s playing with me, but he isn’t being condescending. I’ve never had more fun in my entire life.
I roll my eyes. “I do know a ton of useless shit. I gotta call them and get on that show.” He’s shaking his head incredulously, and I can’t stop myself from smiling. Gah!
“Well,” he clears his throat. “Some people say it ended in a rape. But I don’t believe that. He just took what he wanted and didn’t let anyone stop him.”
I smirk. “All right. So, you’re the bull who looks all perfect, but really, you’re a selfish god? Totally possible for you to believe that about yourself, cocky bastard you obviously are. And what’s the second story?” He’s staring at me as if I’m something special. My heart warms. No, it’s not warming. It’s actually on fire right now. I feel like a side of myself, which I’ve never dared to show, has been brought out of me. I wish it would never end.
“Well, believe it or not, I wasn’t always this big.” I make a face, ready to call bullshit. I can’t imagine him ever being small.
“Just listen. I was in second grade, and I was getting picked on at recess. This kid, Jack Ford, kept pushing me around with some of his friends. At first, I tried to ignore them. But somehow a shadow came over me and I went berserk. I fought the kids and took them all down, breaking one of their noses in the process. Not that I knew any fighting skills, but I was an angry little shit. Apparently, everyone who watched me said I looked like an angry bull. The name stuck.”
I sit back in my chair, looking at him intently. “I don’t know which story is real. Both seem kind of plausible.” I’m about to take another bite of the steak, but stop before it reaches my lips. “Stop staring at me, Vincent! I’m sorry for the moaning and groaning, but it’s just too good! You have to try some.” I hand him my fork. He takes it from my hand, placing the meat in his mouth. He lets out a grumble as he chews, the sound coming from deep in his throat. All kinds of signals are sent straight from my ears down through my body.
His eyes move above my head and he squints, looking surprised at whatever he sees. I turn around, wondering what it is he saw. A group of men have come into the restaurant, all in dark suits. Most of the people eating turn around to stare at them; their presence is noticeable.
“We should go,” he tells me abruptly, standing and waiting for me to grab my purse off the back of my chair. Without even asking for the check, he lifts my hand into his and we jet through the restaurant, still completely filled with people. I’m confused, but too nervous and uncomfortable to ask what the hell is going on. I guess he did say he knows the owner—I assume he’ll pay later.
While Vincent hails another taxi, I look behind me to see the line for Lemon Bar has doubled. I know how weird it is that I’m born and raised in New York City, but never went to a nightclub. Maybe I’ll go soon with Janelle. I turn my head, ready to abandon thoughts of dancing when Vincent moves next to me.
He looks back and forth between the door of the club and the restaurant. “You want to go inside?” His smile is infectious and before I know it, I’m nodding my head yes. It seems whatever had him running isn’t following us out. Looking at some people handing their ID’s to the bouncer, it dawns on me this club is probably for twenty-one and over.
“I don’t have an ID. You need that to get in, right?” I’m not even sure how old Vincent is, but he definitely looks older than I am.
“You don’t need an ID when you’re with me.” His smile is so warm. “Come on, let’s go have some fun.”
Before we move, I ask, “How old are you, Vincent?”
He grins, as if my question amuses him. “I’m a junior in college.” My heart skips at the word college.
The bouncer notices Vincent and immediately stops, opening up the velvet rope for us to pass through. I hear some people grumble with annoyance, but Vincent struts forward like he owns the place. We get inside the club and walk straight to the bar. The room is completely packed, but he easily slides himself between two people to get a spot.
He turns to me. “You want water or another drink?” I’m already feeling more than buzzed from the wine at dinner. “Um, just water, please.” He nods his head, seemingly happy at my response. The bartender trips over herself to get to Vincent, and I grimace.
After I take a few sips, he drops my glass on the bar and takes my hand, bringing me to the center of the dance floor. I start to move, but I’m relieved to see that he’s kept a slight distance. The music is amazing and I can feel the bass in the center of my chest. Throngs of people surround us, and it’s easy to just get lost in the mix. Before I know it, I’m completely letting go and dancing with my whole body. His hands move around my waist, but he still isn’t bringing me flush against his chest like I wish he would. A few times I try to move closer to him, but he’s in total control. I want to be upset that he doesn’t want to feel me against him, but I’m too happy to let myself pout.
