Chapter 10
TEN
“Did you have a good time?” Quintin asks, holding the door open for me.
Truthfully, I did, but I am dead on my feet, exhaustion making me dread the short walk home.
He had a few drinks while I insisted on water as we ate and flirted without words.
I got to know how he licks his lips when he’s been drinking, how he eats thoughtfully, as if there are mental notes going on in his head.
As if food is an art to be studied and appreciated.
And his groan when he finds the food delicious?
I couldn’t help but imagine hearing it against my ear, his breath coming in huffs of ecstasy as he spills inside me.
It felt like the longest bit of foreplay I’ve ever experienced, and as he brushes his hand along my lower back, I press my lips together.
“I did,” I answer, my voice breathy as I look at him. “Did you?”
We walk across the street, and unlike our walk to the restaurant, he’s looser somehow. His hands aren’t in his pockets anymore, and it’s like he has them swinging freely in the frigid air just in case I choose to hold on to him.
I really fucking want to. I’d love to feel the warmth of his hand again as it covers mine. I’d love to fall into him and forget myself. I’d love to know a man’s body, one who doesn’t disappear with the falling of the moon.
All these thoughts are why I can’t hold his hand. It isn’t just holding his hand. No, it’s like a gateway drug to intimacy, to wanting more until it inevitably turns into nothing.
And it isn’t just me anymore.
“Of course,” he answers the question I forgot I’d asked.
I’m stuck in my head as we walk, and when we near our building, I stamp down the desire to ask him inside my place.
I don’t want to feel so alone after being in a room full of people.
It makes the echoes louder, the loneliness harder to ignore.
“I’m looking forward to meeting Paula tomorrow,” he says, reminding me we did manage to get some work done, that this is business and I can do this.
I can keep my hormones in check and work with the hot chef next door who shows up in my sex dreams, eating me out like I’m the finest delicacy. I’ll probably just whip out my trusty vibrator and put my ass to sleep like a responsible adult.
Before I know it, we’re standing outside my apartment door, and when I turn to thank him for his time, he reaches for my fingers. It’s involuntary, the way they curl ever so slightly in his hold.
I close my eyes, just for a moment. When I open them again, he’s moving toward me.
I don’t think as he leans in, telling my brain to shut the fuck up. Once his lips touch mine, it does go quiet. All I am is a woman kissing a man she’s attracted to, and this is so easy. I’ve done this so many times.
But when I feel his fingertips brush over my stomach, his hand sliding to grip my hip, I’m brought back to Earth. I jerk away before the kiss can be anything more than minute contact. A brushing of lips, really.
There’s a fucking baby in there , I remind myself.
You can’t be someone’s mom when you’re acting like a whore in the hallway.
I exhale into the space between us, and when he leans in for another kiss, I turn my face, giving him my cheek instead. Oof.
“Let me take you on a proper date,” he whispers into my skin, leaning his forehead against the side of mine.
“We can’t.”
“We can.”
“Well then I can’t,” I argue, my words full of quiet torment. I wish I could disappear without having to explain why this is a bad idea.
He leans back just enough to look in my eyes.
“I’m not the guy who’s going to make your life harder, Daniela. I know you don’t know me, but let me show you.”
His words sound so honest, so solemn, like an oath. But they change nothing.
“I don’t know you. And it’s such a risk…” With a baby coming, it’s too big a risk.
I don’t know Quintin, but I know men. I know they come, they come, and then they go. Men like my papi just don’t exist anymore. Now that I’m having this baby, I can’t jeopardize my peace for penis.
Not even when it’s attached to someone as insanely attractive as Quintin.
My God , I think to myself as I stare at him while he stares at me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I whisper, bringing us back to business. I wait for his nod, and he steps back as I let myself into my apartment.
You’re playing with fire , I think as I close the door and lock it.
With a man who isn’t afraid to get burned.
“You called me because you knew I was going to tell you to fuck him, girl. You don’t have to lie to me , of all people.” I roll my eyes, Santana on speakerphone while I get ready for the meeting with Quintin and Paula. “And why shouldn’t you have a little fun?”
My laughter should be answer enough, but with Santana, logic and sex do not belong anywhere near one another. Like oil and water, she’d say.
“I’m pregnant,” I start to list, eyeing my stomach in the mirror. “We live next door to one another. We’re about to work together.”
Hearing the reasons out loud makes me happy I didn’t let him kiss me again, that I didn’t invite him inside and let him reenact my dreams.
Bravo, with your scary ass.
“ Pendeja , all those things are temporary. You won’t always be pregnant. At some point, one of you will move. And you’re working one event together.”
“Santi…” I start as I pull on a cable-knit sweater and tug my hair from under the collar. I hate how bulky it looks, adding to the bloat that appeared overnight. If you ask me, I already look six months pregnant. I want to cry.
“It feels like you’re punishing yourself for getting pregnant,” she says, her words a little less enthusiastic. “And you shouldn’t. Your life isn’t over.”
I pause at the thought, wondering when growing up began feeling so unnatural.
Probably ever since I realized I wanted to suck Quintin’s soul from his body via fellatio.
