Page 4 of Tito

I was rarely at a loss for words. Never was more like it. Yet. I stood there, gazing into his deep brown orbs like I’d been hypnotized.

“So, you’ll see what you can do?” he asked.

Following an awkward glassy-eyed stare on my part, I looked away. I mentally shook my head, hoping to clear it of the carnal fog that was setting in. “Uh huh.”

In his presence I not only looked like a fool, I sounded like one, too. I glanced at his left hand. No ring, and no tan line where one should be.

Because the man of my dreams simply didn’t exist, my current preference was the businessman-type. Men who dressed like success, had a signature scent, were well-groomed, and often drove cars that were in line with their nine to five jobs that paid a high six-figure wage.

The hat seeking patron’s arms were covered in tattoos, he smelled like gasoline-dipped leather, and was wearing jeans that were at least a decade old. I doubted he’d made six figures in the last five years combined, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he drove a truck manufactured during the Vietnam War.

I knew men like him. Everything they did—from the clothes they wore to the words they chose—was deliberate. Their hand gestures, stance, and the gait to their walk was well thought out.

Men like him got me into trouble. Not with the law, but with myself. Telling him no wouldn’t be an easy task, and I knew it all too well.

I’d been with a similar man in the past. He feared nothing and no one. When he spoke, everyone listened. He rarely made demands. He didn’t need to. Confidence squished from the soles of his shoes when he walked, yet most described him as humble. He was passionate about everything he believed in, and he believed in me.

I went on a date with him to spite my father. He quickly became an addiction. The word no vanished from my vocabulary. I forfeited everything to please him.

Not because he asked. Because I couldn’t help it.

I couldn’t be in a relationship like that again. One night of sex wouldn’t hurt anything, though. In fact, sex with the handsome stranger could be the first step in my recovery from Jared’s infidelity.

“Let me see what I can find out,” I said. “If you’d like to leave your number, I’ll call you if anything materializes. I’m Reggie, by the way.”

Regardless of my findings in the frowny-faced hat search, I was sure I could text my way into a no-strings-attached arrangement for one night. Afterward, I’d likely forget about Jared and his affinity for strippers who were dressed like Disney princesses.

One side of the hatless stranger’s mouth curled up. “Reggie?”

“Regina. My mother named me,” I said. “I go by Reggie.”

He looked me up and down, as if scanning my likeness for future reference. The temperature in the store shot up ten degrees. Then, ten more. When he stopped undressing me with his eyes, he smiled just a little. “What’s your number, Reggie? I’ll send you a text.”

I felt myself flush. I gulped down the lump of apprehension that had risen in my throat and parted my parched lips. “619-447-1035.”

While I stared at him mindlessly, I heard my phone ding from across the store.

“There,” he said. “You’ve got my number.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tito.”

“Tito?”

“Taddeo,” he said with a smile. “I go by Tito.”

“I’ll uhhm. I’ll send you a text,” I stammered. “When I find something out.”

“Why don’t you check your schedule for Saturday night,” he said, lifting one brow slightly. “Text me and let me know if you’d like to grab dinner.”

I didn’t need to check my schedule. Fucking him was all that was on my to-do list.

“Yes,” I blurted.

He smirked. “You’re free Saturday night?”

“In all honesty, I’m fresh out of a toxic relationship with my boyfriend. I need a night out with a new face to give my recovery a shove in the right direction.”

“Define fresh,” he said. “How long has it been?”

I glanced at my watch. “Six hours.” I said, giving him my best innocent look. “Give or take a few minutes. He’s clearing his things out of my house now.”

“Are you over him?” he asked.

“Over who?”

“Your boyfriend.”

I gave him a look no differently than if he spoken to me in Swahili. “What boyfriend?”

He smirked. “I’ll see you Saturday.”