I touch my shoulder, feeling the dampness on my skin. Looking up into his face, I notice he’s hot as well. I’ve never had fun like this in my life!
He puts his hand in his back pocket, pulling out his phone and looking at it closely. “I’ve got to make a quick call. Wait for me, okay?” he’s yelling over the music, and I hear him clearly. He leads me back to the center of the bar. “Don’t move!” He winks, giving my hand a squeeze before walking off. At first, I see his dark head over everyone else, but then he’s gone. I’m standing and minding my own business when a man I don’t know slides up next to me.
“Hey, sweetheart. Can I buy you a drink?” I barely notice anything other than he’s tall with blond hair when I reply.
“No, thank you.” I keep my back straight and turn my head away from him, not wanting to give him any ideas.
“Come on, baby. Let me buy you something.” He tries to get closer and I immediately feel my body tighten with anxiety. I want to move backward, but the bar is so full of people, the only way I can escape him is to leave the bar entirely—and if I exit this area, what if I don’t find Vincent again? It occurs to me Vincent may have left me here. What if his plan was to ditch me and he doesn’t come back at all? I mean, sure we’ve been having a great time. But he doesn’t owe me anything. Janelle has told me about countless guys who she thought were crazy about her, but ultimately left her high and dry. I’m sweating again, except this time, it isn’t from chemistry or the heat of the room. I check my watch, realizing it’s getting close to two and I’m all alone. I didn’t even consider how I’m going to get back into my apartment. I need to call Janelle, but my hands are shaking too badly.
After taking a good look at me, the man’s flirtation turns into concern. “Hey, sweetie, are you all right? I wasn’t tryin’ to upset you. Look, let me get you some water. Calm down, okay? I had a girlfriend once who had bad anxiety.” He turns to flag down the bartender. He orders me a cup of tap and I swallow it down.
“Feeling better?” I blink a few times, wanting to reply. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll burst into tears. I never should have come here with a complete stranger. I never should have drunk any alcohol. I’m clearly inept at judging situations. I’m obviously incompetent, just like my mom always says.
“Take a few deep breaths,” he instructs calmly. I’m holding onto the edge of the bar, my knuckles turning white. “Do you have a friend here? Maybe we should get some fresh air.” I nod, but still can’t manage speech. I turn around to leave when Vincent steps in front of me.
I must look like I’m having some sort of panic attack, because his wide smile turns down the second he sees the state I’m in. “You okay, baby? What the fuck happened here?” My bar neighbor turns to him to say something but freezes when he sees the look on Vincent’s face.
“Did this guy mess with you?” Vincent’s aggression should be making everything worse. Instead, I feel the anxiety drain from the soles of my feet. I grab his shirt, turning him toward me before he gets in this guy’s face.
“No, Vincent, I—” My body trembles as relief courses through me. Vincent is back. Half of me wants to jump into his arms and thank him for not disappearing. But the other half wants to smack him across the face for walking away in the first place.
He leans into me, putting a hand on my arm to calm me down. “Let me take you home, okay? I shouldn’t have left you alone—”
“I’m not a regular in places like these…” I’m moving my head from side to side, trying not to sound desperate. But the truth is I’m scared as hell. This is too much too soon.
He nods his head and grips my hand tightly, letting me know without words that it’s okay. We walk out of the club together and back onto the street corner. Even though it’s late, the block is full of people. He continues to hold my hand as he lifts his free arm to hail a taxi; one immediately pulls up to the corner.
Vincent opens the door for me and I climb inside first, moving to the far window. He follows me into the back seat, sitting flush against me. I feel his thigh pressing against mine; I’m not sure what I should do. Should I move my leg? Stay where I am? Does he notice what he’s doing, or am I just overthinking it? Maybe this is how he normally sits, with his huge, muscular thigh touching the person next to him? I look up at him and he turns his face to mine. It dawns on me this man is used to getting everything he wants, whenever he wants it. I’m nervous, but holy shit do I want to please him. The realization is instantly sobering. I can’t look away from his dark, gorgeous eyes.
