24. Stop saying dick pic.
24 /
stop saying dick pic.
charlie
We’re just entering Santa Monica when Rafael shifts slightly in his seat, drawing my attention from the palm trees in front of us.
“Carrot cake?” I roll my eyes and turn to him in response, eliciting a smirk from the handsome man next to me. “If you’re hungry, I have some chicken ready to be tossed on the grill at home and my grandmother’s pavê in a cooler in the trunk. It’s a dessert with ladyfingers—like the cookies, not actual fingers—and custard with chocolate on top.”
“Oh. Um, I don’t want to be a bother, it’s?—”
“Chuck, if you tell me right now that you don’t want to come over because you need time alone or you simply don’t want to, I will drop you off at your building and not ask any other questions.” At a red light, he turns his head and looks at me as he says, “But you know I love to cook. I think you’d be very into this dessert, and I kind of want to ask for your help with something. So, if that sounds okay, please come have dinner with me?” The fact that it’s a question softens something inside me.
“All right. I’ll come.” He pumps a fist into the air before continuing with the flow of traffic, and I hate to admit how infectious his excitement is.
Once we get to his place, Rafael is quick to get things started for our meal. He moves around the kitchen effortlessly, gathering vegetables to grill along with the chicken. “Can I help with anything?” I’m not a big fan of feeling useless, but that’s usually how it feels watching someone else do everything.
“Actually, would you mind grabbing us drinks? I’ll take sparkling water with some ice. Grab whatever you’d like out of the fridge. I’m just gonna get these going. I’ll be right back.” Holding up the trays of meat and vegetables, he swings open the door with his hip and walks out.
Somehow, he always seems to know what to do to put me at ease, and I don’t even think he’s trying to. Something as simple as giving me a task and leaving me alone to do it. I look around his kitchen, thankful for the open shelves showcasing the glasses. I take two and open the fridge, eyeing the dessert he stashed away in there. It really does look delicious.
Once I’ve poured two glasses of sparkling water, I set them on the counter just in time for him to come back inside. He places a tray in the dishwasher, washes his hands, and turns back to me, clapping his hands.
“All right, so. About that thing I need your help with.” He brings his hands to his chin for a moment, then looks at the floor. “It’s kind of a personal project. Something I’m doing to pass along some family traditions, but no one in my family really knows about it. My grandmother and I have been putting together family recipes.” He turns around, opens a drawer, pulls out a soft brown leather-bound notebook, and then twists to face me once again. “Normally, she writes the recipes while we do this, but it’s getting harder for her to do that because of her arthritis. We get together once a week; we still have a few recipes left to add before this feels complete. I eventually need to get them typed up as well, and, well, that’s where you hopefully come in.”
He hands me the notebook, and I take it in both hands, running my finger along the embossed letters on the cover. Machado Family Recipes. “You’d like me to write the remaining recipes in here and then transfer them from this notebook into a digital file?” I look up and find Rafael toying with his watch, nervousness showing in his features for the first time. He nods and looks as if he’s about to say more, but I continue instead. “And you’d need me to be there when you work on these recipes since she’s struggling to write them down?”
His brows furrow, and he lowers his head so far that his chin touches his chest. “Yeah,” he whispers, then quickly clears his throat. “Yes. I go there every Tuesday, and I guess I could type the recipes as I go, but my hands are usually pretty busy, and I don’t trust dictating everything because if a mistake is made, I might not catch it right away, and the thought of multi-tasking all of this is already a little overwhelming, so I can’t even imagine how it would feel if I actually had to?—”
I reach out and place my hand on his forearm. The touch startles him enough to stop his run-on sentence, his eyes locking on where we’re now connected as he takes a deep breath. I imagine this is what it must feel like to touch something with an electric current running through it. Instead of shying away, I grip a little tighter, and his eyes rise to meet mine.
“I’ll be glad to help. Tuesdays are now for cooking with you and your grandmother. Done.” I let my hand drop to my side, place the notebook on the counter, and immediately cross my arms over my chest to hide the shakiness I’m afraid is bound to be noticed by this far too perceptive man.
