32. Now.
32 /
now.
charlie
Both of those boxes are checked off for me.
I shouldn’t be surprised by this. And I’m not surprised that Rafael wants to spend time with me or that he finds me attractive. Not anymore. I’m surprised by his forthrightness. By the the truth of it all and where it could lead, which is to a place we absolutely cannot go.
I can’t entertain the possibility of this being anything more than mutual attraction that is being explored for the sake of my research. For the sake of my future relationship . With someone else.
Actually dating Rafael for real wouldn’t only affect the two of us. It would affect our best friends. Their children. That’s why this is just research. I’m gathering data from someone who is an expert in dating. He does this all the time and he’s completely unaffected by those relationships ending, so this will be no different. It’s another reason he’s the perfect person for this.
There. Dilemma resolved. I can state the facts and remain unattached like him. It’s physical attraction and friendship. Robert and I had that, too when we met .
With my mind made up, I go on. “I like spending time with you. You are unfairly, obscenely attractive.” The tension in his face eases until he senses what’s coming next. “But…” I look at our hands on my lap, the way he steadies me. “But this can’t go beyond this experiment. It can’t be real. There’s too much at stake with our friends, and I live in London.”
There’s a long pause as we both let the words sink in. “All right.” His thumbs draw circles on my knuckles. “I got it. But there’s nothing not real happening here. I want to be here with you, and I need you to want to be here, too. I need…” He takes a long breath in through his nose, releasing it slowly. “I need to know neither of us is doing anything we don’t want to do. I won’t do anything to cross lines with you, Charlie. I won’t take that chance. So, I need to know that you want?—”
“I do. I want to be here,” I say quickly. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do either. I’m sorry I made you feel like, I don’t know, like I was just going through the motions or something.” I bite down on my lower lip to give myself something else to focus on. Something other than the waves of emotions crashing inside me. Emotions I can’t even name right now. “I’m sorry.”
He squeezes my hands, then brings them to his face, placing my palms on his cheeks and keeping his hands over mine. I’ve never touched him like this. We’ve never touched each other like this. I look up to find him with his eyes closed, relief settling into his features. He pulls one of my hands to his lips and kisses my palm. The kiss lingers and seeps into my bones, as does the intimacy of this moment.
Our hands land back on my lap, then he’s cradling my face in his soothing palms, his chocolate caramel eyes warm and soft. His fingers move to grip the back of my neck, and he pulls my face toward his.
This must be it. The moment he kisses me. The tip of his nose brushes mine, and my eyes instinctively close. His breath sweeps over my cheek, and he lays a lingering kiss there, then he moves to the other, and his lips touch down again, decisively not on my lips. He runs his nose along my jaw until it sits just below my ear.
“Not yet,” he whispers, takes a deep breath, and pulls back, leaving me teetering. I have literal chills, and I’m more turned on than maybe ever before. Definitely . Definitely more than ever before. Never has a kiss caused any kind of throbbing at my core. Never have I felt this heady, intoxicating kind of arousal. I feel simultaneously wound up and taut, like I could snap at any moment. It’s so much all at once. And yet with him, knowing how honest we have been with one another, how openly we just discussed this situation, the sense of security only grows.
The doorbell dings again, and I sit back in my chair, trying to get some air back into my lungs. Morgan sweeps into the space with a large tray, all four plates somehow balanced on it. I focus on his movements as he sets everything down. He says something I don’t register, and then he’s gone again.
“Hope you’re hungry, shortcake.” Rafael lays his napkin on his lap, that easy smile on his face. I lift my glass of prosecco to my lips and drink half of it in one gulp. The chilly bubbles help to cool the fire that’s stoked inside me every time he smiles, calls me a sweet nickname, or looks at me in that way that tells me I’m in way over my head.
I start with the calamari because it’s closest to me, knowing I’ll try the tuna tartare next, then the tomato and burrata, and the mini pizza last.
Everything is delicious. Neither of us says much because we’re both so focused on the food, but it’s fine. We needed a reset.
“I want to keep eating, but we still have four mains coming and dessert. How are we going to do this?” Rafael lays a hand on his muscled stomach. Even through the cashmere sweater he’s wearing, there’s no hiding that he is solid muscle .
“You quitting on me already, Machado?” I raise an eyebrow, and he smirks at me.
