Kady

 

When Kylah and I were about seven, my parents threw an eleventh birthday party for Cade and all his friends at this indoor game center. It was one of those warehouse-sized event places that have video games, dodge ball courts, trampoline areas, ball pits and various other kid stuff.

About an hour into it, though, I’d already used up all my tokens for the play-to-pay games and I wanted more. I first asked my sister to loan me a few of hers, but this time she denied my request. This immediately pissed me off, because she always shared with me. So, I went trouncing off to find my brother, who was in the middle of a laser tag game at the time. He basically told me to go the hell away because I was ruining his fun.

With my tail between my legs, I slinked off to find my parents who were sitting at a table with a bunch of other adults. I whispered a “pretty please” to my mom who sweetly smiled and shook her head at me, not missing a beat in her conversation. I then turned to my final option – my dad.

He was busy typing frantically on his phone, probably dealing with a client situation, even though he was supposed to be enjoying his son’s birthday. I figured he was distracted and would make an easy mark. I stood in front of him giving him my sweetest, cherubic-smile and held my hand out like a pauper.

You want to know what he did?

He gave me a condescending pat on the head and waved me off, mouthing, “Go play.”

I was livid! I stomped away as fast as my little seven-year-old legs could take me and I decided then and there that I was going to run away.

Who the hell did they think they were? I was Kadence Michelle Griffin, dammit!

Being smart enough to know I’d need food for my life alone on the streets, I grabbed a basket of fries and a few slices of pizza from the table, and went looking for a place to run away. The minute I walked out the door of the building and into the blazing hot sun, I realized how tough it would be on the run. It was hot out. So, I turned and stomped right back inside, as if I meant to do that, and found another place to hide.

The birthday party finished up about an hour later and everyone began to leave when someone realized I wasn’t with the other kids. Panic ensued, of course, and I think my parents were just about to put out an Amber Alert when my dad found me huddled in the corner behind an old Pacman machine, tears streaked down my cheek.

This was the first, but not the last, of the many stunts I’ve pulled over my lifetime. As the middle child with the strong personality, I’m the one who caused trouble. I brought drama. I was their constant disappointment. So, what I told Gavin earlier really wasn’t too far off the mark. I honestly think my family is better off without me around this summer and they won’t miss me in the least.

All these thoughts weigh heavily on me as Gavin and I stroll along the cobblestone road toward the Fortezza da Basso, an old armory fortress. We’d already leisurely walked through the Piazza del Mercato Centrale, just a block from his home, checking out all the homemade leather items that I was dying to buy, but didn’t have the money for.

I did, however, have enough Euros with me to indulge in a large, two-scoop strawberry and chocolate gelato cone. I’ve been working on finishing this tower of deliciousness since we left the street market and am close to devouring the last drop as we head into the entrance of da Basso.

This is not my first gelato, but it’s particularly yummy, and my lips and tongue are frozen from the contact with the cold and creamy dessert. My moan of satisfaction is almost embarrassingly loud, but I have no modesty as I continue licking away the remaining remnants of the sweet, creamy goodness. My eyes practically roll to the back of my head when I catch Gavin staring at me, wearing a look that contains both amusement and arousal.

He’s staring at the spot where the gelato and my tongue touched my lips.

Already feeling mellow and euphoric from the dessert, I cock my head to the side and tease him with a seductive flick of my tongue over my teeth, before smacking my lips together in exaggerated flirtation.

“What? The Italians make an art form out of gelato, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know. Can’t eat the stuff,” he says, his voice gravely and thick.

Sure enough, my flirty, sexy play made him hard. Jackpot.

I knew it wasn’t all in my imagination. There is definitely something between us. Some kismet connection that’s grown and expanded the more time we’ve spent in each other’s company these past few days. Whether that’s a good thing, or a bad break, is yet to be determined.

But I’ll tell you one thing. There is nothing I want less than to get involved with a basketball player. No matter how hot he is. Especially one that will remain here in Italy when the time comes for me to leave.

On the other hand, he is sexy and sweet. Nothing’s stopping me from experiencing a white-hot romance while in romantic Florence.

Returning my gaze to his face, I lick the corner of my mouth, making sure my tongue is sending a very clear message.

“Don’t you like gelato?”

“Uh,” he stammers, nearly stumbling over the cobblestone as he opens the gate into the large courtyard of the armory building. “No, it’s not that. I’m allergic to dairy.”

I frown. “What happens? Does your face like swell up like a balloon? Get hives? Go into aphylactic shock or something?”