“Just like that?” With wide eyes, Rafael stands before me perfectly still .
“Yep.” I step back and reach for my glass of water, washing away the sudden dryness in my throat. “Should we go check on dinner before everything’s charred and we have to order takeout?” I motion to the back door, and he follows the movement, standing straighter. I pick up his glass of water, he grabs tongs from a nearby drawer, and we walk out together.
I set the glasses down on the bar next to the barbecue, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, I speak. “Zach messaged me today.”
His jaw ticks, and I study the movement because this is romance novel gold. It’s an actual thing. His jaw did an actual tick—like he clenched his jaw around nothing. How interesting.
“What did he have to say?” He continues moving things around the grill, adding corn and zucchini.
“Not much, actually. He had a lot to show, though.” His eyebrows furrow as mine raise. “He seemed to think it’d be a good idea to send me a dick pic.” I shrug, then jump as the clatter of the tongs crashing onto the metal of the barbecue startles me.
“He. Did. What?” Rafael picks up the tongs and slowly hangs them on the side of the barbecue, closing the lid and then placing both hands on his hips as he faces me. “Please tell me that was a joke.”
I shake my head, taking in the serious look on his face. “I can’t. He really did—” I stop short, feeling my phone vibrate with a call. I fear it’s either my mum or Robert, but my eyes nearly pop out of my head when I pull the phone from the side pocket of my leggings and see Zach’s name lighting up the screen. “Crikey, it’s him.” I turn the screen so Rafael can see it, and I swear his eyes look like they could shoot lasers out of them. “What do I do?
“May I?” Rafael extends his hand, reaching for my phone, and I practically throw it at him like it’s a hot potato. With a swipe of his thumb, he brings the device to his ear. “Hey, Zach, it’s Rafael.” A pause . “Yeah, she’s here, but you’re not gonna talk to her.” His eyes flick to me for a moment. “Listen, as your boss, I’m not gonna hold any of this against you because it would be unprofessional as fuck. But I am gonna tell you two things. You listening?” He pauses briefly, then continues, his tone almost even and relaxed. “One, don’t send anyone unsolicited dick pics, man. It’s not cool, especially when you’re in your thirties.”
He looks up at the sky, his jaw tight, and his voice now much more severe. “Two, lose this number. Erase the memory of Charlie’s perfect face from your mind. From this moment forward, you’ve never met Charlie, do you understand me? And if you ever speak of your date with her, or this conversation, to anyone, ever, I will get really fucking unprofessional about it. Got me?” He finally takes a breath as he waits for an answer on the other side of this call. Seemingly pleased with what he hears, his shoulders relax, and his tone turns almost jovial. “Awesome. Glad we had this chat. Have a great night.”
He hangs up and hands me back my phone, opening the barbecue again with a smile. “Dinner’s ready,” he announces. “Hang tight, I’m just gonna grab our plates.” With that, he jogs back into the house, leaving me stunned and confused.
He said my name twice in that short conversation. That makes it seven times now.
Erase the memory of Charlie’s perfect face from your mind.
Charlie’s perfect face.
I snap out of my spiraling thoughts when Rafael comes back with his hands full. He sets two plates on the dining table, with napkins and cutlery, then comes back and places everything from the barbecue onto a clean platter. “Ready?” he asks casually. I’m still standing here, holding my phone. “Red?” The name registers, and I flinch. “Oh, shit.” Placing the food down, he walks closer and stands in front of me, the same way he did in the alley. “Was that too far? I’m sorry. Did you like the dick pic? I just thought that was uncalled for. No grown man should be sending dick pics unless explicitly asked to, you know? I can call him back and say I was just joking. I’ll tell him to send all the dick pics he wants. I shouldn’t have overstepped, but, no, no, but. It’s cool that you like dick pics. I shouldn’t have overstepped, and I’m s?—”
“Breathe, Rafael. And stop saying dick pic.” The facts are clearly laid out in front of me. I’ve been seeing them for a while now, but this was the missing piece of the puzzle. “You didn’t overstep. I didn’t like him sending me that. You read the situation perfectly, as you seem to always do. And that’s what I’m coming to terms with. I wanted to find someone I felt safe with, and I’ve found that person in the unlikeliest of places.” I take another step closer to him, our toes nearly touching.
