15. Warren
15
WARREN
“Fucking hell, woman!” I yell out as I crumple to my knees, my hands cupping my battered nose.
“It’s not that bad!” Kira says as she drops in front of me, tenderly taking my cheeks into her palms. She might say it’s not that bad, but the tone of her voice is telling me otherwise. That, and the trickle of warm liquid I can feel dripping out of my nose and over my lips. Our ruckus has brought the class to a complete halt. Twenty sets of eyes narrow in on Kira and me. She tilts my face back and forth, eyeing me up while I apply pressure to my nose with my own hands.
“Let me see, please,” she whispers, her voice trembling. When I meet her gaze, the sight of tears rimming the edges of her beautiful grey eyes has my stomach in knots. Dammit, is she going to cry? She didn’t mean to punch me. I know she didn’t mean it. She has to know it, too. What are the odds that I’d sneeze, lowering the boxing mitt at the exact moment Kira would throw a jab so hard it nearly blinded me?
Slowly, I pull my hands away from my face. She takes in a sharp inhale at the sight of me but quickly recovers. With the gentlest of touches, she runs her two fingers over the bridge of my nose.
“It’s not broken. You’ll have a bruise, but it’s not…” Kira’s words trail off as her bottom lip trembles. Fuck, she can’t cry. I can’t take it. If she cries, I’ll cry. I wipe my hand on my shorts to rid it of blood before cupping her cheek. She leans into my touch, the movement so slight I might have missed it if I wasn’t so tuned in to her body language.
“It’s alright, love. It was an accident. I’m sorry for yelling. So, so sorry. I’m a bit of a wuss, and I overreacted. Next time you punch me, I’ll do better. I promise.”
Kira’s cheeks redden, the corners of her lips turning up just a bit. But she won’t look at me. Instead, she studies her palms, tracing a finger over her knuckles. She’d chosen not to wear gloves while we boxed, saying she liked the callouses left behind. She’s got a bit of blood on her middle finger, and when I realize that it’s not mine and her knuckle is bleeding, I don’t think. I simply take her hand and bring the injured finger to my lips, pressing soft kisses to her skin.
“I’m so sorry, Warren. I swear I didn’t mean to– ”
“I know, love. I know. You can’t help that you’re just so strong and powerful. And hey, at least it wasn’t my balls.”
Kira laughs, and it’s the sweetest little sound, soft and warm as it wraps around me like a blanket. She reaches out, swiping her thumb under my nose. It comes back mostly clean, letting me know that the bleeding has stopped.
“You’re going to have a real shiner tomorrow.”
“A battle wound from when I dared to take on the great Kira McKenna.”
“I’m totally going to call you Marcia.”
“Marcia?” I ask, raising a brow and wincing at the motion. Christ, the woman packs a fucking punch with her fists. She raises her hands to her face and squeals.
“Oh, my nose!”
“You little pest,” I say as I laugh at her ridiculous–and accurate–Brady Bunch impression. “On your feet, Rocky. It’s my turn to get a shot or two in.”
After the shadow boxing fiasco, Kira and I decide to cool down by taking the long way through Central Park back to our hotel. I’m self-aware enough to know that Kira is only walking with me because she feels bad about socking me in the nose, but I’m also smart enough to enjoy the bit of extra attention she’s throwing my way.
“I still have questions, you know.”
“You do,” I agree. She never got around to asking me about anything but the fish last night. “And I may have answers.”
“Have you ever been married?”
I let out a low whistle.
“Going right for the big guns, huh?”
“I think it’s a fair question. You are a million years older than me,” she shrugs.
“Twenty years, Kira. And no. I’ve never been married. Got close once, a long time ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. Dianna and I were together for five years. We met after I moved to San Francisco from Los Angeles. She’s a wonderful woman, but there was no spark. We would have had a very quiet, very boring life together. In the end, we’re both lucky to have figured out that quiet and boring isn’t what either of us wanted. She’s married to a guitarist now, currently traveling on tour with him and his band. I went to their wedding. It was lovely.”
