6. Ariella
SIX
ARIELLA
WE WANT MEN VOCAL IN BED…AND QUIET EVERYWHERE ELSE
This guy was full of surprises, and I couldn’t quite get a read on him. He was polite and respectful—hell, I could still feel the heat of his hand on my lower back from when he’d moved me away from the edge of the sidewalk as we walked up to my favorite place. I was pretty sure he hadn’t even thought about it…being a gentleman came naturally to him.
Now we were seated at a table at what had quickly become my favorite restaurant in Dallas, and Dalton leaned in, his elbows resting on the table. “So, what’s the ‘usual’ that you’re feeding me?” He looked at me with more trust than anyone I’d only known a few hours should.
“We’re getting a night-out essential… chilaquiles,” I announced with both hands raised. It earned me a chuckle from him, and for some reason, it made my heart feel lighter.
He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, giving me his undivided attention. But not in a way that was suffocating, just…present.
Like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment.
God, it was unsettling how much I liked his attention. Of course I would find a man who didn’t instantly piss me off at this critical time in my life and career.
I shook the thoughts away, focusing back on our conversation. One night—I was allowed one night to set my carefully curated plan aside and enjoy living before it was back to the grind of my goals.
“Most people think chilaquiles are a morning-after-drinking meal. But that’s where they’re wrong.” I leaned closer, lowering my voice like I was sharing a secret. “You eat them the same night you drink, so they can soak up all the alcohol. Prevents the hangover—sometimes. Not that it matters…they’re delicious either way.” His deep laugh rolled through the space between us.
Right at that moment, the server came over, and Dalton’s expression was downright comical, like a starved man who hadn’t eaten in days.
“Based on how you’re looking at that plate, I’m guessing you’re happy with my choice,” I teased, grinning as he stared down at the food. “Okay, so chilaquiles are fried tortilla strips—sometimes people use chips—smothered in salsa de tomatillo, then topped with onions, cilantro, cotija cheese, créma, and—this is the best part—two fried eggs, over easy.” I grabbed my fork and sliced into one of the eggs, the yolk breaking and oozing across the plate. “If the yolk isn’t runny, you’re not doing it right,” I added, my eyes flicking up to catch his reaction as he mimicked my move.
He took a bite, chewing slowly. Then his head tilted back slightly, and a deep, guttural, “Holy shit,” slipped out around his mouthful.
I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing. “You always that loud, Dalt?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.
He froze for a second and I could see the mischief brewing behind those green eyes of his. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a deep rumble that had my pulse jumping.
“Sometimes, you gotta let a woman know what a great job she did.”
I choked on my bite, coughing as I tried to refill my lungs with air. He gave me that cocky, lopsided grin, clearly enjoying himself.
“Not great at swallowing, Ari?”
I knew that under the polite cowboy’s outer shell laid something…else.
Now all I could picture was his…nope, not going there.
Clearly not waiting for an answer, Dalton tore through his chilaquiles. “Okay, no last names, no job titles, no phone numbers, no addresses. What can I know about you?” he asked, shoveling in another bite of his food.
“Oh, come on, there are plenty of other things to share besides those four.” I rolled my eyes. “Like all the random little shit you don’t tell anyone else. Here, I’ll start. I love Topo Chico, specifically the lime ones, but those things are so expensive now I never get them.”
“Uh, what’s Topo Chico? ”
My mouth dropped open at the comment, a scoff falling out at the same time. There was no way I could, in good conscience, let us end the night without him trying one, even if it was going to cost me four damn dollars, or whatever the going rate was for them. Without another word, I slipped from the table.
“Topo Chico.” I took a giant gulp before sitting back down and sliding it across the table, waiting for his reaction. He took a drink without hesitation.
Holy shit, I need sleep.
I’d never given a second thought to sharing a drink with someone, ever. Coming from a family as large as mine, food and eating was a communal experience—we all shared everything. But there was something about watching his lips wrap around the same bottle mine had just been on that had me shifting in my seat. Suddenly, I wanted my drink back to see if it tasted like him…
You don’t need sleep. Jesús Cristo, that’s what you need.
He coughed, a giant hand covering his mouth, before giving me a weak smile. “So…spicy water?”
