It’s nearly five o’clock by the time I get home, so I head straight for the shower to get ready. After a quick scrub from head to toe under water as hot as I can stand, I slip into my robe and run to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. I need something to help calm my anxiety a bit. Once back in the bathroom, I blow dry my hair out straight and apply a little bit of mascara and lip gloss, very similar to how I looked when I went to dinner on Wednesday. I can’t decide if I should wear my glasses or not. I put them on, take them off, and put them on again. I don’t need them to see, but I feel like they are a big part of my look when I’m at school. I end up leaving them on; they’re kind of like a security blanket.
After slipping on a comfortable but cute, black bra and panty set, I step into a black-and-gray-striped, long-sleeved maxi dress. The dress is one of my favorite things to wear because it’s sexy in how it clings to my curves without looking slutty as the hemline sweeps the floor, and the scooped neckline is just low enough to hint at what hides beneath the soft cotton. I slide on some trendy black ballet flats and take one last look in the full-length mirror. Pleased with my appearance, I swallow the last of the wine in my glass and drop it in the sink before leaving for my first date in… well, in forever.
I ignore the strange looks I receive from both the guy behind the security desk and the doorman, and simply greet them with a “good evening” as I head out into the cool spring night. The walk to the subway is brief, and after a rather lengthy ride with several train changes later, I’m standing under the sign that reads 10th St.
Digging my phone out of my purse, I’m pleased to see that I’m about ten minutes early before I press the call button. Lucca answers on the second ring.
“Are you here?” he asks excitedly.
“I’m somewhere, I’m not sure if it’s here or not,” I joke.
“I’m on my way outside. Stay on the phone until I find you.”
Seconds later I see him bounding out the front door of a red-bricked brownstone just a few yards down from where I’m standing. He spots me immediately and takes off in a jog in my direction. I hang up the phone, drop it in my purse, and meet him halfway.
“I’m so happy you came,” he exclaims as he wraps me in a tight hug. His clean smell entices my nose, but the sight of him is just… wow. He’s got on worn out, tattered jeans with frayed bottoms resting on his flip-flops and a simple, plain black t-shirt. His dark hair appears even messier than it normally does; it’s still a little wet and it looks like he just jumped out of the shower and ran his fingers through it. I love that he didn’t feel the need to get dressed up for me; the comfy, around-the-house look suits him perfectly.
We pull away from each other, but he grabs hold of my hand. His eyes travel up and down my body and the smile on his face tells me he’s pleased with what he sees. “You look absolutely gorgeous, Trina.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ellis, as do you,” I respond cheekily.
Laughing softly, he tugs on my hand and pulls me towards his house. “Come on, let’s go inside and get something to drink.”
I follow him through the front door into a surprisingly well decorated home, especially for a place where three guys live. “Wow, this is really nice,” I murmur as I take a look around the open-concept living room and kitchen area. The home is much bigger and nicer than I anticipated, and I’m curious how a guy on a teacher’s salary can afford something like this. Maybe his cousin and other roommate pay a greater share…
“Not what you were expecting?” he asks as he pours two glasses of wine.
“I’m not sure what I imagined to be honest, but this isn’t it. Did you guys have a professional decorate it for you?”
Chuckling, he walks over to where I’m standing in the middle of the room and hands me a wine glass. “No, my cousin just has a knack for this kind of thing. A little strange, I know, but I don’t complain. I enjoy living in it.”
Lucca then gives me a quick tour of the place, showing me each perfectly decorated room, including his which reveals a large cherry wood sleigh bed covered in fluffy bedding and throw pillows in a blend of blues. The works of art on the walls are all watercolor images of the beach and ocean, and the white gauzy curtains framing the window are the perfect accompaniment. The room is masculine but not stuffy; on the contrary, it’s extremely bright and inviting. It’s actually a perfect parallel to Lucca.