“Did you get lucky at Dianna and the guitarist’s wedding?” Kira asks, a smile on her face. But I detect the jealousy hiding beneath her facade.
“In all my millions of years, I’ve only ever gotten lucky at one wedding. ”
Kira hums, reaching overhead to pluck a golden-brown leaf off a low-hanging branch.
“What about kids? Do you want them?”
“I’ve always wanted kids. A bunch of little rugrats running around, creating mayhem. That was another place Dianna and I didn’t quite fit. But I don’t know. Maybe I’m too old for all that now. If it doesn’t happen for me…” I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t have brothers or sisters that will give me nieces and nephews. It’s a lonely thing to think about, so I try not to.”
Kira pauses her steps, looking up at me with something that resembles recognition in her eyes. My stomach coils when I realize I’ve basically just admitted to her that I am a lonely, aging man who’s all but given up on any kind of family in the future–something I’ve never admitted aloud to anyone else. I clear my throat.
“Do you want kids? Or is that something you’re too young to have thought about?” I ask, brushing her arm with my own.
“Unfortunately, I’m a woman with a ticking biological clock. Even if I am two whole decades younger than you, there's no such thing “too young” to think about having kids. And yes, I would like to have at least one. And I’ve always thought about being a surrogate for someone too, if all my parts are in working order. I’d like to pay it forward, give someone their family the way Tía Camila did for my dads.”
Images of Kira holding a perfect little baby with my dark hair and her grey eyes dance before me, and my stomach knots. I shouldn’t be having those thoughts, shouldn’t be picturing her soft, tanned belly round and full because I put a baby inside of her.
“Is it crazy that I’m hungry? That curry was to die for earlier, but I feel like I could pass out right about now.”
I chuckle at Kira’s interruption of my errant racing thoughts, realizing that I’d been holding my breath.
“Not at all,” I say in agreement. “In fact, I have a theory.”
“A theory about hunger?”
“Yes. You know how Disneyworld has those scent pump things? The smellitizers that make the park smell like popcorn and turkey legs to encourage guests to eat more?”
“I’ve heard of that, but I thought it was a rumor. Like how Walt’s body is frozen underneath Cinderella’s castle or whatever.”
“No, it’s true. The smellitizers, not Walt’s cryogenically frozen corpse. That one is still up in the air. But anyway, I have this theory that Central Park also uses smellitizers. They’re in the trees, and they pump out the dirty water hot dog smell that makes your stomach growl. That’s why when you’re walking around the park, all you can think about is hot dogs.”
“Hmm,” she hums, nodding her head. “I can see that. The city probably has some sort of deal with the vendors where they get a kickback for every hot dog sold between Fifth Avenue and Central Park West.”
“Exactly!” I agree, placing my hand on her lower back and leading her across the walkway to one of the aforementioned hot dog stands. Touching her like this is a risk, but to my delight, she doesn’t shy away, even as we approach the silver cart.
“What can I get ya?” The man in the blue baseball cap asks in an accent so thick, for a moment I wonder if we’ve walked into some sort of sitcom set in Brooklyn in the nineties.
“We’ll get two dogs with sauerkraut and brown mustard, thanks.” She orders quickly and the vendor gets to work, slapping hot dogs on to warm buns while I give Kira a quizzical look. Normally, I’m a plain hot dog kind of person, which should come as no surprise. As Kira pointed out last night, I am British, and we’re not known for our fine palettes. If I’m feeling kooky, I might indulge in a bit of ketchup. But typically, the meat and bun satisfy me just fine.
I hand over a twenty-dollar bill for the two hot dogs and a bottle of water, telling the man to keep the change. We find a nearby bench, and Kira has her food halfway to her mouth before her butt hits the cool metal.
