Page 18 of Spark
I shake the gloomy thoughts from my head and focus on the man who revs every part of my being in a way I’ve never experienced before. “I want some chips and guac.”
“I think I can deliver.”
“I hope so, I’m hungry.” For much more than chips and guacamole.
“You say the word, and I’ll deliver anything you want.” He wiggles his brows and sucks on his bottom lip.
I chuckle and poke him in the ribs with my elbow. Of course, he has to be funny too. You know, because he wasn’t attractive enough already.
We stop in front of the Zagar home and admire the building’s intricacy and beauty, which allows me a moment to regain some control over my libido. My love life hasn’t been that active recently, but I have a hand and a remote control dildo with a strong suction cup that I’m going to pull out when I get home. Maybe if I took the edge off before I left the house, I wouldn’t be fighting a boner for the better part of the date.
We continue down South Street, shuffling around people and laughing when a toddler trying to escape her father in a wicked game of chase nearly plows into Mateo’s legs. The air is warm, and there’s a lightness in the faces we pass as the upcoming summer brings visions of lazy days, warm nights, and vacations from reality. It’s nice.
“Here we are.” Mateo stops in front of the restaurant. “Would you rather eat inside or out?”
The tables are crammed close on the sidewalk to make way for pedestrians, but it’s a beautiful day and seems a waste to spend it inside. “Outside, if the wait isn’t too long.”
Once inside, we decide to grab a drink and chips with guac at the bar while we wait the twenty minutes for a table. Sipping one of the best damn margaritas I’ve ever had, I twist on the barstool to face Mateo, our knees touching. “Damn, this is good.” I sip more, trying to ignore the thrill shimmying up my spine from the press of his knee against mine.
“Yeah. They have great drinks.” He loads a chip with guac and shoves it in his mouth.
“You plan on leaving any for me?”
“Nope.” He scoops another chip into the bowl of green stuff and downs it before I can protest.
“I see how it is.” I grab his wrist and hold it out of reach of the chip basket as I plow in.
His hand relaxes under my hold, his tendons releasing. When I trace my finger along the underside of his wrist, the smooth skin is a contrast to the bristly skin above. He spears me with the full awareness of his attention. “I like when you touch me.”
I gulp. The chip I’m chewing twists. The pointy tip trails down my throat, poking and jabbing the whole way. My eyes water as I attempt not to choke, or worse yet, hack the chip back up and into the lap of the hottest date I’ve had in forever.
“You okay?” With his free hand, he claps my back.
I nod and suck down my margarita, hoping to dislodge the chip from its precarious position. Finally, it rights itself, and I can breathe again.
Mateo twists his wrist, breaking from my hold.
No, we will not analyze why, when I was on the verge of choking to death, I continued to hold him in my grip.Moving on…
Menus in hand, the hostess approaches us to let us know our table is ready. We take our unfinished drinks and chips and follow her to a relatively private spot at the end of the row of tables. After we spend a few minutes reviewing the menu, our waiter takes our order, leaving us to enjoy the remainder of our margaritas.
Mateo’s tongue pokes out and swipes salt from the rim of his glass before he tips it back, the column of his throat bobbing up and down. I squirm in my seat instead of fisting his shirt and yanking him across the table so I can climb him. Quite frankly, I’m impressed with my level of restraint. When he sets the glass back down, he leans in, elbows on the table, and asks, “Did it bother you when I said I like you touching me?”
“No. Why?” The question takes me by surprise. Thank goodness, there isn’t a chip anywhere near my mouth because we all know what a disaster that would be.
He scoots closer, a droplet of margarita rests at the corner of his bottom lip, and I wet mine. “Like I said at the party, I don’t have a lot of free time right now. So, I’m going to put it out there.” He pauses, his chest expanding with air before deflating. “I like you. A lot.” His eyes roam my face, and I swear I can feel their caress as he trails my neck and torso before returning to my face.
I’m reminded of him talking about that quoteif you want something you find a way, and how he wanted to apply it to me. That he’s stating his feelings this way, now, tells me he really meant the words when he said them. “That’s very direct.”
His mouth hitches, and with it, my breath. He covers my hand with his. “I don’t have time to play around. If you’re not interested or just want to fuck around, let me know. No harm, no foul.”
I stare at the way our hands look together. Maybe he’s thinking about our conversation at the party and how I told him I have baggage. He’d said he didn’t mind, and I wonder if that’s still true. He’s looking at me like he’s feeling the same staggering connection as I am. Maybe that’s making him nervous. Maybe he needs to hear me say I’m still interested. Maybe I’m not the only one with worries.
I can’t deny the strength of my physical attraction to Mateo, or how taken I am with everything he says and does, or how I’m eager to learn all I can about him. Our encounter at Olive’s party and the hours we’ve spent together today have only made my ardor more intense. I’ve dated enough to know this kind of spark with someone is rare. The thought of walking away from him leaves me with a hollowness that aches. The same gnawing appeared every time I told myself I shouldn’t get involved with him.
I raise my gaze until I’m locking eyes with him once more, and the ache vanishes. I want this vibrant connection that binds us when we’re together. Despite my misgivings about him playing such a dangerous sport, I know if I don’t take this chance, I’ll regret it.
“And if I am interested?” Under the table, I place my foot between his.
