3. Ana
3
Ana
I couldn’t shake the thought of Charlie the entire way home. Even as I slipped out of my Versace dress and into a pair of comfortable pajamas, the image of his green eyes locked on mine lingered, searing itself into my mind.
Then my phone started vibrating on the dresser. It had to be either my mother, Sloane, or one of the few friends I still had. But when I glanced at the screen, a local number I didn’t recognize flashed. I stared at it, letting it buzz again and again. I’m not answering for a stranger . It went to voicemail and I grabbed it, heading to the living room to find something to binge-watch for the night.
Before I could even turn on the TV, the phone buzzed again—this time, a text. My stomach dropped the second I read it.
Found you. Someone owes me a drink. My place or yours?
How did he get my number so fast ? I should’ve known—famous people always got what they wanted. And it wasn’t lost on me that I was one of them.
Before I could even think about replying, the phone buzzed again. This time, it was Sloane calling.
“ Hola, pequena. ?Qué estás haciendo ?” I answered with a smile.
“So,” she began without a greeting. “Guess who just called Callan, asking for your number?”
I rolled my eyes. That sneaky cabrón .
“Let me guess: Charlie Ashford?” I replied lightly.
She immediately laughed. “Mom. What did you do to him?”
I scoffed playfully. “I did nothing! He threw himself at me. He can’t be much older than you. It was ridiculous,” I said, laughing along.
“He’s twenty-eight, Mom. Only twelve years younger than you. Totally in the appropriate age range to date,” she said bluntly.
I tsked. “Says the girl who’s engaged to a man twenty years older than her,” I teased.
She laughed. “Don’t break his heart, Mom. He’s like, known for being a sensitive, hopeless romantic.”
My smile faded. “I’m not doing anything with him. I’m not ready,” I explained.
Sloane sighed. “I know, Mom. I’m just messing with you.”
I relaxed a little. The thought of getting involved with anyone made me feel sick, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie. This is not good.
“So, is he some kind of playboy?” I asked cautiously.
She laughed, clearly having fun teasing me. “I don’t know, but he’s always with someone. Better scoop him up now before someone else does.”
I rolled my eyes. “Alright, I’m heading to bed. I’m an old lady,” I joked, trying to end the conversation. “Goodnight, baby.”
“ Buenas noches, mama ,” she said cheerfully, then hung up.
I stared at my phone, re-reading his text over and over, torn between what I should say, if I should say anything at all, and what I really wanted to say, which was that I wanted him deep inside of me, fucking me all night long. No, stop it, Ana.
If we have a drink, I just need you to know that I’m not ready for anything serious. I’m just warning you now. Don’t fall in love with me or anything.
I hit send, and I hoped that I sounded playful like I intended.
Too late. I’ll send a car over for you.
Heat rushed to my face. No, don’t do this, Ana .
No, I’ll get myself there, but only if you promise to behave. What’s your address?
* * *
What the fuck am I doing? I must be going crazy. Perhaps not being touched by a man in over six months has turned me into a horny teenage girl. Dios mio, now I know how Sloane must’ve felt around Callan.
I stood in front of the floor-length mirror, eyeing my reflection in my casual jeans, sweater, and makeup-free face apart from a subtle red lip. It was such a stark contrast to how glamorous I looked at the gala. If Charlie wasn’t interested in me like this, then he wasn’t worth my time.
I grabbed a long pea coat off the hanger and shrugged it over my arm, stopping myself as I headed for the front door. This isn’t a big deal, right? I stood frozen in my living room, locked in a battle with myself.
I pulled my phone from my back pocket, staring at the screen, searching for the right words to tell Charlie I wasn’t coming. Instead, I opened my contacts and dialed Miles. He answered instantly.
“I need a ride up to the Flatiron district. I’m meeting Charlie Ashford.” I hung up before he could question me.
Ten minutes later, Miles stopped in front of an apartment building on 23rd Street. The city was still buzzing around us and I sat for a moment as I collected myself. I planned on telling Charlie that this wasn’t a date, that I was only keeping my end of the deal. I would have a drink with him, and then I’d go home. Maybe. Or maybe I’d have sex with him, but I’d make it clear that I didn’t want anything more than that.
After a moment, Miles eyed me through the reflection of the rear view mirror, but he didn’t say a word.
“Don’t worry if I’m in there for a while. In fact, why don’t you head home? I’ll let you know when I need a ride back.”
Pretty presumptuous of me. But I saw the way Charlie stared at me. I bet if I told him to get on his knees and beg to fuck me, he would…
“You sure?” Miles asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes,” I said as I opened the door and quickly shut it behind me.
Miles’ car didn’t move, like he was waiting for me to go inside. I smiled, grateful he was doing his job right.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted Charlie.
I’m here.
I didn’t have to wait long. A moment later, double doors swung open and out came Charlie. A smile already lit up his face, highlighting his dimpled cheeks, and his eyes sparkled like he had just won a prize. He wore a plain white T-shirt that showcased the numerous tattoos on his arms and biceps, with dark jeans and sneakers. Somehow, he was even more good-looking now than he was at the gala.
“Ana. I’m so glad you’re here,” he said warmly, reaching in to give me a hug.
His body was warm against mine, and I could feel the firmness of his toned muscles beneath my hands as I returned his hug. His touch ignited a fire within me, and my cheeks burned when I realized how excited I was.
