Chapter 23
Felix
Motorcycles really are the sexiest thing on the planet. It’s basically a huge, noisy vibrator on wheels. The drivers wear leather, and the passenger has to grip onto that sexy motherfucker, or they’ll go careening off the back.
Whoever invented this thing wanted a vehicle that would turn people on, and that’s exactly what I am as Torren drives down Belmont’s affluent neighborhood to a nearby Italian cafe.
The roads are damp from a recent drizzle, and the street lamps cast a glow on the wet concrete. My body’s pressed against Torren’s muscular back with my hands clasped around his torso, and it’s hard not to swoon.
It’s also hard not to get hard.
Every time my dick swells, I clench my eyes shut and think about my father eating oysters.
A sight that would make anyone’s dick retract.
Torren is driving slowly, and he brought two helmets, which is a sure sign that this little outing was planned.
Or at least something he had in the back of his mind when he infiltrated my father’s fundraiser.
Part of me is still hurt by everything he said in his shop. The temptation to make him work a little harder for this semi-reconciliation is real, but defending me against one of my high school bullies is doing some mighty heavy lifting right now.
What’s a girl to do?
I squeeze Torren tighter with one arm and point to the cafe with the other.
He comes to a stop in front of it and whips off his helmet. “This is…nice.” He says it warily, like he’s waiting for the cafe to sprout claws and scratch him.
Once my helmet is off, I quickly futz with my hair and shrug. “It’s a dessert place. They serve espresso and Italian desserts. You like cannoli?”
“Never had it.”
My gasp is dramatic but justified. “Stop! My ears! Okay, you need cannoli as soon as possible. Let’s go.”
My feet land with a loud clacking noise because of the wooden soles, and it reminds me of my Mother’s heels. I make my way to the entrance and notice Torren is still sitting on his bike, eyeing the restaurant cautiously.
“What is it? You don’t like it?” I ask.
“They won’t let me in there. Look at me.”
I survey his attire. Beneath his leather coat, he wears black slacks, patent-leather shoes, and a black vest over a white button-down shirt.
“What do you mean? You look great!”
Torren rolls his eyes and adjusts his leather jacket. It’s a move I’ve seen before, and I’m starting to realize it happens when he’s in defense mode. “I don’t do fancy shit. You look amazing, and I’m—“ he pauses and looks down at his hands. “Come on. You don’t want to go in there with me.”
I step toward him and rest my hand on his. “Yes, I do.” I remove all traces of doubt in my voice to really drive home how much I’d literally go anywhere with him.
His eyes meet mine, and I swear they’re shimmering, but it could be the street lamps. He cracks a smile and says, “Okay.” He adjusts his jacket once more and plasters on a look of defiance. “It’s coffee. I don’t need a three-piece suit for fucking coffee.”
“Exactly. Plus, you look hot as hell and very classy. Don’t worry so much.”
We walk into the restaurant, and the urge to hold his hand is almost too strong to resist. Torren lights a fire in me with his tough, brooding demeanor, but the glimmers of vulnerability he displays turn me into an absolute puddle on the floor.
The ma?tre d’ greets us like he would anyone else and ushers us to a table. When Torren sits, his eyes survey the room, then quickly look down. “That lady is staring at me.”
I casually glance behind me, pretending like I’m looking at a painting on the wall, and see the woman in question.
She’s drooling at the sight of Torren. Her eyes are practically heart-shaped.
“Yeah, because she wants to rub olive oil over your naked body, then lick it off. I’m surprised you’re not already naked with the way she’s undressing you with her eyes. ”
“That’s not why.”
I look back and see the woman’s dinner guest, very likely her husband, leaving for the restroom. “I’ll bet you whatever you want that if I walk over and say you’d like her number, she’ll give it to me.”
Torren’s eyes narrow, then his lips curl into a naughty smirk. “She’d never do something to mess up her pampered life. Never.”
I hold out my hand to shake on it. “Let’s make a wager, then. If she does, we’re going out on Friday. If she doesn’t then…”
I stop, allowing him to finish. “If she doesn’t, then you need to get your job back at Maggie’s.”
Torren
It was the first thing that came to my mind, and I’m questioning if it was a good idea.
Felix stares at me in shock, his mouth wide open, then flashes a defiant grin and says, “Okay. It’s a bet.”
He gives me his hand to shake, and my yearning to push this table out of the way and pull him closer is dangerous.
So I let go.
He rises to standing and saunters off to the lady who made bug eyes at me when we entered. I watch, waiting for the moment when she makes a scene of outrage.
Felix crouches beside the woman, introduces himself, then whispers in her ear. The tension within me is high. These ladies love putting on a show, so she might even slap him.
Don’t lose it when she does.
Wait a minute.
Is she?
Son of a bitch!
She discreetly pulls a pen and paper from her handbag and quickly scribbles on it. She and Felix share a nod, then he gets up to leave.