Down, girl.
“Or I’m trying to be more responsible since I’m going to be a mother,” I point out as I reach for the jeans I used to reserve for my super bloated days.
I hadn’t noticed weight changes, but now, my clothes fit a little tighter, the waistband on most of my pants digging into my stomach in a way that makes bending over uncomfortable.
“Speaking of, did you get the books I sent?” Santana asks, breaking up my observation as I pull up the jeans that are now snug on my hips and waist. I turn to look at my ass, knowing it will likely never sit this beautifully ever again.
Goodbye, youthful ass. Hello, mom butt.
“You mean the box of pregnancy and maternity books the poor delivery man had to heave up to my apartment? Yes, I did,” I tell her with a chuckle, huffing as I finish wiggling into my jeans. “You don’t half ass anything, huh?”
“I tend to whole ass everything. Which reminds me: please give your sexy neighbor that whole ass pus?—”
“I gotta go,” I yell out, not trying to hear any of the filthiness she has no problem uttering. “See you at the baby appointment tomorrow!”
I hang up and finish getting ready, telling myself when I see Quintin, it won’t be awkward at all. The kiss can be forgotten, and we can be professional.
Delusional ideas, but they’re all I have on my side.
They’re my only source of strength; my vibrator could only take me so far last night.
And this morning.
I thought I had a healthy sexual appetite before, but being chock-full of hormones has me ready to sit on my dryer.
I don’t love how I look today, and in an effort to distract myself from how I’m feeling, I opt to don makeup. I dust on enough blush to bring life back to my skin. I even curl my hair, loving how looking a little more put together makes me feel.
If I’m going to see the man whose name I moaned last night, I need to feel as confident as possible.
For a non-date, it was the best date I’ve ever had. The conversation flowed, the flirting was inconspicuous, and looking at him for a few hours didn’t hurt either. He asked me questions and didn’t hesitate to answer any of mine. He laughed at my jokes, he made food recommendations…
I may’ve found the last single man on Earth who actually likes women. A rare find these days.
On my way out, I glance at the stack of books on my dining room table and shake my head. For all her craziness, I feel less worried about becoming a single parent with Santana in our lives.
Our lives.
There’s a little person living inside me.
Holy shit.
“Don’t be weird,” Pepper mutters, snagging my focus from where it’d been for the last ten minutes. I’d been watching the door for Daniela.
I’m pathetic.
“I’m not,” I tell her before pausing. “Okay, maybe I am.”
Her fingers are typing away, and I know I only have a fraction of her attention, but I’m desperate to talk about it, to try to make sense of it.
“I kissed her last night, and now I have to sit across from her and pretend I don’t remember what her lips feel like.”
The typing stops, and I glance back over at her. She isn’t even looking in my direction, as if I’m a nuisance. I can only smirk in reaction, running my hands over my hair until they rest on top of my head, fingers interlocked.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to make things awkward. After all, you are her next-door neighbor, and now you’re involved with her job.”
I digest the perspective change, defensiveness making me speak again. “But I wouldn’t?—”
“She doesn’t know that. She doesn’t even know you,” Pepper reminds me, still not looking at me. Apparently, the spreadsheets in front of her are far more entertaining than I could ever be.
Well.
“The best thing you can do now is move forward in a way she’s comfortable with and wait for the opportunity to present itself once she’s made it clear she’s interested. Or, you can leave her alone.”
She begins typing again, and I feel like I’m being dismissed by my boss.
Except I own the damn place.
I nearly miss the sound of the restaurant door opening as I chew on Pepper’s words.
“Stay here,” I say, determined to keep Pepper from embarrassing me in any way. “You’re still not forgiven.”
She grunts from her place in front of the computer, and I head out, not waiting for another word.
I hear Daniela before I see her, and my stomach flips.
“…truly beautiful artwork,” I hear her finish, and I can tell the moment she senses me. Her back straightens, her fingers twitch at her sides, and her profile becomes clearer as she lifts her chin.
“Ladies,” I acknowledge them, not focusing too much on the woman beside Daniela. In any setting, it’s hard to not stare at her. “Welcome to Menagerie.”
I spread my hands and bring them back together before the potential client gushes about how she’s eaten here before and which dishes she loves most. She tells me her name is Paula, and it’s like Daniela isn’t even here with us anymore.
While she barrages me with questions, Daniela only interjects here and there with venue information. Each time, I have to peel my eyes off her. I can feel her stare, but every time I steal a peek at her, she’s focused on the client.
I bring out dish after dish, offering options for catering, noting adjustments that need to be made and orders that’ll need to be filled. At one point, I hear Paula speak to her in Spanish, and my gaze flicks to Daniela, wondering which language she’ll respond in.
“Yes, I agree,” she says, and I can’t help but deflate a little, wanting to know that side of her, to know more about her in general.
But I need to respect her space, her decision to not take things any further romantically.
She obviously has her reasons, and I’m not entitled to them.
But she steals my breath, sitting here pretending she isn’t as affected by me as I am her.
I’m not sure if she is, but I’m not afraid of my feelings. I’m more afraid of the idea that I won’t get to explore them.