“You hate it,” I laughed, pulling it back to my side.
“I don’t hate it, but I’d never willingly choose that to drink.”
He was so much sweeter than my brother or cousins would ever have been. The crisp bubbles ticked my nose as I watched the way Dalton watched me. At the sports bar, he’d been tense, shoulders practically in his ears, back rigid. But here, where it was just the two of us, he was relaxed. His strong legs were spread out over on my side. The heat radiating off them was a constant temptation to bump against them with my own.
“Your turn,” I rushed out, taking another bite, in desperate need of something else to focus on.
“Hmm,” he mused, finishing off the last of his food. He probably would have licked the plate if I wasn’t sitting across from him. The mental picture had a smile stretching across my face.
“My favorite candy is those chewy orange and yellow rings covered in sugar, but they have to be the off-brand from the gas station. They taste better.” His smile was so different from the one he’d given earlier, and I couldn’t help but think I was receiving information he rarely gave out.
“The only candy I like I don’t think you’d classify as candy, because they’re all spicy.”
He balked before quickly covering up the reaction. “Spicy candy? How is that even candy, then?”
God, he was adorable.
“Wait ’til I tell you I put hot sauce on my popcorn and lime on my fruit,” I said, leaning forward and lowering my voice like I was letting him in on a secret. Really, I just wanted to be closer to him since our impromptu one-time date was coming to an end.
Our time was slipping away, and the thought of the night ending felt like a knot in my chest.
This must have been what Cinderella felt as the clock approached twelve—as if reality loomed at the edges of the fantasy, threatening to steal her from the bubble of temporary freedom. Maybe that’s why I let the next sentence tumble out. I wanted to experience the freedom of that moment.
“I start a new job next week, and I’m so nervous.”
I hadn’t admitted that to anyone. Not even my family…especially not my family. Maybe it was easier with Dalton because I wouldn’t see him again, or maybe it was because I sensed that he wouldn’t judge or make me feel small. “It’s not that I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m confident I can do my job, it’s just that…”
“Just what?” he asked, our foreheads nearly touching, his green eyes steady on mine as he pulled my hand from where I subconsciously picked at my callouses. “You’re going to make them bleed,” he said gently, brushing his thumb over the rough skin. “Go on, tell me what you’re worried about so I can help alleviate those worries.”
Heat pooled low in my stomach.
Indecision churned inside me. Each thought colliding with the next.
Letting anyone in on my insecurities felt like a cardinal sin, like admitting defeat. I’d always handled things on my own. Had to. Seeking help usually carried the same shame as failure. It meant I wasn’t strong enough. That I couldn’t carry the weight I was meant to shoulder. But for one night, with someone I’d never see again…maybe I could let the wall fall.
It didn’t mean I couldn’t handle life on my own.
“Pinky promise you’re not gonna tell anyone?” I asked, holding out my smallest finger. My heart lurched when he wrapped his around mine, the sensation far more intimate than it should have been.
“Pinky,” he said, low and sincere .
I took a breath, heart hammering as I unloaded some of my worries. “It’s in a field that’s not known for having women, and there are going to be a lot of men. I don’t want them to think I don’t know what I’m doing. I have to keep this job. I worked too hard for too long to get out of my ho—to get here.”
Dalton’s whole body went still, but he didn’t interrupt or try to offer a quick fix—he just let me talk.
“And my family…” I trailed off, chewing on the thought. “They already don’t think this is a good career path. They keep waiting for me to realize it won’t work out.” My throat tightened. Saying it out loud made it feel so much heavier. They wanted me to settle down and start a family, to find a good Catholic Latino who would take care of me and the babies I gave him, like my mom and all my tías .
But the thought of giving up on everything I wanted felt like drowning on dry land.
Dalton brushed his thumb across my callouses. The caress was like a pressure release valve, allowing the weight on my chest to lessen. “I get that. But I think it’s a sign you’ll do a kick-ass job.”
He gave me a lopsided grin, but I saw the flicker of something darker in his eyes—something heavy. “I still get nervous in my profession. Constantly going over everything I did right or wrong and where I can improve. Hell, I get the added bonus of working for my dad, which…” He glanced away, his jaw tightening for just a moment. “Let’s just say it takes a lot to make him proud."
