I watch her eyes as they track something or someone, and a saucy grin crawls across her face. With a mouth full of salsa and chips, plopping from the corner of my lips, I turn my head and seriously just want to die. I wish for the grim reaper to show up because fuck my life.
Walking towards us, with the confidence of what most men wish they had, is Nico fucking Loving, and a friend in tow right behind him. People gasp and begin murmuring, many taking out their phones to snap pictures. No one is brave enough to ask for a selfie withhim or an autograph. I’m sure that will change the moment he sits.
Hopefully not with us.
“Well well well. Look at this. How crazy is it that you’re here and so am I. What are the chances?” His mouth looks like the goddamn Jokers with that wide and devious smile.
“I’d say the chances are a thousand percent since you rudely looked at my text and knew exactly where and when I’d be tonight.” I take my spittle filled napkin and dab the corners of my lips, turning away from Nico and trying to pretend like he isn’t hanging over my shoulder.
“And who are you, beautiful?” Nico leans over the table, propping himself up on an elbow, and looks deep into Lucy’s eyes.
She blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl. “Lucy Summers. Val’s fabulous best friend.” She holds her hand out and Nico takes it and places a kiss on the back of it.
“Hello Lucy. Nic Loving. So very nice to meet you.”
“Oh, I know exactly who you are. And it is all my pleasure. So…who’s your friend?” Lucy takes her hand back and folds them, elbows resting on the table and props up her chin.
“This is my friend, Chase Kennedy. Center for the Drillers.”
A giant of a man steps forward just as Nico stands up, and reaches out to shake Lucy’s hand. Her hand is swallowed by his enormous one, and the two of them make a connection with their eyes that anyone in a ten mile radius could see.
I don’t blame her. Chase is large, wide and broad, and has a fresh beach tan accented by dark blonde hair.His features are the boy next door despite his large stature. He’s like Ken doll’s beefy brother. And I bet that he’s packing a lot more than poor Ken.
“Hey there. Nice to meet you. Sorry for crashing your evening.” Chase begrudgingly releases Lucy’s hand and reaches for mine.
He has a firm grip and calluses line the meaty pads of his palm. They’re the hands of a man that works hard. I always thought my type was more of the suit and tie kind. You know, pristine hair, designer suit, expensive watch and sits behind a large oak desk, probably with a phone glued to his ear twenty hours a day. But the more I meet these rough and tough athletes, the more I’m beginning to think I’ve been barking up the wrong kind of tree.
“You didn’t crash it. I think you just made it better. Have a seat.” Lucy pushes the chair back with her foot and I give her the evil eye.
“Lucy,” I growl under my breath.
She waves me off and continues to ignore the hex I’m currently placing on her. I may have to call Mamá and ask her for the name of the curandera she knows.
“I’ll get the waiter so he can take your drink ord–”
“No,” I interrupt. “Nico is not drinking. Right?” I give him a pointed look and for the first time, I see him cower to my demand.
He slowly sits in his seat and gulps down his balls that probably crawled up into his throat when I narrowed my eyes and flared my nostrils.
“Right. I’m alcohol free while training.”
“And sex free, apparently,” Chase adds, laughing.
I smile, thankful that my lessons are finally starting to sink in. He may be redeemable after all.
“So. What brings you two here tonight?” Lucy bats her eyelashes with stars in her eyes.
This girl is a hopeless romantic. Every man she meets istheone. None of them have yet to even betheone for more than three months. We’re both in a man-funk. Finding a nice man is hard in an era where dating app hook-ups take priority over meaningful relationships.
Yet another reason why I’m staying far away from men like that. Men like Nico.
“Peeping Tom over here.” I jab my thumb in Nico’s direction. “Spied my text to you and now…well, he’s here. I didn’t take you for a stalker, Nico.”
“Why do you insist on calling me Nico?”
“The same reason you insist on calling me Valentina. Nicknames are too familiar. We are simply client and janitor. Me being the janitor cleaning up your mess.” I dive into my margarita, hoping that the alcohol will soon take me away.
“I call you Valentina because it has got to be the most beautiful name I’ve ever heard. Would you prefer I called you princesa? Perhaps tesoro? Mi reina. Mi cielito. Corá–”
