Chapter 4
YASMINE
This is so unlike me.
I don’t trust easily, and I sure as hell don’t ask complete strangers to help me with my fear of flying, or ask them to send me dick pics, or kiss them.
It doesn’t matter that it was on his wrist. Still, I did it.
Gah.
Who am I right now?
I’m blaming the adrenaline, the anxiety, and my fear of flying. Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.
Oh, man, who am I kidding? I wanted to do it.
I could blame the tattoos, or how irresistibly sexy he is, dangerously so, for skewing my sense of reality and normality, but that would be another lie I tell myself.
Because it has nothing to do with his tattoos, although they have helped; it’s his kindness and steady patience.
Softly spoken too, yet solid, and there’s a raspiness to his voice that made goosebumps cascade down my spine.
When I couldn’t breathe, he became my strength, and when I panicked, he became my anchor. I imagine a storm raging around him, and still, he would be calm enough to shelter and protect someone else.
Not once did he make me feel broken, only safe.
Where the hell did he come from?
And why do I suddenly want him to invade every part of my life?
Having disembarked the aircraft with Cole as quickly as possible in silence and then retrieved Cole’s suitcase from baggage claim, we are now walking together side by side, not saying anything, as if trying to figure each other out, catching each other’s attention every now and then with quick glances before looking away again faster than a heartbeat skipping.
It’s as if our eyes are magnetized to each other; the pull is much too strong to pull apart even if we tried. And I’m trying, believe me, but I can’t stop myself from checking him out every few seconds.
And the tension between us? It’s practically taking on a life of its own as it bounces between us as we move through the terminal, arms brushing, hands briefly touching.
Cole wheels his suitcase behind him, the wheels whirring across the smooth airport floor as the last of today’s blazing San Francisco sun beats through the glass.
In the sultry light, he’s even more handsome, and I’m thinking thoughts I shouldn’t, like asking him to forget his no-fucking-in-bathrooms policy and join me in one right this hot minute so he can fuck me senseless.
It’s been so long since I’ve had sex that it’s the only explanation for how feral I feel for him. I feel wild and unhinged. Completely shook.
He’s killing me with that look and his dominance. And boy, is he tall. Six-four, six-five more like, I think. I’d happily scale that man without hesitation.
Whatever happens between us, I’m not surviving this, and I’m in serious trouble.
He looks like trouble.
He looks fucking hot.
“I’m parked in the SF valet parking lot.” I point to the sign.
“Me too.”
Which means we are going in the same direction, and we need to take the AirTrain to get there first.
I ask him something I never thought to ask before as we walk toward the AirTrain. “Do you live in San Francisco?”
He answers, then asks the same question. “I do, and you?”
“Yeah. With my mom. She isn’t in the best health.
” I’m about to launch an app I designed that will pay for all of her medical bills.
To hell with asking my father for help, I don’t need a man to save us.
I’ve spent three years working on it, and I know my app is like nothing else on the market.
It’s going to transform my life and my mom’s.
I can feel it. “She’s type 1 diabetic,” I add for clarity.
She’s had nothing but complications with her eyesight for the last year, and more recently, she’s developed issues with the arteries in her heart, which the doctors are hoping to fix with a stent.
That procedure alone will cost several thousand dollars, even with insurance.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mina.”
I want to correct him and tell him to call me Yasmine, but I don’t, because it might sound like I was hiding who I really am, even though it was just a slip of the tongue earlier.
Maybe part of me didn’t want a stranger to know my full name, as it gave him too much power or something equally stupid; my brain was overthinking before, or not thinking at all.
It’s stupid, really, but I kind of like how my nickname sounds in his voice; soft and personal.
Within minutes, we’re on the AirTrain and off it again, arriving at the hotel where valet parking is located.
Cole places his hand on my lower back to usher me off the train and through doorways. Always just one step ahead, he’s ever the gentleman, opening every door for me.
There’s silence, yet there’s not even a hint of awkwardness between us. It’s comfortable, even enjoyable. Easy. I can see myself sitting on my porch with him, reading together on a lazy Sunday, simply enjoying each other’s company.
It’s odd how secure he makes me feel, as if I already know him on some level. He seems familiar in a way that makes my chest ache, which is terrifying since I barely know him. I shouldn’t be so attracted to someone I just met, but I am.
That’s what scares me: how natural this all feels.
“Our cars should be waiting for us,” Cole says, breaking our peaceful stillness as we arrive at the valet parking, and sure enough, my custom 1967 Pontiac Firebird in black is sitting waiting to welcome me home.
Cole lets out an appreciative, awe-filled whistle, a gentle, rising-and-falling pitch, as he spots it and pushes the handle of his suitcase down to store it away. “Fuck me, that’s a nice car.” He looks left and right around the parking lot, as if trying to figure out whose it is.
“It’s mine.” My cheeks fill with heat, a mix of pride and embarrassment. That admiring-my-car whistle he made only quickens my pulse. I like how impressed he is.
He lifts his hands out to his sides and throws his head back laughing. “Of course it is. Fuck, where have you been hiding all my life?”
“San Francisco.” Where I’ve been since birth.
“You like my car?” I already know he does, but it does something to my ego knowing that he thinks it’s a nice car.
“I love your car. Holy shit, is it custom?” he gasps, taking in every inch of Clyde. It’s what my grandfather named it, and it’s just sort of stuck.
“Yeah. It was a gift from my grandfather when he passed away.”
“He had great taste in cars.”
“He had great taste in everything.” Not long after my parents divorced, my papa slipped off in his sleep. I still miss him.
“You keep it clean,” Cole states, appreciating my dedication.
It’s my pride and joy. “I like detailing, and it’s become a hobby of mine on the weekends.
” I’ve never told anyone how much I love cleaning my car.
I have hundreds of sponges, cleaning cloths, brushes, and polishes, waxes, and shampoos.
“I find it meditative, like a way of switching off.” It brings me hours of pleasure.
But not in the same way I get from my vibrator.
No, those two things are very different.
A valet appears, asks for my code to fetch my keys, then turns to Cole, smirking, and doesn’t ask for his name, as if he already knows him. “One minute, sir.”
“Thank you, Jim.”
Huh? So he knows Cole, and Cole knows him. I wonder how often he travels to be on first-name terms with the valet?
“So,” I say, not knowing what to do with my hands which are wrapped around my workbag, the only thing I took with me for my interview this morning. It was a quick there-and-back-again. However, I would have much preferred to have been given the choice to drive.
“So,” Cole counters, his eyebrows hitting his hairline. “I’m going to call you tonight.” He repeats what he told me on the airplane. “And if you don’t pick up, then I’ll get the message.”
“Oh, I’ll pick up.” It’s the most certain I’ve been about anything in a while. Also, I don’t hand my number out to just anyone. According to my mom, I’m picky. Too picky for my own good; that’s why I haven’t been on a date for months. Only it looks like Cole is about to break my dating dry spell.
He nods, a sly grin curving his lips as confidence bounces off him. He moves toward me, closing the small distance between us as we wait for the valet to reappear.
Immediately, I panic because I don’t want to say goodbye, not now, not ever. But I respect his wish to be a gentleman and to call me tonight to ask me out on a date. I’m already excited about the call, and in my head, I already know what I’m wearing to our date.
Does that make me sound pathetic or desperate? Both, I think.
“Then I’ll talk to you later, Mina.” Cole leans in close, and when he goes to kiss me on the cheek, I throw caution to the wind, put my good girl back in her box, and unleash my inner bad girl, who wants him so badly it makes me do something totally out of character…
I turn my head and crash my lips against his.