“I usually don’t bring girls to my room on a first date. I just wanted to show you the house,” he says in a low voice from behind me. I realize that I’ve been standing there for quite some time staring at his private sanctuary.
Embarrassed, I turn around to leave the room, but he doesn’t move. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, my face just inches from his.
“You are beautiful,” he murmurs as he softly strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. I want him to kiss me so badly, but he doesn’t. Instead, he rejoins our hands with fingers interlaced and leads me out of the room. “Dinner is almost ready. Are you hungry?”
I shake off the twinge of disappointment and follow him back into the kitchen. “Absolutely. Did you cook yourself or are we doing take out?”
He walks over to the oven and turns the light on inside. “Come over here and look.”
I join him and stoop down to take a peek into the window. “Mmmm… lasagna?”
Placing his hand on the small of my back, he pulls me back upright and smiles. “Yes, it’s my mama’s secret recipe. I think I’ll make her proud, but you be the judge.” He opens the refrigerator and pulls out two bowls of Caesar salad and the bottle of wine. “Take a seat,” he instructs and refills our glasses. “I’m going to get the lasagna out to cool some while we eat the salad.”
I’m not used to obeying other’s people commands. Ever since I was a teenager, I would actually challenge anyone who tried to tell me what to do, but again, for some incomprehensible reason, it doesn’t bother me when he does it. I won’t admit it to him or anyone else, but I kind of like the slightly dominating role that he’s beginning to take with me. I like it, but it scares me.
A few minutes later we’re both digging into the delicious dinner that he’s prepared and talking about his baseball career that ended early due to injury. Everything’s going great; we’re laughing and joking about what he was like as a kid, until he asks the question.
“So what about your parents? What do they do?”
Instantly, I feel the knot in my stomach tighten and the color drain from my face. I stare down at my plate. “I don’t have any family.”
“What do you mean? At dinner the other night you talked about your dad’s job bringing you into the city?”
This is exactly what I was afraid of, the reason I shouldn’t have accepted his invitation in the first place. I know better than to think people won’t want to know about my family or my childhood.
I lift my head, bringing my eyes to his. “I said I don’t have any family.”
I expect him to push me for answers, things to get really awkward, and the date to end not long after the dinner, but unexpectedly he smiles and says, “Well, good, I don’t have to share you with anyone then. I expect to get you for all of the holidays, and that includes Christmas in Florida with my parents.” Then he continues eating like it’s no big deal.
My jaw drops open as I continue to stare at him. “Are you serious?”
He looks at me confused. “Of course I’m serious. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It’s our first date, and not to mention it’s the end of March! What makes you think we will be seeing each other at Christmas?” I scoff.
Calmly he sets his fork down on his plate and scoots his chair back away from the table. “Come here, Trina,” he commands.
Now it’s my turn to appear confused. “Excuse me?”
He gazes into my eyes, but it feels like he’s talking to my soul. “I said, ‘Come here, Trina.’ Don’t make me tell you again. I know you want to come, so come. Don’t be stubborn.”
For some
baffling reason, I find myself getting out of my chair and walking over to him. He grabs my hips and gently pulls me down onto his lap. His strong hands cup under my jaw and our eyes lock on one another. “I told you that you wouldn’t hold out two years before going out with me and you didn’t make it two weeks. I told you not to fight the inevitable and so far, you haven’t. Now when I tell you that you’ll be spending Christmas, as well as all of the other holidays with me, trust me, you will.”
I’m speechless. I want to argue with him, but he’s right. And what’s even more perplexing is the more he talks to me this way, the more sexually turned on I find myself.
He rests his forehead on mine. “Do I scare you?” he asks in a soft voice.
“Yes,” I whisper. If he only knew in how many ways.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. You scare me, too,” he says with a lopsided grin. “But I knew from the moment you bloodied my nose, I needed you as much you need me. I don’t know how or why, but I knew.” He stops talking to rub his nose up and down mine, and from the dampness between my legs, one would think it’s the most erotic thing anyone’s ever done. “We have a lot to learn about each other, but I assure you, nothing you can tell me will scare me away. I don’t care why you don’t have a family. I don’t care what you’ve done in your past. All I’m concerned about is you and me from this point forward.”