“Nah, nothing like that. I had a bad experience as a kid and just avoid it now. My stomach is intolerant. But nothing really bad happens.”

I pout. “Well that sucks. I wish you could experience some of this deliciousness.” My eyes sparkle and the corners of my mouth curve as I take another generous lick.

He stares and shakes his head slowly, as if he knows what I’m about to do even before I do it.

Maybe it’s the natural flirt in me. Or it’s because I’m a little turned on, thinking about his big hands and all the colorful tattoos inked over his body. Or it could be the blazing heat from the Florence sun, turning me into a raging inferno of lust knowing he’s interested in me, as evidenced by the generous bulge in his pants.

Whatever it is that spurs me on, I can’t help myself when I lean up onto my tiptoes, throw one arm around his neck and bring my lips to touch his.

He remains stock still, like an enormous mannequin, his arms nailed to his sides, resistant to my kiss. I pull back an inch and peek up through my lashes, finding his eyes shut tight, as if this was a painful proposition. And just when I’m about to say fuck it and walk away, his arm snakes around my waist and he yanks me back into him, covering my mouth with his. Hard.

Oh yes. Everything is hard.

His mouth relaxes and opens for me completely.

He opens his mouth further, and I use the opportunity it provides for my tongue to lap at his, swirling and sweeping them together so he experiences the flavorful combination that bursts inside my mouth. My tongue is so cold but is instantly warmed with his heat.

The kiss is over much too soon when Gavin grunts and jerks away from me, his gigantic hands gently pushing at my shoulders to make room between us. You’d think he just realized he was kissing his grandmother by the way he puts an end to our connection.

Gavin’s eyes open and lock mine. He appears both reluctant, yet ready for more. Based on the confusion written on his face, he’s trying to make sense of this. To put it in some sort of box or paint by numbers picture, where the image becomes clearer once you’ve stepped back to get a good look at it.

Gavin speaks first. “Shit,” he mutters, his stance rigid and ready to bolt. “Kady, this isn’t a good idea.”

I stare at him blankly. I can’t even make a joke at his expense because I’m stunned.

Is this rejection? If it is, this is a foreign concept to me because it’s never happened before. His reaction to our very hot kiss is confusing and not what I expected. You’d think I’d made a blood offering to marry the guy, for fuck’s sake.

It was just a kiss. I’ve kissed lots of guys. Even another girl and I’ve liked them all. Kissing is just an extension of emotion. It doesn’t have to mean anything deep or symbolic. It’s not a vow of eternity. It’s simply two people sharing something natural and beautiful.

The kiss with Gavin, though, extends beyond that definition. Initially, I was just being playful and I wanted him to taste the gelato. I wanted to share the flavor and the cold sensation on my tongue.

But now I’m left reeling, my toes still tingling and my body vibrating with excitement from his kiss. Now that he’s put a stop to things, I want more. I can’t help it. It’s like an open bag of chips. You can’t just open it up and eat just one.

While I may have instigated the kiss, Gavin’s participation only amplified that desire. And now I have firsthand knowledge that Gavin Lancaster is an extremely good kisser.

I’m still rattled by his kiss when I ask for further explanation.

“What exactly isn’t a good idea, Gavin? The gelato or me?”

He glances away nervously, dropping his arms to his side, two of his fingers anxiously tapping against his leg.

“You know…getting involved. Hooking up.”

I snort out a laugh. “Really, dude? You think because I kissed you that it automatically insinuates I want to hookup? Jesus, Gavin. I was only giving you a taste…of the gelato.”

His eyes narrow, but won’t meet mine now, as he shuffles forward toward the canopied vendor booths lining the courtyard. There are rows and rows of various merchant tents. Some scarves, a lot of purses, bags and other touristy kitschy souvenirs – all colorful and eye-catching. I stalk behind him, stopping to check out a table of silver chains and artful necklaces.

My back is to him when I feel him step behind me – so close I can feel his breath against my neck -  and I turn to stare up into his soulful brown eyes. He wears the cutest smile I’ve ever seen on a man, one brow cocked playfully.

“It was good,”

I return his smile before turning and heading off to the next vendor table.

Yeah, it sure was.

****

We spend the next few hours bumming around the area, walking for what seemed like miles and miles until the bottoms of my feet throb like a bitch and we finally stop at a pub for an afternoon refreshment.

Translation: alcohol.

Gavin grabs a table for us toward the back of the small tavern as I excuse myself to head to the ladies’ room.