The scene before me is unbelievable; Felix is haughtily walking back, waggling his brows, and the lady—I kid you not—is maneuvering her top down ever so slightly to give me a good peek at her cleavage.
The mister returns, and she assumes an air of detached nobility, but shoots me a quick wink when her husband’s not looking.
Felix takes a seat, looking smug as hell, and asks, “So, where are we going on Friday?”
I shake my head before rolling my eyes. “I feel like you knew that would happen.”
“Of course, I did. That’s why I made the bet, and don’t you dare back out!”
“I won’t. Promise.”
Felix smiles, genuine excitement twinkling in his eyes, and it’s hard to ignore the wave of joy I feel knowing I brought out that smile.
It’s crazy sitting this close to him after dying to be near him for so long.
I feel awkward and tongue-tied. He’s the only person who has ever gotten me like this.
We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few beats, Felix lightly drumming his fingers on the table while chewing his lower lip, when he finally breaks the silence and says, “So, you infiltrated my father’s fundraiser. That was…”
His voice trails off, leaving me to fill in the blank with any number of words to describe how unhinged my actions are. All accurate, but unhinged nonetheless. “Go on,” I urge him. “Finish what you were saying. It’s…”
“Surprising,” he replies.
The waiter arrives, interrupting our chat. Felix orders a cannoli for us to split. “Is that okay?” he asks. I nod because I didn’t really come here to eat or drink.
Felix finishes the order with a couple of cappuccinos, and the waiter leaves. I fumble with the bottom of my vest, then loosen my tie, hoping it’ll help relax me.
It doesn’t.
“Torren, look at me.”
His words catch me off guard, and I look up to see those green eyes, looking at me with compassion. It’s the softest I’ve ever seen Felix look, and it makes that ache in my chest almost unbearable, but I take a breath and focus on him. “Sorry. I’m fidgety tonight.”
Felix nods sympathetically, then asks, “Can I ask you a question?”
Oh boy. Whatever’s coming can’t be good. Easy questions never follow prefaces like that. I nod, and he continues. “What is this all about? Like, really about. You came to the press conference, the game, and to my home. I just don’t understand.”
My body goes numb as I gaze at the way the light catches Felix’s cheekbones. It’s hard to maintain eye contact, but it would be cowardly not to. “Are you really okay?” I finally ask.
Felix cocks his head to the side. “Tell me why you’re asking me that. Please.”
The ambient piano music distorts. My chest heaves, and my skin feels hot. “You looked so sad at the press conference, and then I read your interview in the Gazette and—” My voice catches on the lump in my throat. “I just couldn’t stand seeing you like that. It’s my fault, isn’t it?”
Felix reaches for his water and takes a big gulp. “You were part of it.” His finger draws something in the condensation of the glass, and he sighs. “But that wasn’t all of it. My—” Felix closes his eyes and takes a breath. “I’ve been having a really hard time. That’s all.”
The words feel small—like they don’t begin to cover it.
I nod, silently chastising myself for not considering the grief he’s endured sooner. Maybe I would have done things differently if I had. “I’m so sorry about your mom. And I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
Felix sets his glass down and whispers, “Why did you do it?”
My heart’s been pounding since we sat down, but now it’s about to break out of my chest. The words I’m about to utter are so shameful that they make me sick. “I was afraid I’d hurt you again.” It’s the truth, and Felix deserves that.
His hand slowly reaches across the table and rests on mine. “We never talked about that night, but I’m not mad that it happened. I was just upset that you left—shut me out.”
My eyes zero in on his hand resting on the top of mine. He’s so warm, and his skin feels so smooth. I wrap my fingers around his delicate hand, savoring the contact. “I’d do anything to do things differently,” I whisper.
“It’s okay,” he whispers.
My head shakes, because I don’t want or deserve absolution.
“It’s not. I’m so sorry.” I lean closer, inching my hand toward him so he doesn’t have to reach for me across the table.
“Felix, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, but I know I can’t stand seeing the life in your eyes vanish.
I realize that I haven’t been looking him in the eyes, and I meet his gaze to finish what I want to say. “I want to help.”
Felix sighs, then covers his face. I hold his hand tighter and stay silent. My mind races, unsure if I said the wrong thing. A tear falls down his cheek, reminding me of the first time I made him cry in my bedroom, and I start to panic, convinced I botched this up entirely.
Then he says, “You’re the first person to offer that since she died.”
“Help?” I ask.
He nods. “The only help I’ve gotten is really awful medication. Nobody will talk to me—say anything. It’s like it’s all a dirty secret we can’t discuss.”
Medication.
I knew it. My whole body shakes with rage. It’s not right. It’s not fair that he didn’t get any help, but I can do that. I don’t know how, but I’ll try. “I mean it. How can I help?”
The waiter arrives with our cappuccinos and cannoli, and Felix quickly turns away, wiping the tears staining his cheeks. I give the waiter a nod, and he leaves in a hurry.
Felix takes another sip of water and says, “Let’s just have fun on Friday. That would really, really help.”
“I can do that.” I hope.