Mickey chambers shakes i.., p.16
Mickey Chambers Shakes It Up, page 16
“I know, I know,” he breathed, trying to avoid the burning liquid against his skin. Mickey tried to pat his clothing with her napkins as best as she could, but as her hands trailed down his front, Diego jumped back. “It’s okay.”
Her blush hit her cheeks as she realized how dangerously close she’d gotten to his crotch. “I’m so sorry.”
They were attracting attention from customers around them, and he didn’t want to embarrass her further. “I’m just gonna step outside,” he said, backing away from her.
“Kevin, do you have some paper towels?” she asked.
“Sure, hold on.”
Diego went back outside to wring his shirt onto the sidewalk and noticed how wet the front of his pants were. He’d have to change his clothes before his bar shift, and he had no car to get home. Ramón was most likely on his way back to his house for a nap.
Mickey rushed out of Fountain City Beans with a wad of paper towels ready to dry his groin. “Oh, no,” she said. “You’re wet all over. Does it still burn?”
He stood up straight and grimaced. “Not anymore, but it’s pretty uncomfortable.”
“I would imagine,” she said, handing him the paper towels. “Maybe we can put off our coffee thing so you can go home and change.”
Diego paused mid-wipe. “About that... Ramón dropped me off because my car is in the shop.”
“I could drive you,” she blurted. “Let me just get my bag and I’ll take you home.”
Before he could object, she disappeared, leaving him to worry. He couldn’t spend alone time with her. The whole point of meeting in public was so he wasn’t tempted to do anything foolish.
And now she was taking him home...
* * *
“It’s the red house on your right,” Diego said, pointing to the street. “That’s my driveway.”
Aside from directions to his house, he had remained quiet during their drive. She frowned as she approached the gravel driveway. Diego lived in her favorite house? The red house she always took time to admire? Now the disappearance of the porch rocker made sense. The other one belonged to his wife. Jesus... “Your home is lovely, Diego. I don’t see very many red houses,” she said, trying to make conversation.
He peered out her windshield and nodded. “That was my wife’s idea,” he said. “She wanted to stand out.”
“I like the way she thought,” Mickey said with a smile.
He caught her gaze and returned her smile, but his was a little sad. “Yeah, she liked bold stuff.”
For a moment, Mickey’s car went quiet. She wondered if he was going to ask her inside.
“Would you like to come inside?” he asked, breaking the silence. “I asked you out and now...”
“Sure,” she quickly replied. “Do you have coffee?”
“I do,” he said, opening his door. “It’s not as fancy as what your student makes, but I’ve got fresh milk and some sugar.”
Mickey reached toward her back seat for her bag at the same time as he did. Their outstretched arms bumped into each other, and her breath caught in her throat as she came face-to-face with him. She immediately retreated from his space, apologizing as she went.
Diego quickly retrieved his bag and exited the car, leaving her to get herself together. She took a few deep breaths, grabbed her bag and followed him up his walkway. “You have a really lovely porch, too,” she said. “It’s a lot like my parents’ wraparound.”
“I like it,” Diego said, unlocking his front door. “It’s nice to sit out here in the evenings.”
“Do you yell at kids to stay off your grass?”
He led her inside a vestibule, where she slipped off her shoes and nudged them against the wall. “You think I’m the man who yells at children?” he asked with a frown.
Once they passed through the foyer, she found a spacious living room to her right and a tidy office to her left. She tried to take in as much as she could without appearing nosy. “I’ve seen you do it,” she murmured as she glanced at a bedroom; sheets and a comforter were strewed about the bed. Did he sleep downstairs?
“If you’re referring to those knucklehead college students, they deserved it. And I would hardly call them children,” he said, leading her down the hallway to an impressive kitchen. He’d painted the walls a sunny yellow and his appliances were vintage. There was a cute breakfast nook next to a large bay window that looked over a spacious backyard. Mickey barely listened to him as she basked in the warmth of his kitchen. “You’re not a kid if you’re buying liquor in my bar.”
Mickey waved him off as she wandered the space. “Okay, fine, you yelled at young adults, then.”
He scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she watched him pull coffee from his cabinet. Was he really about to start a fresh pot while wearing his soiled clothes?
“Diego, shouldn’t you go get cleaned up?” Mickey asked as she stood near his kitchen table.
“I thought I’d get you started first,” he said, rinsing out the decanter and jamming it under the drip. “It only takes a minute.”
Anxiety vibrated throughout her body. They were alone, in his house, where no one could stop them from kissing one another. Surely, he understood the danger in waiting just a minute. Mickey cleared her throat and set her bag on his table. “Okay, I’ll watch the coffee,” she said.
“That was your first beverage job, right?” he asked as he turned on the machine. He wiped his wet hands on his khakis, which were still damp from her spill, and leaned against the counter. “You told Jeanie that you worked at a coffee shop... Where was it?”
“In Athens,” she said, sitting at his table. “I did it while I got my master’s degree.”
“You like it?”
She shrugged as she thought back to that time. Her coworkers were alright, mostly checked out and barely cleaned after their shift. Her manager was a former hippie who enjoyed talking about and drinking coffee more than he liked running a business. “Let’s just say it was better than working at Men’s Warehouse.”
Diego raised a brow. “Really? You styled men at one time?”
Mickey laughed. “Styled is a strong word, but I’ll remember that the next time I update my résumé.”
He cracked a smile and shook his head. “You’re an interesting woman, Mickey,” he said, pulling away from the counter. “I’m just going to change my clothes and I’ll join you. The Wi-Fi password is Lucia80!, capital L, all one word.”
She watched him wander down the hallway and disappear into the bedroom she’d spotted earlier.
As she set up her computer, Mickey heard him close the door behind him and move around the room. The drip of his coffee machine drew her attention back to the kitchen. What was she doing here? What was she hoping for? Cleo’s words drifted back to her: do not fuck this man...yet.
She didn’t have long to think about her friend’s warning before Diego padded back to the kitchen wearing a new forest green T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts that came to his mid-thigh. She’d never seen him wear shorts but was delighted by his muscular brown legs and bare feet. Mickey was probably thinking too much into it, but a shorts-wearing Diego seemed more relaxed.
Of course, he was in his home... Why wouldn’t he want to be comfortable? “So, did you get a chance to look at this week’s lecture on review writing?”
Diego gave an affirmative grunt as he set up his laptop. “I thought I would be ready to throw a review together until I saw the lecture,” he said on his way to get coffee. He pulled two mugs from his cabinet and gathered the milk and sugar. “You take cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please. What was wrong with my PowerPoint?”
“Nothing was wrong, I just underestimated what you wanted from us.” He brought her coffee to her. “What you’re asking is a helluva lot different from what dicks post on my Yelp page.”
Mickey ducked her head to hide her grin. “Pretty rough reviews, huh?”
He sat down with his coffee, drinking it black. “If you call the bartender is an asshole rough, then yeah,” he scoffed. “I never see anything about criteria backing up their claims.”
While she was happy that he’d completed her forty-minute PowerPoint lecture, she was even happier that he’d applied what he learned to real-world examples of writing. “No, Yelp reviews aren’t well written, but you don’t think that that reviewer had a point?” she asked, peeking at him from behind her computer.
His eyes flickered to her before narrowing. “You calling your boss an asshole, Mickey?”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “As far as I know, only Irene gets to do that without getting fired.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “When you work with me as long as Irene has, you’ll earn the honor, too. Until then, keep it under your hat.”
“Will do, Boss.”
She opened the grading portal for the students’ latest journal entries. The Five Senses exercise asked her writers to reflect on an eating experience that employed each of their five senses. Again, all her students hit the mark; some even took the opportunity to write funny anecdotes about unpleasant experiences. When she clicked on Diego’s entry, she read it carefully.
It’s nothing to look at, the turkey mole at La Nacional Restaurant and Grocery, but I think it’s the best dish they serve. The stewed meat is so tender it hangs loose from the leg bone. Translucent slivers of onion sit atop bright yellow saffron rice. The dark brown mole sauce is a steaming hot glaze filling every crevice of the turkey.
