Chapter 7 Alessia #2
“You kissed me in that hallway,” he whispers, his voice low and intimate, “like you meant it. And then you told his girlfriend it was Roman you kissed. You were wrong. It was me you kissed.” His breath brushes against my skin, igniting memories I’ve tried to bury.
Because in those memories, he was a cheater and a job.
“Natasha is my cousin. Her older brother is Roman. Funny she never mentioned that to you, but Roman’s got a bit of a reputation so I’m assuming she was trying to spare you from getting hit on.”
This can’t be the case. How did I never learn Natasha’s last name?
I guess because I’ve only known her for a few weeks, and most of that time has been spent running past each other, bussing tables and making drinks.
You would think I would have looked at the lease paperwork I signed more closely but I was in a rush, and it wasn’t all that legal.
I needed to get out of my grandmother’s home, I didn’t think to ask whether her brother was the man I videotaped without his consent in the back of a bar.
“It was me whose cock you squeezed. Me who had you moaning against my open mouth. Me. Not Roman.”
I stagger back as he straightens, smug and composed, like he didn’t just detonate a bomb in my brain. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, retrieves his driver’s license and then hands it to me with the kind of flourish that screams checkmate.
Ever since my ex-husband surprised me with divorce papers and a pregnant mistress on the same afternoon, I've had a complicated relationship with the unexpected.
I used to love not knowing. The anticipation of birthdays, of holidays, of wondering whether this would finally be the year he'd pull something together for me the way I always did for him.
I'd build it up quietly in my head, talk myself into believing it was coming, and then talk myself back down when it didn't. He did that to me enough times that I stopped building it up at all.
And then, when I'd finally made my peace with small and predictable and safe, he went and blew the whole thing apart anyway.
Just not in any of the directions I'd been bracing for.
He ruined surprises for me. Thoroughly and permanently.
So now I plan. I map out every reasonable scenario before I walk into a room.
I run contingencies. I try to account for the variables I can't control by controlling everything I can, even knowing, somewhere in the back of my mind, that the more tightly you grip a plan the less it actually protects you.
Predictability is an illusion I've chosen to maintain because the alternative is standing exactly where I'm standing right now.
Completely blindsided. Skin crawling. Not a single contingency plan in sight. I’m fucked.
Sure enough, staring back at me on the shiny picture reflecting against the bar lights is Gabriel Alan Carpenter.
The bastard even looks good in his DMV photo, which should be illegal.
The lighting in those offices is harsh and unforgiving.
I look like one of those sick Victorian children from the dark ages in mine.
“Okay,” I manage to choke out, forcing a laugh that’s as brittle as glass. “Well, this is… super awkward, so I’ll just go ahead and see myself out—”
“Sit your ass down,” he growls, taking his license out of my grip and sliding it into his pocket.
My eyes go wide. “Um, what did you just say?”
“Sit your goddamn ass down back in the chair, Alessia,” he repeats.
My name rolls off his tongue with a perfect accent that I feel down in my toes and across my chest. No one calls me Alessia except for my grandmother, I’ve always been Aly to the people in my life. Even to my ex I was Aly or Aly Cat. Something about the way Gabriel says it is beautiful.
He glares at me, then tips his head back, eyes on the ceiling like he’s having a private conversation with God himself.
“Why?” He mutters under his breath. Then, as if on cue, he levels me with another pointed, burning look. “Sit down. Please.”
“Why should I?” I shoot back, genuinely baffled. I figured he’d be halfway out the door by now.
He sighs, exasperation painted across his handsome face.
“Because I’m not the monster you think that I am.
I’m not an asshole. I’m not a cheater and frankly, neither is my cousin.
It was a case of mistaken identity and now that we’ve cleared that up, we can proceed with this date.
Plus, you need to eat. You said you were hungry—I overheard you telling the hostess when you walked in the restaurant.
” His voice drops just slightly but it doesn’t lose the rough edge that I like it has. “And I’m going to feed you.”
Feed me? Why does that sound so suggestive and so fucking hot?
“But won’t it be miserable?” I counter, folding my arms, half-hoping that’ll scare him off. “Obviously, mistakes were made, and you understand now that I’d only kissed you for a job. Won’t this be awkward now?”
“Probably,” he admits without hesitation, his lips tugging into the faintest smile. Then he strides toward me, his boots heavy against the floor, and for one wild second, I have no idea what he’s about to do.
He yanks out the chair that was across from him, the scrape of wood against wood punctuating the moment, and points at it. “But sit your ass down anyway and eat with me through the awkwardness.”
My pulse stumbles, and I wet my lips, trying to decide whether I should bolt out of here or just face the inevitable meal that he’s insisting I have with him. With a huff that I don’t entirely feel, I slide into the chair, my movements reluctant.
There goes my plan to get dicked down tonight. There’s no way this is going to result in any sort of post orgasmic bliss.
Gabriel steps closer, leans down behind me, and grips the back of the chair as he pushes me in with zero effort.
My eyes drop to the way his biceps flex bracketed either side of me as he moves me in place.
They’re so strong. I never thought I would be into the body builder type, but something about Gabriel tells me his muscles are earned from pure hard work.
His face drops right next to my cheek, his breath tickling my ear before he murmurs softly, “Good girl for listening to me.” And then he straightens and rounds the table to his seat like he didn’t just say something so wild.
A jolt shoots down my spine, and goosebumps ripple over my skin like those two words alone have the power to undo me.
I swallow hard, tugging at my collar to distract myself—only to remember, too late, that I’m not wearing a shirt with a collar.
Nope. I’m wearing a dress. A very tight, low-cut dress, because for some reason, my idea of appropriate first-date attire in freezing, winter weather includes a neckline that barely covers anything and snow boots.
Brilliant choice, Alessia. Truly.
It’s so warm in here, and I’m way too turned on by his little, innocent comment that my nipples go from icicles to pencil lead. Gabriel must notice. His gaze drops to where my chest is practically spilling out of my get me fucked dress.
His eyes linger for half a beat too long before snapping back to my face. And then, as if this situation couldn’t get more unbearable, he smiles at me easily.
“You look beautiful tonight. Let’s order.”
Yeah. This isn’t going the way I planned at all.