Dalton let out a humorless laugh, staring down at our joined hands with an intensity that told me he was mentally somewhere else. “I’m not entirely sure I ever have…” he said, so quietly I would have missed it if I weren’t so wrapped up in him.
The comment made me frown.
My parents didn’t get what I did for work, but I’d never thought of them as not being proud of me. It was more like they were proud I was trying, but waiting for me to realize it wasn’t going to work out the way I’d always thought. And outside of that, there were plenty of things my parents had been proud of me for. Surely he couldn’t mean his father had never been proud of him.
I didn’t get to ask because Dalton lifted his head, throwing on one of the curated smiles he’d had on at the sports bar, and that told me all I needed to know. We were moving on from the subject.
"Those nerves mean this matters, Ari. You’re gonna prove to them—and yourself—that you belong. Give ’em hell."
Dalton stood, tossing a few bills on the table despite my protests. “Don’t argue,” he said, that soft, confident grin slipping back into place. “It’s already done.”
I rolled my eyes. Already done my ass .
From my purse, I grabbed enough cash to cover my plate and overpriced spicy water, adding it to the pile. The rest could be the tip, a thank you for dealing with us at this hour. Dalton shook his head but didn’t look surprised—smart man didn’t argue either.
We walked out beside each other in comfortable silence, the muggy night air hugging my skin. For a moment, we stood on the curb under a flickering streetlight, both knowing what was coming but neither willing to address it.
“This one’s yours,” he said softly, nodding toward the RideOrder that had pulled up.
Neither of us moved.
My chest tightened. It was supposed to be easy—a clean break—one night to step out of my comfort zone, no strings attached. But the thought of not seeing him again scraped against something raw inside me, and I wasn’t ready for how much it stung.
“I had a really good night, Dalton,” I whispered, more to myself than him.
His smile softened, the sheepish grin back. “Me too, Ari.” His voice was quiet, but there was something in the way he said it that made my heart stumble. “A lot better than I expected, if I’m being honest.”
Maybe I should just hop in the car and run away, lessen the blow of goodbye…
Ariella. When did you become a whiny bitch? Take what you want, and enjoy your one night.
It’s not like I’ll see him again.
He tilted his head, eyes glinting under the streetlight. “What’s that look for?”
“I was just thinking of something that would make the night perfect instead of just good,” I answered, the electric tension humming between us.
I wasn’t sure who moved first, but Dalton’s hand slid along my jaw, his fingers brushing just below my ear. It was like I forgot how to breathe for a second. His touch was warm and steady .
The regret I halfway expected to feel was noticeably absent. I wanted this.
He closed the distance. The kiss started soft, like he was testing if this was okay. His lips were warm and smooth, with a hint of hesitation as he waited for my reaction. Waited for my lead.
That realization made the kiss better.
There was no rush, no demand—just patience.
I pressed in a little deeper. The scratch of stubble against my skin had me sighing in pleasure. His lips curved into a smile against mine at my reaction.
God, that stupid smile.
His hand shifted, thumb brushing my cheekbone in a way that sent a maelstrom of shocks down my spine. The kiss was unhurried, as if we were both savoring something we knew might never happen again. When we finally pulled back, I swallowed, keenly aware of the tension crackling between us and the temptation to dive back in.
“That,” I said, my voice a little breathless, “wasn’t bad.”
He chuckled, the low sound curling around me. “Not bad, huh? That’s all I get? Because if I remember correctly, you practically purred.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late,” he whispered, brushing one last kiss to the corner of my mouth, light and teasing.
My heart did this weird little flip, and I had to bite my lip to avoid smiling too much. Even without the kiss, tonight would linger in my thoughts.
Maybe not everything needed to be so rigid in my life. Maybe there was room for spontaneity .
I slid into the backseat of the RideOrder, my heart doing another weird flip I wasn’t used to as I looked up at Dalton.
“I’ll see you around, Ari,” he said, though we both knew it was a lie.
“Yeah,” I whispered, unable to bring myself to correct him.
The soft click of the door sounded too loud in my ears. Too final. The driver pulled away, and I used every ounce of discipline not to look back one final time.