The driver bangs his steering wheel, his voice instantly breaking our moment. “Where you headed?” he asks in a heavy Middle Eastern accent.
We both turn toward him. “I’m on Avenue D and Fifth,” I reply. My voice doesn’t falter, but I’m nervous, hoping Vincent doesn’t recognize the address.
Sure enough, though, his eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re in the Blue Houses?” The tone of his voice is unmistakable; he’s surprised and seems to pity me.
“Yeah.” I look back at him, shrugging my shoulders. I want to tell him sure, it’s a pretty horrible place to live, but it’s home for now. As I turn away from him to stare out the window, he takes my hand and gently rubs his callused thumb back and forth over my knuckles. It’s both soothing and arousing at once. I swallow hard, trying to steady my heart rate. I cross my legs and let out a sigh, keeping my eyes focused on the city streets.
A few minutes later, the cab stops short in front of my building. I let myself out of the back seat and look up, wondering what it looks like to an outsider. Three tall gray buildings are clustered together and fenced-in balconies frame the facade. The result is a prison-like structure. Pockets of people stand around smoking. On a night like this one, with clear skies, people don’t like to sit in their small apartments. I see a couple of guys on the stoop, observing everyone coming and going from the entrance. Luckily, they aren’t wearing any colors; I know they may be thugs, but they aren’t gang affiliated.
Vincent swipes his credit card to pay the taxi driver and steps out, insisting on walking me to the building’s front door. I want to protest to prove that I’m independent, but my innate sense of self-preservation tells me not to let him go. Even though there are people around, it’s late and dark—and being alone, even if I’m armed, isn’t the brightest idea. He slightly raises his chin, looking straight-up lethal. The intelligent man from the restaurant is gone, and in his place is the Bull from the ring.
Taking my hand, Vincent walks us inside the building with purpose, as if he’s the one who lives here. He makes it clear that he’s taking me all the way up to my apartment’s front door; he’s a man on a mission, and I’m not planning on stopping him.
He opens the door for me and we walk into the dingy gray lobby. The elevator has a sign on the door that says: OUT OF ORDER. I shut my eyes, cursing my luck. Looks like we’ll have to walk up the steps—just another sign pointing to my background, unworthy of a man like him. I lead him to the stairwell. Like a bad horror film, the lights flicker when the door slams shut. The light settles on a dim glow. He stops at the base of the steps, squeezing my hand and cursing. “This is dangerous. Tell me the lights normally work.”
“Uh, maybe I should tell you two stories. One real and one made up. You tell me which is which.” I internally slap myself five for giving back what he gave me just a few hours earlier.
He chuckles. “Okay.” We begin the trek up the steps. Luckily, he can’t see my face right now, because my body short-circuits every time his chest or hand brushes my back. It feels like I’m being stalked up the stairs; he’s just so close, but at the same time, not nearly close enough.
I try to sound upbeat. “There’s a fantastic super who fixes everything anytime tenants call. I’m sure all the bulbs will be replaced by morning.” He lets out a noncommittal grunt.
“Ready for the second story?” Our pace seems to be slowing down as his hand lightly grazes my lower back. He continues to touch me, and I get the feeling it isn’t by accident.
“Go on.” His voice is rough, and I blink a few times to steady myself.
“I’m lucky the light is even flickering. Sometimes it gets so dark, I may as well be walking through a black tube.”
I stop when we get to the fourth floor, turning around at the top step to tell him this is it. Before I can continue our little game to ask him which story is the truth, he puts his hands on my waist, waiting for me to look up at him.
I may be standing on a step above him, but he still towers over me. I watch as he licks his full lips, and my core begins to pulse from the visual. I’m not sure what the hell is happening to me, but my mind can’t focus on anything other than Vincent. The darkness is impairing my vision, resulting in a heightening of all of my other senses. I put my hands around his neck and feel the warm sinewy muscle under my fingers. With both his hands, he pushes my hair behind my ears and angles my head up to face him. He’s asking me with his touch if I want this. I let out a loud sigh and lean toward him as every cell in my body screams YES.
