35. Nice Watch, Run It #2
“Allow me,” he says, breaking the silence.
He holds eye contact as he extends the seatbelt and drags it over me. My body heats under his gaze, and my heart races from the proximity.
I hope he can’t hear that.
The click of the buckle fastening breaks our trance, and he backs up to assess me before shutting the door. He rounds to the driver side and settles in, glances over at me and blows out a deep breath.
He turns on a ’00s pop playlist, and I am convinced he’s doing it to either annoy me or convince me to sing along.
“You can’t get this in an Uber,” he croons.
He proceeds to sing, replacing every word of “Fergalicious” with “Deirdre-licious,” blowing me kisses on every mwah .
I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but he’s sillier tonight. I reach for the volume dial when my hand is swatted away.
“Don’t disrespect The Dutchess like that,” he says in a serious tone.
“Are you serious?” I ask amusedly.
“ Very serious.”
He turns the music up and continues his one-man show. Shimmying and rolling his hips from the driver’s seat, he’s now catching eyes at the stop light.
Kill me now. Please?
I stare down the traffic light, praying for it to turn green, and of course, it’s the longest red light I’ve ever been stuck at.
“Turn green now. Please?” I plead under my breath.
Moments later, the light changes, and he proceeds to tap the steering wheel, singing every millennial pop song that comes on, eventually settling down as we get closer to my place.
He reaches for my hand to hold, and I let him. He remains focused on the road, giving my hand a gentle squeeze every few minutes.
The sight of this man driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other in mine should be illegal for my ovaries.
As I study him with knotted brows, I try to piece together his behavior tonight.
No he didn’t.
“Are you…are you high right now?”
“Do you get nervous?” he asks, tossing a knowing look at me. “I say hell yeah fuc?—”
“Well, there’s my answer,” I say, cutting him off. “From my stash?”
“ Our stash,” he corrects.
He turns onto my street, peering over at me as if he has something to say, but he doesn’t. It isn’t until he pulls up the driveway, stopping outside my garage, that he speaks.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks.
“Yep,” I reply, staring forward, popping the P as yank my hand out of his and cross my arms.
I suppose Dad was onto something about the whole “acting like mom when I’m angry” thing. Her silent treatment and disapproving looks would make a mime break character to apologize.
“What I did back there was impulsive and stupid. I’m sorry I crashed your date and embarrassed you.”
I suppose I have inherited her apology demanding skills.
“I’m listening,” I say in a low voice, avoiding eye contact.
“You were settling for him. He wouldn’t give you what you need. And if I scared him, imagine how he’d react to your family.”
He’s right. A stinging reminder of why I avoid dating now.
“So, what’s the plan? Are you supposed to be velcroed to me forever or is there an expiration date on this?” I ask.
“There doesn’t have to be an expiration on it. That’s up to you.” His words ebb out slowly, like he’s nervous.
“Why would that be up to me?”
“You’re always in control, Deirdre. Even when you think you’re not.”
I turn toward him with an incredulous look that reads, bullshit .
“I have never been in a situation like this, Deirdre. You make me feel so out of control, and I think you know what I mean.”
I know exactly what he means.
“I don’t think rationally when it comes to you, and that scares the shit out of me.
I need my job. My family counts on me to provide, and whatever this is,” he says, gesturing between us, “jeopardizes that. I know the potential outcomes, but I’m willing to risk them if you are.
But if I’m reading this entirely wrong, please stop me before I make an even bigger fool of myself? ”
“Scar, you’re not reading anything wrong.
I think we both have our reasons, but mine grow weaker every day.
I don’t have the best of luck with dating, especially not with men in the life, okay?
” I admit, taking his hand. “When I get involved with people, I put them in danger, and I don’t mean to.
You should know that before you agree to trying this with me. ”
He can still back out, and I wouldn’t even be mad at him.
“I’m going to give you all the power here. Everything you’d need to hurt me, because you should feel safe,” he says, removing his balaclava. Once it’s completely off, I stare at him, not even blinking.
My breath catches in my throat, and I study him closely, taking in every inch of his face. His full beard, dark curls, and the scar through his lip.
It’s the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. This is him.
“Your name,” I blurt. Not a question or a statement, but I need to know it.
“While I don’t mind you calling me Scar, my name is César. My birthday is July thirteenth, and I’m twenty-nine. I’m a finder, and that’s what I meant when I said it’s my job to know things.”
“And what do you know about me?” I tease.
“Everything I could learn without asking.”
“What do you wish you knew?"
“What you taste like," he says with desire in his eyes.
I’m aware I shouldn’t let him get too close, still my hand hovers over his flame in test. Is it possible to both fear and desire someone?
To wonder how far this dance could go? Because I crave him, unmasked and bare. A vulnerability reserved for me only. I’d take it to my grave.
I love my family, but what they don’t know simply won’t hurt them. Our empire was built on secrets. Secrets held in good taste. So, what’s one more?
He leans over the center console, my gaze drops to his full lips, and time halts between us. I match the distance, hovering my lips over his.
“César?”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
And he does. Calloused hands cradle both sides of my face as he devours me. His kisses are delicately rough, hungry, and desperate. He swipes his tongue at my bottom lip, a power struggle I succumb to as I moan into his mouth.
We break away to catch our breath, and the need in his eyes sends a shiver through me.
“I need you, now,” I pant, crawling over the center console to straddle his lap.
He gulps. “Doe, if you let me touch you?—”
“Shh,” I say, cutting him off, guiding his hands to my dripping core.
“Fuuucckk,” he breathes as he palms me through my panties.
I grind into his large hand, and nip at his neck as need courses through me.
I’ve never wanted anything so badly.
“Doe, wait. Our first time will not be in my fucking truck,” he demands, removing his hand to press a button on his sun visor.
My garage door opens behind us, and I shake my head in disbelief. “You have a remote for my garage?”
“ Claro que sí ,” he says with a smug smile, holding me close as he parks and closes the door. He steps out of the truck, holding me in his arms with ease as we walk toward the door. “Remember what you asked for,” he reminds me with a smack on my ass as we enter the house.
Finally, my shadow has stepped into the light, and I’ll do anything to keep him here.