8. Ophelia
Ophelia
Claudia stares at me with wide eyes over her Salad Nicoise. “Holy crap, Ophelia. The man is mature, has tattoos, an accent, muscles, no criminal record, and a big penis that still works?” She jabs her fork in my direction. “Honey, you’ve found yourself a unicorn.”
“He is pretty fantastic,” I sigh dreamily. It’s been a week since Antonio spent the night at my house, and since then, we’ve been together three more times. I have to admit, I’m a bit smitten with the man.
My friend nibbles on a blanched green bean. “You’re positively glowing. Does he have a brother?” she asks with a lascivious eyebrow wiggle.
“No, he’s an only child. His mom is dead, but his father is still alive and living in Ireland.”
Claudia’s eyes dart over my shoulder, and her eyes widen. “Red alert. J.P. Jenkins is walking this way.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “Do you think I can get away with hiding beneath the table?”
She winces and lowers her voice. “No can do. He’s spotted you.”
I pile a mound of cranberry chicken salad on a rosemary wheat cracker and stuff it into my mouth as the man approaches. Admittedly, J.P. is nice-looking with his perfectly styled blond hair and big smile, but like I told Phoenix a few weeks ago, the man is dull as dishwater.
“Ophelia, hi,” he says brightly.
Chewing in an overexaggerated manner, I point to my mouth apologetically and give him a little wave, hoping he’ll move on when he sees my mouth is full. But no. I can’t be that lucky. J.P. stands there like a lump on a log, waiting for me to finish chewing.
I cover my mouth with my napkin until I’ve chewed and swallowed the over-large bite. “J.P., so nice to see you,” I say politely, lowering the linen back to my lap and forcing a practiced smile onto my lips.
He places a hand on my shoulder, and I shudder. Not in a good way. Scooting my chair to the side a little, I manage to angle my body and shrug away from his unwelcome touch.
He’s not deterred by my brush-off. “Hey, I’m glad I saw you here today. I was wondering if you wanted to be my date to the charity dinner next month.” His smile is hopeful, while mine falters. How many times is this guy going to ask me out before he finally accepts the word no?
“That’s very nice of you to ask,” I say, “but I already have a date.” It’s a lie, but I know Remi will agree to be my escort.
J.P.’s face falls, but then he rallies like the grand champion of all the delusional men in the world. “That’s okay. As long as you save me a dance.”
Dammit all to hell. I keep my tone as polite as possible, despite talking through gritted teeth.
“Actually, since I’m one of the organizers, I probably won’t have much time for dancing or socializing.
But I appreciate that you’re coming out for the event, J.P.
It’s a very special cause for me.” I pick up my fork and perform my best socially acceptable dismissal with a cheery, “Enjoy your lunch.”
He seems to finally get the hint because he replies, “You too, Ophelia.” And then he’s struck with another bout of obliviousness. “I’ll be thinking of a good song we can dance to together so I can request it with the band. Something romantic, I think.”
And with a wink, he turns and walks away. Claudia and I turn our heads slowly toward each other in bewilderment.
“I swear, that fool is either delulu or a complete creep.” She takes a long swig of her iced tea before plunking the glass onto the table and smacking her lips. “I’m pretty sure it’s the latter. I wouldn’t be surprised if he dresses like his mother and stabs women in the shower.”
I giggle. “Like Norman Bates?”
She nods. “He does own a small chain of hotels.”
Shaking my head with mirth, I signal the server for our check before turning back to my friend. “I think J.P. is just an overeager pest. But I need to call Remi tonight and let him know I need him to be my date.”
***
“Hey, Mom,” my son answers. “What’s up?”
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m sorry to bother you at work, but I have a favor. J.P. Jenkins asked me to the Beverly’s Hope charity dinner, and I really don’t want to go with him, so I told him I have a date already. Would you like to be my date?”
I hear the creak of leather, as if he sat up suddenly. “Is he bothering you?” he asks sharply.
“No, no,” I assure him. “He’s just persistent and caught me off guard while I was having lunch.”
Remi’s voice seems to relax. “I’m taking Serena with me, but you’re welcome to go with us.”
My shoulders sink. “Oh, that’s right. I should have remembered since I approved the seating chart, but that was weeks ago.” I worry my bottom lip. “It’s all right. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.”
“No, really, Mom. You know it’s not like a real date with Serena. She just loves any chance to dress up, so I usually add her as my plus one to events.”