I watch in fascination as she bites off half in one go, not just because the phallic-shaped food in her mouth is making me feel like a giddy teenager, but also because she manages not to get a spot of mustard on her lips .
When I notice her arching a brow at me, having caught me staring, I clear my throat and gesture behind her. There’s a plaque on the back of the bench, like many of the benches here in Central Park. But this one’s inscription catches my eye.
“I am much more me when I am with you.” - Unknown.
“I love these plaques. They’re all over the park. Do you think this was a dedication from someone’s lover?” I ask. Kira turns, reading the inscription on the bronze plaque behind her. Her cheeks go pink, but when she turns back to me, she’s already mid-eye roll.
Her poor face is going to get stuck like that if she keeps it up.
“Sit down and eat your street meat, Warren,” she orders. And like the desperate little puppy she’s turned me into, I obey.
“What’s with you ordering my food for me? What if I don’t like mustard and sauerkraut?” I ask as she chews. Honestly, the food smells heavenly, but I’m still curious.
“You’ll like it, trust me. Eat, Warren.”
“Bossy woman,” I mutter as I bring the hot dog to my mouth, the flavors instantly exploding on my tongue. The bite of the mustard coats my taste buds in a delicious, spicy warmth that is well balanced by the sour tang of the sauerkraut. The dog itself is delicious, the bite providing the perfect snap. I can’t help the groan that escapes my lips as I go back for another taste.
“Told you,” Kira says, the smugness in her voice evident. I can’t even be bothered to pester her for it, not when I’ve got to get this delicious sandwich–is a hot dog a sandwich? I’ve got to get this delicious combination of meat, bread and condiments into my stomach as quickly as humanly possible so I can buy another one.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I say around a mouthful. I’m too enamored by the combination of flavors and textures to give a shit that I’m talking with my mouth full. And thank god for that, because my impropriety earns me another one of Kira’s beautiful laughs. The kind where she laughs with her entire body. Mouth open, head thrown back, limbs shaking with the force of her happiness. It’s beautiful and warm, like the first rays of sunlight after a summer storm spreading a glow all around us. It’s melodic and infectious, and I’d bottle it if I could. I can’t take my eyes off her as she comes down from her high.
“You have a beautiful smile, Kira. I feel so lucky whenever you throw one of those smiles my way.”
“I know my smile is beautiful. It happens to be one of the things I love most about my appearance. But you realize I was laughing at you, not with you, right?”
“I’m aware, but beggars can’t be choosers, can they?”
She chuckles again, shaking her head and finishing the rest of her own food in one large bite.
This time, a spot of mustard settles on the corner of her mouth, and I’ve never been happier to see a bit of mess in my entire life. I lean in, brushing my thumb over the dribble, half expecting her to open wide and bite my finger right off. Instead, she shocks the hell out of me when she opens her mouth and sucks the tip of my thumb past her lips, her tongue swirling as she licks up the mustard.
“Fuck,” I whisper, a shiver racing down my spine from the unexpected intimacy. Her eyes shine like silver sparkles as she bats up at me from under long, dark eyelashes. My stomach bottoms out, every inch of my body telling me to lean in further and kiss her. Claim her. Make her mine the way I’ve longed for for months. I trace my thumb over her bottom lip, memorizing the way the soft flesh feels under my touch.
“I’m cold, we should get back,” she says, making no move to stand. Instead, she leans in closer. The scent of her—all lemon and sweetness—invades my senses, making my brain go fuzzy. Need coils in my gut, a thread wrapping around a spool, winding tighter with every turn.
Kira McKenna is temptation and sin. More dangerous than a knife to the throat and hotter than any blazing inferno.
But fuck, what I wouldn’t give for a chance to go down in her flames. Her eyes are dark, glassy, searching, and the sight is intoxicating.
“Kira, darling, you know better than to look at me like that.”
“Like what? ”
“Like you know if you say the word, I’d lay back and let you devour me whole.”
