5
NICO
Me: Yo Diva! I need advice. To velvet or not velvet?image attached
Saint: Bro. Why didn’t you ask me?
Me: Because you think cowboy boots go with everything. This is a classy event. I can’t wear my dusty Lucchese’s.
Saint: You have Lucchese’s? Dude. Those are like a grand.
Me: Yeah. And I live in Texas. I have to fit in.
Saint: Poser. By the way, velvet for sure.
Me: Fuck off. Where the hell is Diva? He’s been awfully quiet lately.
Saint: Guess he thinks he’s better than us because he’s in NYC.
Me: Who’s the poser, now? C’mon Soba. Are you gonna leave us hanging? Not cool, bro.
W e pull up to a high rise building in the heart of downtown Houston, and my eyes travel up the steel and concrete structure. The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky, and the pink and orange rays cast a kaleidoscope of colors against the tinted windows.
The driver pulls the sleek, black Mercedes up to the entrance, and a valet rushes to the car. Seems like cleaning up peoples fucked up lives pays well. This place has got to cost a grip. More than my rookie contract can pay for.
I’m not getting peanuts, but I highly doubt I could afford a swanky place like this. I’ve got a couple more years to go before I can really ball out.
The door swings open and I step out, straightening my jacket and squaring my shoulders.
“Good evening, sir. How may I help you?” The valet takes one step back and tucks his hands behind his back, waiting for my answer.
“Good evening. I’m here for Valentina San Ramón.”
His bright smile is immediate and for some reason it really bothers me. “Ms. San Ramón. Yes. I will buzz her. You are welcome to wait in our guest lobby.”
I dip my chin and thank him, then strut into the lobby.
People are milling about and they all stop to stare at me.
It only takes a couple of minutes for a few people to recognize who I am.
I shake some hands, sign some autographs and take some pics with my prize-winning smile that I’m sure to see floating around on social media later.
Definitely some good press. I’ll be sure to point them out to Coach and Monty (I’ve decided that if Valentina can call him Monty, so can I).
I’m shaking hands with one guy who can’t quit talking about my college games when I see a flash of gold from the corner of my eye. Slowly, I turn to face whomever is headed my way and I’m stunned speechless.
Violins play, angels sing, and a spotlight shines down on the beauty walking towards me. Or at least, that’s what it feels like because I honestly think I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Valentina sashays across the lobby like a supermodel walking the runway.
She’s poured into a gold strapless gown that shimmers when it catches the light, and the fabric flows to the floor like a waterfall.
Her toned and tanned leg sparkles as it steps through the high slit, and I fold my hands in front of me to hide my growing admiration.
I can’t take my eyes off of her. She’s like a mirage to a man dying of thirst in the desert. She can’t possibly be real, yet she is.
My feet finally break free from the concrete blocks they seem to be stuck in, and I meet her halfway.
I want to reach out and run my hand over her sleek black hair.
It looks wet and slick, pushed back behind her ears and giving way for the real star of the show; her eyes.
Hercat-like orbs are lined in black and I feel like she could devour me with just one look.
“Wow. You look…” I shake my head, still unbelieving that I’m in the presence of such beauty. “Stunning.”
I take her hand in mine and kiss the back of it. A warm smile graces her face with lips the color of dusty pink petals.
“Thank you. Already playing the gentleman.” Her tone is coy and it’s quite a change from the usual harshness I’m met with. “You look very handsome this evening, Mr. Loving.”
With her hand still in mine, I smooth the lines of my black jacket.
I went with a simple yet classic black suit, but the tailor insisted I needed something to set me apart from the others, so he added a black tie with an ornate gold design.
Now I know why he insisted on gold. I added my own black velvety loafers with gold studs because I’m not your average loafer wearing guy.
Side by side, we look like a perfectly paired and styled couple.
“Ready?” I ask, holding out my elbow for her.
Her hand slips into the crook of my arm and I breathe deep.
It’s the simplest of touches, but my body ignites and images flash behind my eyes.
Never have I reacted so intensely to a woman that wasn’t all about sex.
This is sensuality. Not at all like the girls who wear short skirts with their tits popping out of their tops.
I see now that those are girls. The kind my mom said were only to be played with in youth. Valentina San Ramón is a woman. Classy, elegant, and one that some lucky man will have the pleasure of calling his someday.
But that’s not me. I couldn’t possibly measure up to a woman like her.
I escort us out of the lobby to the waiting car and wave off the chauffeur, opening the door and holding Valentina’s hand myself. Tucking the cascading skirt into the car, I slide in next to her and close the door, encapsulating us in tight quarters.
Her scent envelops me, infusing my senses with a smoky richness. It’s musky yet feminine and clean. Like a spring evening spent among the trees. Leaning in a touch, I inhale and close my eyes, soaking up something I hope to never forget.
“Did you just smell me?” I open my eyes to find I’m much closer than I planned, and not at all discreet.
I clear my throat and move back. “Yes?” I dare a peek at her to see her amused face.
“I will take that as a compliment,” she chuckles.
“You should. You smell amazing.”
“Thank you. It’s Not A Perfume .”
“What? You mean that’s just your scent?” As if she wasn’t perfect enough, God gifted her with the natural aroma of bliss.
I wonder what she tastes like.
“No, silly. That’s the name of the perfume. Not A Perfume .”
I knit my brows together, not sure if I understand, but I decide not to pay it any mind.
“Would you like some music, ma’am?” The chauffeur asks, watching us through the rearview mirror.
“Ladies choice.” I wink, something that usually sends women into a full body blush, but she only rolls her eyes.
“Anything you want. Just make it classic rock.” I examine her like she’s a new species of insect.