Serena has been Remington’s friend since they were little kids. As far as I know, it’s only a friendly relationship, though I get the distinct feeling Serena would like it to be more.
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“We’ll pick you up at 6:30, if that’s okay.
Oh, you know what? I did buy a ticket for Antonio too, remember?
” My heart flutters at the mention of his name, and I think I make a noise that resembles the word yes before Remi continues.
“He loves the New York strip at The Heights Hotel, and it’s for a good cause, so I asked if he wanted to attend. ”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember,” I muse. “I put him at our family table.”
I hadn’t thought a thing about it when I went over the seating chart because I wasn’t freaking sleeping with the burly man at that time.
“Great. Just have him seated beside you. That will keep the numbers even too since the rest of the family will be paired off.”
“I, um, okay,” I agree, feeling a little flustered at the thought of sitting beside Antonio for a real date. Or is it a fake date? A real fake date?
Hell, I have no idea, but the thought of Antonio Walsh in a tuxedo makes certain parts of my anatomy pulse.
***
My thoughts did absolutely no justice to reality.
After I’d spoken to Remi, he’d immediately called Antonio and asked him to “keep an eye on me” at the dinner. Antonio, in turn, had called me and informed me in his growly accented voice that he’d been keeping more than just his eye on me that evening.
Then we had phone sex, a first for me. Let’s just say I’m a fan, though the real thing is always better.
And now, a month later, the real thing is standing on my doorstep looking like a beast in formal wear. His hair is slicked back more than usual, he seems to have trimmed his beard, and the tux fits his huge frame like a glove, obviously custom made.
“Hi,” I say, sounding like a breathless teen on prom night because dear god, he is so ruggedly handsome.
Antonio sounds just as enamored when his eyes drop down my floor-length, fitted black dress.
“Hello, yourself, my beautiful lady.”
I have to stiffen my knees to keep from swooning to the floor. “You brought me flowers for our fake date?”
He leans in to kiss my cheek, and I inhale the woodsy scent of his aftershave mixed with the light floral notes of the pink orchids. “No, darlin’. I brought you flowers for our real date that your son thinks is a fake date.”
His beard brushes my ear, and I contemplate skipping the entire dinner and simply devouring Antonio all night. And I probably would if this cause wasn’t so important to me.
Antonio seems to mirror my thoughts because he whispers, “You’re lucky you’re still dressed right now, Ophelia. If you knew the things I was thinking of doing to you, you’d probably run and hide in the closet.”
“Would you come find me?” I tease, and his dark chuckle warms the flesh of my neck.
“You know I would. And you know what I’d do to you when I found you.”
An electric shiver of desire runs down my spine when Antonio slides a hand around and gives my ass a light slap.
“Maybe we should play a game of sexy hide-and-seek,” I suggest.
He pulls back and grins. “I think that could be fun. What do I get when I find you?”
“If you find me,” I retort, and the slow grin that creeps across his face is wickedly delicious.
“When. And I think I should get to fuck your tight little arse, love. Would you let me do that?”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I think about it.
Antonio and I had done a lot of sexual things since we first started this little…
whatever it is we’re doing. But anal is something we haven’t tried yet, mostly because I like my rectum intact.
He’s played with me back there, often fingering my ass while we’re fucking, and I’d been surprised at how much I liked it.
I’m not an anal virgin, but it’s never been something I looked forward to.
But now…
“I would,” I confirm, and I feel him harden against my stomach.
“Great,” he says, looking down at the large bulge in his tuxedo pants. “Now I’m going to be sporting an erection at a formal event.”
I pat his chest and take a step back. “I’m sure everyone will be very impressed, honey.”
***
“Thank you for picking me up,” I say. “How did you manage that with Remi?”
Antonio turns on the blinker of his vintage red Camaro to merge onto the freeway. “I told him I take safety seriously—not just his, but his family’s as well—and I thought it would look better for the ruse if we arrived together.” His amused eyes flick to me on the word “ruse.”
“Good plan, though there’s nothing unsafe about J.P. He’s simply persistent, and I was trying to avoid being rude when he asked me out. Again.”
My date’s eyebrows lower over his green eyes. “How many times has he asked you out?”
“Mmm,” I hum, thinking about it. “Probably ten or twelve times over the past two years.”
He snorts. “That’s not persistent, love. That’s an arsehole who doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“I guess I should be more firm with him instead of making excuses,” I muse. “But it’s hard for me to be unkind to someone who hasn’t actually done anything wrong.”
“I’d be happy to be unkind on your behalf,” he grumbles.