“Never, red.” He takes a sip of his sparkling water without breaking eye contact. Why the bloody hell is that hot?
Once again, the chime of the doorbell breaks whatever spell we find ourselves under.
Morgan wheels in a whole cart of food. It’s obscene and also wonderful. “I hope you’re both still hungry.” He makes quick work of swapping a few empty plates and moving the half-eaten appetizers to the cart so that the entrées can be on the table. Chicken schnitzel, pot roast with mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and fish and chips—which I will be judging most harshly.
There’s a big focus on comfort foods at this place, and I am all for it.
Morgan places a clean plate in front of each of us. “I figured you could serve yourselves family style. Does that work?”
“That’s perfect, Morgan. Thank you.” Having warmed up to our server, I smile up at him, and he beams right back at me.
“You’re so welcome. I can’t wait to hear what you think about the fish and chips.” He winks at me and clasps his hands across his chest again. “Anything else I can get you?”
We both shake our heads, taking in the enormous amount of food on the table. “I think we’re all set. Thank you,” Rafael adds.
“Bon appétit.” Morgan closes the door behind him, and Rafael reaches for the pot roast.
We quietly serve ourselves, both starting with two dishes. “Ready?” he asks.
“You might have to roll me back to the car if this is anywhere near as delicious as the starters.” I puff out my cheeks, but they quickly deflate when my handsome date’s booming laugh fills the room. I wonder when it’ll get old, making him laugh like this.
As we eat, we mostly chat about the food. There is still quite a bit left over when we both decide to call it quits.
“All right. Fuck, Marry, Kill: Dinner Edition.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and my giggle breaks free. “Let’s hear it.”
“Oh, I have to go first, do I?” He nods, smile unwavering as he watches me closely. “Hmm. All right. I’d fuck the schnitzel,” I say seriously. Rafael nearly spits out his water all over me; he starts laughing so hard. I join him because that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say. When we both calm down, I continue, “I’d marry the macaroni and cheese, and I’d kill the fish and chips.” I sit back, content with my answers.
“I knew you’d kill the fish and chips.” A small, knowing smile plays across his lips. “My turn. I’d fuck the shit outta that pot roast and mashed potatoes.” We both laugh again, though we recover much faster this time. “It’s weird talking about fucking food.” I respond with an uh-huh. “I’d also marry the macaroni and cheese. And I’d kill the schnitzel.” He grimaces when he gives his last answer.
“No! How am I supposed to get shagged now if you kill my schnitzel?” I lift my hands and let them land loudly on my lap. His eyes narrow slightly, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek.
“You won’t miss it, pumpkin. I’ll make sure of that.” His eyes lower when he catches the movement of my legs crossing, his lips lifting at the corner in a smug way that would have angered me weeks ago, but now, it only makes me curious for what my future holds.
I’ll make sure of that.
That’s a promise of a good time if I ever heard one.
Once all the plates are cleared, Morgan brings us coffee and tea, and we opt to take the desserts to go. The promise of dessert with Rafael later is, unsurprisingly, thrilling. Though I suppose we might just take them home. Separately. Hmm .
We take our mugs and set the biscuits Morgan insisted on bringing us—just in case we wanted something sweet now—on the table by the fire. We walk to the railing to enjoy our hot beverages as the city below shimmers with lights from cars on the streets, neon signs, and all of the Hollywood flair.
Rafael points out a few places he can make out below, like where there’s another great bookstore and the general direction of Santa Monica.
When we finish our drinks, we take a seat on the sofa side by side, but he takes my calves, twisting my body to drape my legs over his lap.
“This was wonderful. Thank you.” I reach out my left hand, resting my elbow on the back of the couch and letting my fingers run through his hair. He doesn’t say anything; he just lets me explore this new dynamic between us, where we can touch one another more freely. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” I confess.
“What? Touch my hair?” He leans into my hand when I scratch his scalp.
“Mmhm. It’s even softer than I imagined.” Is it possible I’m drunk on too much delicious food?
“You imagined, huh?” He looks at me wide-eyed, a smile I recognize as playful by the way his lips press together, like he’s holding back a wide grin. I feel the heat blazing in my cheeks and begin to pull my hand back, but Rafael wraps his fingers around my wrist, keeping my hand in place. With his other hand, he trails his fingers along my forehead, down to my temple, pushing some of my curls away from my face. “I’ve imagined things, too,” he says as he tucks some hair behind my ear. His index finger presses on my cheek. “Like this perfect, rosy blush of yours.” He drags his finger over my jaw, down the side of my neck, stopping at my pulse point. “And all the other places you might blush just like this.” He trails his finger along my collarbone, and the touch sends a shiver through me. But I’m not cold. With all of the heaters out here, I haven’t even needed my sweater.