“But you don’t understand,” I try to explain, but he shuts me up as his lips come crashing onto mine. Unlike the sweet, gentle kiss from a couple of nights ago, this kiss is forceful and insistent. His tongue demands entrance to my mouth, which I give with no resistance, and then devours me. Within seconds we are lost in the most passionate kiss of my life– tongues curled around one another, teeth gnashing, each of our hands threaded in the other’s hair. When I begin sucking and nibbling on his swollen lip, he pulls back, ripping our mouths apart.
“That is the only thing I need to understand,” he mumbles as we both struggle to catch our breath. He kisses me again, this time slow and tender, returning the air to my lungs. I begin to wonder if I’m dreaming; this all seems entirely too good to be true, especially for my life.
We spend the rest of the evening cuddling on the couch, drinking wine, and watching a movie. I realize that no matter how sure of himself he seems, this whole fairytale can’t last. I’ll never be able to be honest with him about my past, and I still have other transgressions yet to commit. But for just a while, it’s fun to pretend I’m a normal girl that deserves a happy ending.
Even though Saturdays are supposed to be one of his nights off, Leo is insisting to come over this evening to discuss Daniel Saunders, among other things. It’s a conversation I’m not looking forward to, but I know is unavoidable; he’s not going to let this go.
I sleep in later than normal, finally rolling out of bed a little before noon. I have several errands that I need to run before he comes over, so I quickly throw on some jeans and a t-shirt and put my hair in a messy bun. I stop in the kitchen and grab a granola bar and bottle of water before grabbing my purse and sliding my feet in some flip-flops. Pausing for a moment as I look at the shoes, a tiny smile creeps over my face at the memory associated with them.
Once out of my building, I take off on foot, thankful for my prime location, and head towards the salon. The weather is unusually warm for the beginning of spring, but after the brutal winter we’ve had, I’m not complaining one bit. When I was a kid, I always dreaded fall and winter the most because that’s when my dad would be gone — always either practicing or at a game. My mom would get really depressed during these times, and even though I didn’t completely understand why, I just knew that our home was a happier place when he was home and we were all together. Now I realize that Momma most likely knew what he was up to all those nights he never came home, which were more frequent during the season.
Gratefully, I reach my destination before I can travel any further down memory lane. That horrifying afternoon plays through my dreams like a broken record, so I try my hardest not to allow it to torture me when I’m awake too. I plaster a smile on my face and walk into the salon, eager for an afternoon of pampering.
Several hours later, I walk back out on to the bustling street, feeling refreshed and revitalized. My hair has been trimmed and styled, my fingernails and toenails are the perfect shade of pink, and my muscles have been kneaded and massaged into submission. With a skip in my step, I make my way to the local grocery store to pick up a few things for the dinner I’m going to cook for Leo. It’s been a long time since I cooked for anyone, but I’ve wanted to make a recipe I saw for traditional osso bucco. I figure tonight’s as good as any; however, cooking an Italian dish for a guy who has an Italian version of Martha Stewart for a mom is a bit risky.
After the grocers and butcher shop, I walk hastily back to my apartment. Once inside, I empty all of the bags and begin preparing the veal shanks. As the butter melts, I open a bottle of 2008 Vina Cobos Cobos Malbec and pour an oversized glass. Reveling in the voluptuous and hearty blend of fruit and earthy flavors, I’m extremely pleased with the vintner’s recommendation, knowing this will go perfect with the dish. I then move back to the stovetop where I finish browning the veal prior to adding the other ingredients before leaving it to simmer for about an hour and a half.