Except there is no ladies room. It’s unisex, like many establishments in Italy. This is another unique difference I’ve found between Italy and the States. Italy treats everyone the same and you don’t often find designated men and women restrooms in the public spaces.

I’m running through a mental list of some of my other observations about Italian culture when I glance up into the mirror and see that I have a big smudge of chocolate gelato on the corner of my mouth. I’m horrified that Gavin has allowed me to walk around looking like this for the past two hours.

As I make my return, I notice Gavin has his phone in his hand and he’s typing away at a message. Marching my ass to the table, I stop in front of him, the toes of my sandals kicking his feet, his head jerking up in surprise.

I point to the spot on my lip that’s now chocolate free. “You’re an asshole, Gavin Lancaster. I can’t believe you let me walk around all day with chocolate on my lips!”

Using my index finger for emphasis, I poke at his solid chest with indignation. I’m not mad at him, of course, but it’s that he didn’t tell me so irritating. It further pisses me off when he throws his head back in laughter, garnering the attention of a few people around us.

Goddamn Gavin and his great laugh. Some people have annoyingly stupid laughs that sound like nails down a chalk board or like a donkey braying. But not him. His laugh has a texture that is as smooth and soft as the leather purses we passed today in the market.

Somehow my finger has remained on his chest and my palm has flattened across his pec, reverberating with the vibration of his deep rumble. Gavin attaches his hand around my wrist and his touch is electrifying. His laughter dies suddenly, leaving only the sound of our aching souls whispering to each other as we stare into each other’s eyes.

“I’m not an asshole, Kady, and you know it. But I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything. I just thought it was kind of cute.”

“Pfft,” I snarl.

He tugs my arm as he opens his legs in a V so I stand between them, his strong thighs contouring my hips. We’re eye level, me standing in front of him and he seated in a chair. My face is inches from his and I can feel the warmth of his breath across my collarbone. My heart thuds wildly in my chest cavity as my brain sharply assesses the sudden directional change of our conversation.

Where I had been the aggressor earlier in the day, the instigator of our kiss, it’s clear that Gavin is now in charge. I’m his prey, caught in his trap, his to do with what he wants.

A shiver runs up my spine, ending sharply in my throat which has gone bone dry.

This push and pull of his is both exciting and confusing. One moment he’s keeping me at a safe distance, and the next he’s chasing me; toying with me. I wouldn’t mind a friends-with-benefits arrangement while I’m here. But he made it clear he didn’t want a hookup or a relationship.

So, what is he doing?

His sudden change and outward dominance gives me pause because I like having the upper hand when dealing with men. I like bad boys, but I also like it when they yield to my demands. Allowing me to do what I want with them. Showing them that their power comes from allowing me to assert control.

“I also think you’re kind of cute.”

The compliment catches me off guard, but leaves me with a fluttering sensation all over my body. I’ve been on the receiving end of many compliments in my life. Some guys are pretty damn good at it, and others aren’t. Gavin’s is heartfelt and sweet and I like it.

And while he’s silver-tongued, I also get the feeling that Gavin is the dominate in his sexual relationships. I can feel it in his grip. Restraint. Like he’s resisting the urge to push me down so that I’m kneeling before him between his legs, ready to succumb to his demands.

A thrill so tight it stings like a whip shooting through me and a smile overtakes my lips.

“I’m not taking it back just because you pay me a compliment,” I smirk. “I stand firm in my character assessment. So, you’ll need to give me something more than an apology if you want my forgiveness.”

My teeth carve a mark in my lower lip as his heated gaze caresses over it – soothing the ache – all while a larger ache builds between my legs.

“Oh yeah? And what exactly would earn your forgiveness?”

I enjoy the position he’s putting me in and where this is going. I’m now back in charge and hold the reins. The question is, what do I want from Gavin? I’m only here a few more days and there’s not much else he can give me that he hasn’t already offered. He’s also clearly stated that sex was off limits. So, what else do I want?

“Take me out to a club tonight.”

His eyes widen and they look like big brown saucers.

“A dance club?” he cringes.

I nod. “Yes, dancing.”

He stands so suddenly that if my wrist wasn’t wound in his grasp, I would have flown across the floor. My body boomerangs and ends up pressed against the hard planes of his abdominals. I crane my neck to look up at him.

“I don’t dance,” he affirms.

I grin salaciously. “That’s okay. You don’t have to. Just stand there and look sexy. I’ll do the dancing.”

And with that, the decision is made.