“A woman after my own heart. Absolutely. Which song?”
“Surprise me,” she throws back at him with a smile. “What?” She asks, noticing I’m still staring at her like a science experiment.
“Nothing. I just didn’t expect you to say something like that,” I admit.
With her hands crossed over her chest and narrowed eyes, she replies, “And just what did you expect?”
“I dunno. Some pop music. Taylor Swift or whatever.”
Her head flings back and the look on her face is one you may have after tasting something rancid.
“Seriously? Do I look like a woman who would listen to that type of music?”
Young Americans filters through the speakers and her body immediately begins to sway. I don’t even think she’s aware she’s doing it. It’s just a natural reaction to good music.
“Now that you mention it, you seem more of a rage rock type person.” Her jaw hardens as does the expression on her face. “See. You need to let all of that anger out somehow.” I smile and add, “My parents are big grungies and classic rock fans. I grew up listening to all of it.”
With a crooked grin and a sparkle in her eyes, she volleys back. “I like mom and dad already.”
“Oh yeah? Does that mean it’s time for you to meet them?” I casually throw my arms over the back of the seat and relax, feeling more at ease.
“Not a chance, lover boy. That’s reserved for whatever girl I can find who’s willing to be a part of this charade.”
My face falls, slightly disappointed that she is still insisting on finding another “contestant” for the game that will play out for the world to witness.
“Speaking of. I think I found a couple of women who may fit the bill.” She flips open her small purse, but I lay my hand on it.
“Can we not talk about that tonight? I just want one evening before the madness resumes.”
I look into her beautiful eyes, begging her to please let business take a back seat tonight. At least business where I’m concerned. She concedes and I remove my hand.
The rest of the drive is quiet except for the soundtrack that changes from one classic to another. All the while, her foot taps and I watch the way the dress falls open, revealing a pair of stems that she must have stolen from a statue of a goddess.
When we pull up to the stadium, I move quickly to open her door and cameras begin to flash. The local media is all present, ready to capture the rich and famous as we walk the red carpet.
I thank our driver and he passes me a card with his number to call when we’re ready to leave.
As he drives off, I can see the uneasiness on Valentina’s face. I didn’t take into account that this may be something she is not accustomed to. Whereas I have had plenty of time to acquaint myself with the media, good and bad.
I tuck her hand in my elbow and caress the back of it.
“Just smile and look beyond the flashes. Focus your eyes behind the photographers and I’ll guide you.” I give her pointers, hoping to quell nerves.
She straightens her spine, nods her head, and plasters on a winning smile that will have everyone wondering who’s that woman ?
My name is shouted from all directions and the rapid succession of camera shutters sound all around. Valentina’s hand squeezes my bicep and without flinching, I take it in mine and pull her close. She continues to smile as we move down the line until we make it safely behind the large glass doors.
I see her shoulders sag with relief as she exhales.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Her long fingers run across her shiny hair, and her face morphs back into professional mode.
“Yes. I’m fine. I’ve never experienced anything like that and it can be quite overwhelming.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I tell her, pulling her along through the corridor. “Now that you are part of the Drillers family, I’m sure Mr. Montgomery will think of every reason to have you in the limelight. You’ve made quite the impression on him.”
We step up to the elevator bank and men in tuxedos wait, holding trays of champagne glasses. They pass each of us one and the doors slide open, allowing us to step inside. Surprisingly, no one else joins us and it gives me more time to soak in the few minutes left I have with only her.
“Well Monty is a wonderful man. I look forward to helping him in the future. Hopefully not with you. My plan is to cure you of your philandering ways and never look back. No offense,” she adds.
I bring the glass to my lips, the bubbles of the champagne tickling my nose, and watch her over the rim. Her gaze holds mine, intense and somewhat challenging, like she’s daring me to prove her otherwise.
“So tell me, Valentina. Is there a special man in your life? One that you like to bring misery and pain to, or is that reserved for me?”
She tries to hide it, but I see that way she smirks behind her glass and her cheeks blush. God she’s beautiful when that stick up her ass is out.
“The misery and pain is all for you, buddy. And not that it’s any of your business, but I do not have a significant other.
I really don’t have the time for a boyfriend.
They’re like houseplants. They want attention and sun and food and more care than I can give at the moment.
I can’t even keep a fake plant alive. Better to not bring one home than stick it on your window sill to watch it wither and die. Or, in the case of most men, cheat.”
“Ouch. That’s harsh. Not all men cheat.” This woman must have been burned bad.
I feel sorry for the schlump that had to deal with whatever wrath she rained down on him.
“Oh yeah. And you? Have you been faithful to every girlfriend you’ve had?” She crosses her arms over her chest, carefully balancing her glass in one hand and her purse in the other.
“No, as a matter of fact, I haven’t. Mostly because I’ve never had a girlfriend.” Her jaw falls open and I imagine how she’d look like that on her knees.
“What? Are you kid–” The elevator dings as we arrive on our floor and it allows me to escape her questioning. “We’ll talk about this later.”
She steps forward and I offer her my arm, leaning in until my lips brush the shell of her ear. “There’s going to be a later?”
With an arch of her brow and a saucy smile, she throws back the last of her champagne and places it on an empty tray that a waiter holds as she steps out of the elevator.
I’m rooted to my spot inside the lift. The way she sways her hips is hypnotizing.
Every head turns to watch her beauty emerge, and with her gold dress she’s an absolute vision.
“Nico?” My name is called and I blink out of my haze to see Valentina staring right at me. “Are you coming?”
I do the same with my drink and step forward, taking her hand in mine and pulling her close. “So ready.”
I’m ready for you, Valentina San Ramón. Ready for it all.