“Come in, please,” he said, releasing me and gesturing towards the door before opening it.
His good energy was infectious and I couldn’t help but smile as I stepped inside. I waited as he closed the door behind us, then followed him up the stairs, noticing how he glanced back at me every few seconds.
“Did it take you long to get here?” he asked when we reached a tall, black door at the top of the stairs.
I realized I hadn’t said a word since arriving.
“No, I live only six or seven blocks away,” I replied, clutching the peacoat draped across my arm.
“Oh yeah?” His smile widened, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was running through his mind.
But my thoughts shifted as he opened the door, revealing a beautiful loft with high, exposed beam ceilings adorned with hanging lights. A row of large windows bathed the space in the city’s glow. The walls were an eclectic mix of framed artwork and vibrant paintings, with sculptures scattered in various sizes. Two black leather couches faced each other in the middle of the room, separated by a coffee table piled with books. A piano sat in the corner atop a patterned rug, and green plants lined the windows. Nothing matched, yet it all came together perfectly. I was absolutely in love with it.
“Welcome to my home. Let me take your coat,” he offered, extending his hand.
“Thank you,” I murmured, my eyes still taking in his space.
His style was so eclectic and artistic. I found myself even more drawn to him. He wasn’t just a famous name and face anymore; I was beginning to see his personality, and it was reeling me in.
“So, what can I get you to drink?” he asked, snapping me out of the trance his loft had put me in. “I’ve got pretty much everything,” he added with a grin, resting his hands on the kitchen island.
“Red wine. Cabernet, please,” I replied, still wandering through the space, admiring the exposed brick wall behind his industrial-style kitchen and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with hundreds of books.
“Perfect,” he replied, and I could feel his eyes on me as he opened the bottle, watching me quietly as I continued to explore his space.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked, slipping my hands into my back pockets as I wandered further into the open loft.
He moved towards me slowly, handing me the glass of wine. As our eyes met, I noticed the faint sound of music in the background. His green eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the flutter in my chest distracted me as he began to answer.
“About a year,” he answered with a smile, his eyes still fixed on mine, making me glance away. “Do you like it?” he asked softly.
When I looked back at him, I could see the subtle, almost hesitant need for my approval as he waited for my response.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” I said, my voice warm with praise, and I noticed his posture relax.
His dimpled smile nearly knocked me off my feet. Fuck, I’m smitten . “Let me give you a tour,” he said, effortlessly taking my hand. My heart sank and my body tensed, the unfamiliar sensation of a man’s touch leaving me unexpectedly flustered. But when he glanced back and smiled at me, I forced myself to stay in the moment, even if it was fleeting—because it had to be. I kept repeating over and over in my mind, this is only for tonight.
He guided me through the rest of his spacious loft, showing off more art, books, and plants, until we finally ended up in his bedroom. My eyes were fixed on the large, king-sized bed in front of an exposed-brick wall, the room softly lit by a single lamp beside the bed. We lingered in front of the bed for a moment, his hand still gently holding mine. He looked over at me, and for a quiet instant, the heat between us seemed to ignite, the air filled with sexual tension.
“Let me show you the balcony. We can sit out there for a drink,” he said softly, almost hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to leave that moment.
I nodded, unsure if I wanted to move or not either.
But then, slowly, our feet carried us forward, and with his hand still gently guiding me, he pulled open the glass doors at the end of the loft. We stepped onto a small balcony, where a loveseat sat in the corner, a blanket draped casually over it. The cold air bit at my cheeks, but the warmth from Charlie’s hand sent heat throughout me.
“Is it not too cold to sit outside?” I asked hesitantly as he guided me towards the loveseat.
He sat down, pulling me with him. “I can keep you warm.” He grinned, draping his arm around my shoulders. I could feel the strength of his bicep resting against me. I let myself enjoy his touch for a moment before coming back to reality.
“Charlie…” I began, as if to protest, but I stopped as his smile faded.
“What?” he asked, his eyes slightly widening.
Just give it to him straight, Ana.
I hesitated; he already looked so sad and wounded. “I’m really attracted to you, but if you’re looking for more than something physical, I can’t give that to you.”
His brows pulled together. “It doesn’t have to be physical yet,” he whispered, gently shaking his head.
“Then why did you ask me here?” I argued.
“Because I wanted to sit and talk with you over a drink, get to know each other better,” he said softly, a hint of sadness in his voice.
Suddenly, I felt like an asshole.
“So, that’s all you want, then?” he asked, and I became painfully aware of his arm still snug around me.
“For now, yes,” I replied honestly.
He bit his lip, staring at me for a moment, as if waging a war within himself.
“We don’t have to have sex, Charlie. We can chat for a bit, I can finish this drink, and then I’ll be on my way,” I added bluntly; the last thing I wanted was for him to feel pressured.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t leave.”
He gently took the wine glass from my hand, set it on the small table beside us, and locked eyes with me again, intensity in his gaze.
My heart raced and my focus shifted to his lips, now just inches from mine. He was breathing heavily as his eyes fixated on my mouth. Then, without hesitation, his lips pressed against mine and we moved together effortlessly. I tangled my hands in his hair, pulling him closer, and instinctively, my leg draped over his lap.
“Wait,” he said, pulling away breathlessly, his hands now gripping my hips. “Let’s take this inside.”