“I don’t want to be set up on any more dates in the hopes that I’ll meet someone I feel comfortable enough to try things with. Who knows how many more guys I’ll have to date and kiss before I find someone else I feel safe with.” He flinches at my words, seemingly as unhappy about that prospect as I am. “I’ve found my safe person. So, this is me formally asking if you’ll be the one to teach me.” I look up to find his chocolate eyes studying me.
“What does that mean? I need you to very explicitly tell me what you mean here, carrot cake.” He stands so perfectly still it’s as if he’s hardly even breathing.
“I’m saying that I trust you. I trust that you have my best interest at heart and that you won’t cross any lines with me.” I take a deep breath, expecting to need to calm my nerves, but finding I’m not nervous about this at all.
“Okay,” he says, body still unmoving. “Keep going.”
“I’m going to tell you the real reason I came here. The reason I decided to start dating and experimenting. It’s Robert. While we’d had an open relationship for a long time, we sort of agreed a long time ago that we’d eventually end up together. That we’d eventually commit to one another. Only one another. Well, he’s spent the last several years dating while I’ve spent them not doing much of that. And I don’t want to be completely inexperienced and dull, so I need to step it up. I want to be ready in case we follow through with this plan.” Watching me intently, Rafael’s jaw moves slightly, as if he’s clenching and unclenching again. I’ve never noticed this little tick of his before. It must be new.
He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he exhales then locking those caramel and coffee eyes back on me. “What exactly are you asking me, then?”
Here we go. “I’m asking you to be my, I don’t know, fuck buddy slash relationship tutor. In a very, uh, scientific method sort of way.” Yeah, that sounds about right.
“What? No. You’re not serious.” Finally, he moves, bringing his hand to his face and slowly dragging it down. Then he takes a step back, away from me.
Realization slams into me, and I picture the ground opening to swallow me whole. Of course he doesn’t want to. I’ve seen the women he dates. God, why didn’t I think about this before blurting this out? “Oh. You… You’re not attracted to me that way. Right. I suppose I read that wrong with the comments about my dress the other night. You’re used to like supermodels or whatever. Yeah, well, this is awk?—”
“Fuck that shit, Chuck. No. Nope. Do not continue. You are hotter than hot. Any guy would be lucky to be with you. To touch you. But that doesn’t mean any guy should get to. Probably not even this Robert assho—” Cracking his knuckles, he shakes his head, eyes down. He’s angry. I can feel it. “You’re too good for just any guy. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You’re not any guy.” I could say more. It feels as though I should because this silence might actually kill me. “You get me. You see me, and you haven’t run away yet. You have this incredible family, and everyone loves you. You’re easy to be around. I want… I want those things, too. I want to know wh at it feels like to just be with someone without having to worry if I’m saying the right thing. I’m afraid that if my trial run is also with the guy I may end up married to, then I’m going to mess it up. It’s too much pressure…” My voice fades as he remains quiet. He’s probably thinking of ways to let me down nicely.
He takes a step forward again, and slowly, ever so slowly, he lifts his hand to my chin and tips it up until our eyes meet again. “Did you mean it? Everything you said about trusting me, feeling safe with me. Did you mean it?”
“I meant it,” I answer truthfully, even if my brain is begging me to lie, to take it back, to make it easier for us to pretend this never happened.
“Okay. If this is what you need, then okay.” Rafael lowers his hand, putting both in his pockets.
“It’s what I need,” I assure him. “I’ve been in the research and hypothesis parts of this method for too long. I need to get to experimenting and data analysis.”
A slow, beautiful smile blooms on his face, and I swear the sun shines a little brighter, which seems impossible because this is Southern California. “Then call me Professor Machado, honey bun. Class is officially in session.” He pumps his eyebrows up and down twice before turning back to the food, picking it up, and heading to the table. Unfazed and effectively taking the mood from tense to relaxed. How typically Rafael.