When he presses his lips to mine, I freeze. But he doesn’t let it deter him. Instead, he continues kissing me with a surprising gentleness, moving his mouth against mine and finally sliding his tongue alongside the seam of my mouth, begging entrance.
I open my mouth, letting him inside. His taste combined with the softness of his tongue has my legs weakening. He wraps a strong arm around my waist and holds me up, steadying me. Within seconds, his soft kisses become demanding. I’m trying to keep up with his pace, but it feels so good, all I can do is take it. He lifts me up and I instinctually wrap my legs around his waist. As if I weigh nothing at all, he walks us up to the landing and pushes me against the concrete wall. My phone drops to the ground, but I barely hear it or notice. He starts to rub against me rhythmically, pressing his hardness against my jeans in slow and deep strokes. I let out a moan as he hits a spot that’s starting an electrical current in my veins. Sweat beads on the back of my neck and between my breasts. My body is on overload; heat traveling from where he’s pushing against me out into all of my limbs. I’m shaking as my hands clutch his strong shoulders. He moves his lips from my mouth to my neck and I lean my head back against the wall, offering myself to him. God, it feels so good. Too good. Moments later, his lips suck a trail up to my ear. I’m burning up.
His lips move to my ear. “Fucking gorgeous, baby. Watching you dance, I had to talk myself down from taking you right there in the middle of the club.” Replying is not possible; the only sounds coming from my lips are moans.
My body is climbing higher and higher toward something. I feel him unbuttoning my jeans and I’m letting him. I’d do anything to soothe this ache. And right when I think I’m about to incinerate, his hand reaches down and presses into a spot that literally short circuits my brain. My head slams against the wall behind me and I’m completely lost, a scream tearing from my throat. I have zero control as my body melts on and on. He holds onto me, wrapping his body around me tightly as I come down from the high.
“What the hell was that?” I pant. I can barely see him as the lights flicker on and off, but the questioning look he gives me is clear.
“Was that your first orgasm, Eve?” All I can do is nod my head. He sighs, dropping his head into the crook of my neck. “God, baby. I can’t lie to you. I like that. I like that a lot. You’re so innocent and stunning. Fuck.” My eyes close again when I feel his lips back on mine, his tongue slowly dragging in and out of my mouth.
I let out a hum and give myself over to him; I’m so pliable right now; he could do anything he wanted, and I would say yes. When he pulls back, I open my eyes and touch my hands to my face, noticing how hot it is to the touch. He slowly lowers my feet to the ground and all I want to do is beg him to keep me up here, close to his body. I button my jeans as he bends down, picking up my phone and handing it to me.
We walk together to my apartment door. I turn toward him and look up into his intense eyes, wanting to thank him. But when I hear a couple fighting, I’m immediately brought back to my reality. I drop my head, irrationally wishing he either didn’t hear or didn’t notice. I’m one-hundred percent sure this isn’t the type of place Vincent is used to.
Noticing my discomfort, he slowly lifts my head back up. “Hey, Eve. Look at me.” My eyes meet his again. “Give me your phone and let me give you my number.” He waits patiently for me to pull out my phone.
I reach into my purse and hand it to him, breathing deeply. All of a sudden, things have gotten quiet between us.
He opens my contacts and types his information. I’m pressing my lips together, waiting for him to ask me for my number in return. But when he hands me back my phone, I can’t manage any words. Leaning against the doorway, he looks down at me and pushes some errant hair out of my face. “You’re different from other girls I know.” Licking his lips, he bends down, pressing a chaste kiss on my forehead. “I’ll see you around, okay? Promise you’ll call me if you ever need anything.” He turns around to leave, and I’m stuck speechless and quaking.
I float into my apartment, my brain short-circuited and high, but sublimely happy. I go into the bathroom to wash up, wishing I could savor this feeling for eternity. Before removing my makeup, I look in the mirror. Staring at myself, I try to see what he could possibly see in me.
My eyes shine brown and my hair looks glossy and full. My lips are puffy and pink from all the kissing. I touch my lips and sigh. When I’m all clean, I get into bed, replaying my night over and over. If I sleep, will it all just disappear? I try to keep myself awake to prolong the feeling and the memories, but with enough time, my body gives into exhaustion and I fall asleep.