CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ruben
The clouds hang heavy with the promise of rain as I park my car outside Lennon’s townhome. I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting my tie for the third time, and shake my head at myself. Nervous? Really? I’m a grown man, a lawyer who’s faced down opposing counsels and judges with ice in their veins. Yet here I am, feeling like a teenager on his first date.
“Get it together, Posada,” I mutter, leaning back in the seat. I’m about to text her when the door swings open, and she steps out.
God help me.
She’s wearing a gray cotton dress that shows a bit of cleavage, topped with a green leather jacket and my eyes almost fall out of their sockets. Her hair is loose, catching the light in a way that makes it shimmer, and she’s smiling. That smile could level me if I’m not careful.
I’m out of the car in an instant, meeting her halfway. She tilts her face up, and I kiss her. The world narrows down to just us for a moment. Her lips are soft, her scent intoxicating, and I’m half tempted to cancel wherever we’re going and take her back inside. But she pulls back, a playful glint in her eyes.
“Impatient much?” she teases, slipping her hand into mine.
“You’ve got no idea,” I admit, leading her to the car. I should be shy about the idea of showing her I don’t carry a flashlight in my pocket, but at this point she knows me better than that. I open the passenger door for her, watching as she slides in. Those legs are going to be the end of me. Once she’s settled, I adjust myself in my pants and jog around to the driver’s side and get in, turning to her as I start the engine.
“All right, beautiful. Where are we headed?”
She grins, a hint of mischief in her expression. “Trust me.”
I raise an eyebrow but nod, putting the car in gear. “All right. Lead the way.”
She gives me the first set of directions, and we’re off, navigating through the city streets. As we drive, she leans closer, her left hand resting casually on my thigh. It’s such a simple touch, but it sends a current through me. Heat pools low in my stomach. My grip on the wheel tightens, and I do my best to focus on the road.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” I ask, half-joking.
She chuckles, her fingers tracing small, distracting circles. “Maybe. But you seem to be handling it okay.”
“Barely,” I mutter under my breath, earning another laugh.
As she instructs, we make a turn past Little Saigon, the streets narrowing and the buildings growing closer together. Finally, she tells me to pull over in front of what looks like a converted garage.
“Here?” I ask, glancing at her.
She nods, already opening her door. “Trust me.”
Shaking my head but smiling, I follow her lead, stepping out and locking the car. She’s waiting for me on the sidewalk, her hand slipping back into mine as we walk toward the entrance. Inside, the place is cozy, with mismatched furniture and a chalkboard menu hanging on the wall. It smells incredible, a mix of garlic, spices, and something sweet I can’t quite place.
A woman behind the counter greets Lennon by name, and I realize this isn’t just a random spot. Lennon knows this place, and judging by the warm welcome, she’s a regular.
“How do you know this place?” I ask as we sit at a small table.
“Her son was in the hospital,” she admits, grinning. “We used to talk a lot. After he was discharged, Mai invited me to come here for dinner. It’s been one of my favorite places since then. I figured it was time to share it with you.”
Her words send a small thrill through me. She wanted to share this with me. That is meaningful.
We order, and as we eat, we talk about everything and nothing. She tells me about her work at the hospital, her patients, and the small victories that keep her going. I share a bit about my latest cases, leaving out the parts that involve the theater. That’s a conversation for another day.
At one point, she leans forward, her eyes sparkling with humor. “You’ve got some sauce,” she says, gesturing to her own cheek.
“Here?” I ask, swiping at the wrong side.
“No, other side,” she says, laughing.
I try again, and she shakes her head, finally reaching across the table to wipe it off herself. Her fingers linger for a moment, and my breath catches.
“Got it,” she says softly, her hand retreating. But the moment lingers, the air between us charged.
“So, what’s your schedule like?” I ask, breaking a moment of comfortable silence.
She sighs. “I’ve got a couple of days off starting Sunday. Thirty-six-hour shifts tend to do that.”
I nod, filing that away. “Sunday? That’s when I’m flying to Argentina.”
Her face falls just slightly, but she covers it with a small smile. “Bad timing.”