Glancing at the clock that reads half past six, I have about thirty minutes before he will be here. I scurry down to my bedroom to take a quick shower and change; I love getting massages but I hate the slick, oily feeling that it leaves on my skin. I hear the knock on the door just as I finish blow-drying my hair — I guess I spent a little longer in the shower than I planned. Hurrying to the front door to let Leo in, I don’t think twice about him seeing me in just a robe; it’s more than he sees me in most of the time anyhow.
I open the door with a smile, shocked to see him standing in the hallway holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers. He’s beaming from ear to ear as I gawk at him.
“May I come in?” he asks, laughing softly.
“Oh, yeah,” I sputter. “I’m sorry, I was just caught off guard with the flowers. Come on in; make yourself at home.” All of a sudden this feels much more formal than just he and I hanging out for an evening while we eat and talk about things.
He follows me into the kitchen where I grab a vase and arrange the flowers in some water. “They’re gorgeous, Leo. Thank you.”
Sliding his arms around my waist from behind and pulling me into a tight embrace, he mumbles against my hair, “Not nearly as gorgeous as you, Katie-bug.”
Twisting around in his arms, I cock my eyebrow at him curiously. “Why did you just call me that? What are you up to? Are you trying to sweeten me up to talk me out of my plan?”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “No, I know there aren’t enough flowers in the world to talk you out of something that you’ve set your mind to. I just don’t tell you how special I think you are often enough.”
I give him a quick peck on the cheek and spin out of his grasp. “I don’t pay you to tell me I’m special,” I say as I pour him a glass of wine and refill my own.
His brows furrow in frustration as I hand him the goblet. “It’s not about the money, don’t even go there. I’ve known you since you were born; I don’t think of you as my employer... you’re one of my closest friends.”
Feeling bad for cheapening our relationship, I apologize sincerely. “I’m sorry, Leo. I didn’t mean it like that. You know how important you are to me. I’ve got a ton on my mind and I didn’t mean to be rude to you, the one person who’s stuck with me through everything.” I stop and run the fingers of my free hand through my hair. “Can we start this evening over please? I’m making you osso bucco…” I plead, trying to tempt him with the thought of good food.
He relaxes his face and grins; he can never stay mad at me. “Of course we can. You cooking one of Mama’s dishes in that flimsy little robe trumps anything.”
I look down at my silky black ensemble, having co
mpletely forgotten that I didn’t have time to get dressed before he arrived. “Oh, right. I meant to get dressed but you got here early,” I explain with a soft laugh. “Do I need to change?”
“Absolutely not,” he answers as he takes a big gulp of the wine. “But you do need to show me what smells so good.”
Excitedly, I lift the cover on the skillet to show him the shanks, basting the meat again as he inspects the dish. “I hope it tastes as delicious as it looks and smells,” he says approvingly.
“Well, I just hope I make Mama Rosa proud,” I tease.
“I’ll be the judge of that. There’s no better critic of Italian food then yours truly.” He chuckles and pats his very tone belly over his shirt.
“Shut up and take off your shoes. Pretend you’re going to hang out a while.” For the first time since he’s arrived, I take a look at what he’s wearing. “Why are you dressed in slacks and a dress shirt anyway?”
He looks down at his outfit with a frown and then back up at me. “I don’t know. It’s how I always dress.”
“Yeah… when we’re going out at night. Don’t you ever just bum around in a t-shirt and jeans?”
“No, I’m a grown up and I dress like one,” he barks. A look of disapproval and annoyance crosses his face.
Unsure of why his mood changed so suddenly, I probe carefully, “Are you insinuating that I don’t dress like a grown up?”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately and I’m irritable.” He forces a smile and finishes his wine. Quickly changing the subject, he asks, “How long until the food’s finished? Should we talk about things now or over dinner?”
Groaning, I grab the bottle of wine and refill his glass. “We’ve got about an hour before dinner so I guess now is good. I just need to stay in here to keep basting the veal plus I need to start the risotto in about thirty minutes.” I hop up on the counter and look at him. “So what do you want to know?”