He moves his hand to my waist, pulling me closer to him, and before I can miss his hand on my skin, he replaces it with his lips. I gasp when his tongue swirls on my collarbone; then his lips take the reverse path of his fingers. When he sucks on my pulse point, my fingers grip his hair more tightly, and he groans, the sound traveling like lightning through every nerve, landing on the spot where they all converge between my legs.
This time, however, rather than stopping at my cheek, he lets his lips hover over mine. Our eyes meet, and he whispers, “Now.”
Then, his lips are finally, finally, finally on mine. Just a touch at first, then his tongue swipes over my bottom lip, and my lips part on a sigh. He brings a hand to my jaw, guiding me where he wants me, and when our tongues meet, a moan that is nothing short of indecent rolls through me. He tastes of coffee and shortbread, and God, I could taste nothing else for the rest of my life, and that would be perfectly okay.
When he slows our kiss and draws back, I whimper at the loss, having been so fully consumed by his mouth, his touch, and him , that I forgot we’re in a public place.
“Fuck, red, we should have been doing this a lot sooner.” He runs his thumb over my lower lip as I scowl.
“You’re the one who’s been holding off,” I scold.
He chuckles, not taking his hands off me. “I meant a lot sooner than today. If I’d known kissing you would feel like this, I would have done it a long time ago. I can’t believe I’ve lived this long without knowing what these lips taste like.” He steals another chaste kiss, as if he just can’t help himself.
“You say that as if I would have let you.” I smile and try to smooth his hair, but it’s probably a lost cause. He laughs almost silently, his chest shaking.
“You’re right.” His eyes glisten as he studies me more closely than ever before, the attention making me feel wanted and precious. It’s a completely new and foreign sensation, but with him, it feels safe.
“I like the way those words sound coming out of your mouth.” I lower my hand to cradle his cheek.
His teasing smile makes his dimples pop, and I sigh, loving the sight of them so up close.
“I have a lot more things I’d like to say to you, shortcake.” Before I can ask him what those might be, the doorbell rings again. I sit back to put a little bit of distance between us, but when I try to lower my legs to the floor, Rafael holds me in place. “Let’s just, uh, stay like this a minute, okay?”
I flush as an understanding of what he’s asking me lands. I fight back a smile, knowing that he’s as turned on as I am. “Oh. Oh. Right. Yeah.”
“Hi again. I have your desserts boxed up here. Is there anything else I can get for you two?” My back is to the door where Morgan is standing, and I’m thankful he can’t see my reddened cheeks and surely swollen lips.
“I think we’re all good, Morgan.” Raf calls out. “I left a card on the table if you want to settle us up, please.” He’s completely unfazed by the situation, his hand casually running up and down my calf as if we had just been sitting here drinking our coffee and tea, talking about the weather.
I suppose we’re going to have to leave now, drive back to Santa Monica, and go our separate ways. I’m not ready for the night to end, though. I want more. More kisses, yes, but also just more of this . Being close, learning this new side of Rafael—and of myself, too.
When Morgan leaves again, Rafael squeezes my calf, bringing my attention back to him. “You all right?” The concern in his voice brings guilt into the frenzy of emotions already weighing on my sternum.
“Yeah. Yeah, uh, I guess I was just feeling a little bit sad that the night is ending.” I press a hand to my chest, trying to break up the heaviness there.
“Oh, my sweet strawberry shortcake, the night is not over yet.” Well, I officially have a favorite nickname.
“It’s not?” I smile, trying to stifle the bubbly feeling in my belly by biting my lower lip.
“It’s not. And if that fact makes you smile like this, I’ll promptly make sure the night doesn’t end at all. Ever .” He looks at me like he’s trying to memorize every detail of my face.
“Is that so? You going to lasso the moon and make it so the sun doesn’t rise?” I tease.
“If that’s what I need to do, then hell yeah.” Despite the playfulness of our conversation, he’s serious.
“Just for a smile?”
“No, not for just any smile. For your smile.”