Her breath hitches, the tiny sound humming through my body and filling me to the brim with need.
“Kira,” I say softly, stroking her chin with my fingers. She tilts her head, her lips angled and parted, her eyes blinking closed. I inch forward, a breath away from taking the kiss I’ve dreamt about for months…
“Kiki, is that you?” A voice cuts through the moment. Kira jumps back as though she’s been shocked, and I miss her warmth the moment it’s gone.
“And Warren, too. Look at this cozy little moment I’ve stumbled upon.”
I look up to find Jonathan Graham standing in front of us, a Burberry scarf tucked into his pretentious black peacoat and his arm around the shoulders of a young woman in a purple NYU beanie who doesn’t look a day older than nineteen. I might have thought she could be his daughter if it weren’t for the way she just slipped her hand into his back pocket.
I might be a hypocrite for passing judgement when I’ve been spending the last year lusting after a woman twenty years my junior, but fuck. This girl in Jonathan’s arm looks like just that–a girl. This guy gives me real snakelike vibes, and I can’t say I appreciate his presence.
“I’ve told you a thousand times, my name is Kira.”
“Oh, just as icy as ever, I see. What are you doing in New York? Scoping out the talent scene? Looking to open a new studio?”
“None of your fucking business.”
I flinch, so used to that bite in Kira’s voice being directed at me.
“Lighten up, Kiki. We’re friends, remember? We can still talk shop.” The condescending tone in this asshole’s voice has me clenching my fist at my side.
“Call me Kiki again and see how fast you lose your nuts, Jonathan.” Kira stands, bringing herself toe-to-toe with the man. His young companion steps to the side as he throws his hands up in surrender.
“Miss McKenna,” the girl says cheerfully, clearly unable to read the situation. “My name is Becky, and I am such a huge fan of yours. I’m a Pilates girlie and I have my own YouTube channel, but my following is tiny. Do you have any advice on breaking into the fitness industry? I’d love to have a career just like yours.”
“Yeah, stay the fuck away from assholes like him,” Kira answers, not breaking eye contact with Jonathan.
“Jesus Christ, Kira,” he spits. “Why do you have to act like such a spiteful bitch all the time?”
I’m on my feet before I can think. Black dots cloud my vision as fury rushes through my veins. Shoving a hand between Kira and Jonathan, I grab a fistful of his ugly scarf and yank him towards me.
“What did you just call her?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous. His beady brown eyes flit back and forth between mine, and a drop of sweat forms on his brow. And yet, a creepy, slimy smile forms on his too-thin lips.
“Relax, Warren. You’ve got to watch yourself around this bitch. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how overbearing and controlling Kira can be–”
I cock my fist back, ready to knock this fucker out for even having the nerve to breathe the same air as my Kira. I’ve never hit another person before, but between today’s lesson in boxing and the rage coursing through me, I’m confident I can feed this motherfucker his teeth. The young woman on Jonathan’s side shrieks, ducking out from his hold. Smart girl. But before I can throw the punch, two soft, warm hands are covering my fist.
“Don’t bother, Ren. He’s not worth it,” she says, grumbling as she pulls me away. Kira is strong, but the only reason I let go of Jonathan’s scarf with one last snarl and fall in line behind her as she leads us away is because I’m momentarily stunned.
Ren.
She called me Ren.
Fuck the touches. Fuck the almost kiss and fuck the asshole who thought it was okay to insult this magnetic force of a human being in front of me.
For the first time in months, Kira just called me by the name she’d teased me with that first night. The name she’d breathed out between kisses. The name she moaned as she ground her ecstasy out on my tongue .
I didn’t realize just how badly I needed to hear that again until now.
As if I wasn’t already sure that I was in the deep end with this woman, my reaction to those three little letters tells me everything I need to know.
I dreamily follow Kira back to the hotel in silence, letting her stomp her bratty little feet across the city while I enjoy the view of her ass as I float behind her on a cloud.