“We’ll make it work,” I say, my tone resolute. “I’m not going to let a little thing like geography get in the way.”
That earns me a genuine smile, and I feel like I’ve won something important.
“You know,” I continue, leaning back in my chair, “my sister-in-law, Destinee, is a nurse practitioner. She works in a women’s clinic in Stanford. You two would probably have a lot to talk about.”
She freezes, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth. “Wait. Are you saying you want me to meet your family?”
Her eyes are wide, her tone light, but there’s something deeper there, something I can’t quite place.
I feel my face heat, a rare thing for me. Fucking hell, I’m never shy. “Why not? Unless you don’t want to,” I say, forcing a casual shrug.
She sets her fork down, a soft smile spreading across her face. “It would be my pleasure.”
Her words hit me harder than I’d like to admit. The thought of her meeting my family, of her fitting into that part of my life, makes something tighten in my chest. It’s a good feeling, but it’s also terrifying.
We finished lunch—honestly, the best Vietnamese food I’ve ever had. The conversation is light but laced with an undercurrent of something deeper. As we step outside, the rain that had been threatening all morning finally starts to fall. I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders before she can protest.
“Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?” she teases, pulling the jacket tighter around herself.
“Not when it comes to you,” I reply, wrapping an arm around her as we run back to the car.
A few months ago, buying this car felt like a great idea. Now, it’s too damn small—cramped, suffocating. All I want is to pull into the nearest alley, press Lennon against the seat, and kiss her until she forgets her own name. But work is waiting. Responsibilities that can’t be ignored.
Fuck… could a man actually die from blue balls?
I park the car in front of Lennon’s townhome. I turn off the engine and glance over at her. She’s smiling, her fingers lightly drumming on her lap, and damn if it doesn’t make me want to cancel the rest of my day and just stay with her.
“Thank you for lunch,” she says, her voice soft but teasing. “I feel spoiled.”
I grin, leaning one arm on the steering wheel. “Told you I’d take care of feeding you.”
“Mission accomplished,” she quips, unbuckling her seatbelt but making no move to get out just yet. “What’s next on the Ruben Posada itinerary?”
“Back to the office, a lot to tie up before my trip,” I reply, checking my watch and sighing. “What about you?”
She stretches, arching her back in a way that’s entirely too distracting. Those tits. “Sleep. I’ve been awake way too long, and I’ve got another shift coming up soon.”
“Good. You need your rest.” I smirk, lifting my eyebrows. “I’ve provided lunch. Now you handle taking care of yourself.”
She laughs, the sound soft and warm, and opens her door. I follow, stepping out and walking her to the front door. She hesitates on the top step, turning to face me.
“Do you want to come in for a minute?” she asks, her tone casual, but there’s something in her whisky eyes—a challenge, maybe… or an invitation.
I shake my head, a small smile tugging my lips up. “If I come in, Lennon, I’m not leaving. And I’ve got work to do.”
Her cheeks flush, but she’s grinning as she folds her arms. “So, you’re saying you have no self-control?”
“Not when it comes to you,” I admit, my voice low, and it’s the truth. She’s dangerous in all the best ways, and I’m already teetering on the edge. I step closer, my hand brushing her arm before I cup her cheek. “But I’ll see you soon. Get some sleep, Chispita . Call me later.”
“Chispi… Chispittha …” Lennon tries to replicate the word, her brow furrowing. “What does that mean?”
“Firecracker,” I reply with a chuckle. She’s not just a spark. She’s the whole damn fireworks display.
“Don’t tell me.” Lennon rolls her gorgeous whiskey-colored eyes. “It’s my hair, isn’t it?”
A slow smile tugs at my lips. If only…
“Lennon, it’s your personality,” I say, voice low and certain. “Your hair just happens to match.”
She leans into my arms for a moment, and it’s enough to make me second-guess leaving. But I step back, forcing myself to turn around and head toward my car. When I glance back, she’s leaning against the doorframe, watching me with that dreamy expression that makes my chest tighten.
The drive back to the office feels longer than it should, her laughter and presence lingering in my head like a favorite song on repeat. I’m grinning like a damn fool, and I know it.
She’s trouble, the kind I’d gladly lose myself in.