If Yara is in the kitchen cooking, she’s so liberal with the sauce that it can drip off the plate. I like to run my finger along the edge and taste it before I tuck in. Just the sauce alone: the bittersweetness of the chocolate mixed with the smoky spice of the ancho chili makes my mouth water every time I think about it...
By the time Mickey finished reading his entire entry, her stomach grumbled in disappointment. Wherever this restaurant was, she needed to go there and order the turkey mole. But his descriptive way with words also made her swoon. She could almost imagine his smile as his plate was brought to him, licking sauce from his fingers, moaning from the sweet and savory flavors... “Good lord,” she murmured to her computer screen.
“What’s wrong?” Diego asked.
Her gaze darted up. “Oh, nothing,” she said, face suddenly feeling flush. “It’s just an annoying email.”
“Mhm.” His eyes roved over her face, making her even warmer.
As he silently appraised her, Mickey turned Cleo’s warning into a mantra. Don’t fuck this man yet, don’t fuck this man yet, don’t fuck this man yet... But it was so damn hard. They had the gift of privacy—no one would interrupt them, he was wearing shorts, she’d just read how he licked sauce off his fingers. It truly wasn’t fair.
“Can I use your bathroom?” she blurted out.
“Of course,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “It’s the first door on your left.”
She hurried off in that direction to get away from his piercing stare, his muscular calves and whatever sexy cologne he wore. Mickey just needed to throw some cold water on her face and remember the mantra: don’t fuck this man yet.
19
Once she patted her neck and chest with cold wet hands, Mickey stared at herself in the mirror. “Get a hold of yourself, Chambers.” She was going to go back into the kitchen, do more class prep and not study Diego Acosta’s every move.
She steeled her nerves as she opened the door to the hallway. Maybe before she had to face him, she could do a little first-floor exploration. No harm in scoping out his living space while getting herself together. Mickey drifted into the living room.
His living room was cozy with proper furniture, not the Ikea pieces she’d had to Allen-wrench together. A large flat-screen television was the focal point of the space. He positioned two navy blue easy chairs and a matching sofa around it. Wood accents filled the rest of the space, dark stained end tables and a coffee table. “Your decor is really nice, too,” she called out.
“Also my wife’s doing,” his muffled voice replied.
She slid her sock-covered feet against the dark hardwood floor as she ran her fingers along the back of his couch. “She had a good eye,” she said.
“She was a stylish lady,” he said, his voice much closer.
Mickey jumped at the sound and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I see...”
He stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, staring at her. “What are you doing?”
Mickey’s heart thumped hard against her ribs as she turned toward him. Her exploration was over, and it was time to return to the kitchen where she should mind her own business. She suddenly felt silly spying on his life. “I just wanted to see how you lived,” she said with a laugh. “Not even my best friend, Cleo, has such an adult setup.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and gazed around the living room. “Adult setup,” he intoned softly. “I guess that’s what it is.”
Okay, enough of this, Mickey decided. She walked toward him, heading back to her computer, taking care to maintain a wide berth around Diego. He straightened away from the wall just as she crossed her path, nearly bumping into her. “Sorry,” she said, as he caught her by the elbow.
That’s all it took, really.
Once his large warm hands pressed against her bicep, Mickey’s resolve broke. She froze and he didn’t release her. Their eyes locked, sharing the same frightening realization at the same time. “No,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Since that night in the bar’s basement, there were too many things left on the table. He’d said he wanted her. And while his statement could have meant a whole host of things, Mickey desperately wanted him to put a finer point on it. “Diego,” she whispered, taking a step back from him.
His fingers tightened, forcing her still, but only for a few seconds before he realized what he was doing. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head, as if he were shaking some idea loose from his brain. But when he looked at her again, it was still there. Whatever thoughts plagued him darkened his eyes and made his cheeks flush.
Together, they stood awkwardly, wondering what to say that wasn’t another apology. Mickey wondered if she should run back to the kitchen, toward something safer: coffee, lesson plans, mundane chitchat. Or stay here and stoke the fire in Diego’s eyes.
She didn’t have long to decide before he took a step toward her, raised his hand to her cheek and let his thumb stroke her face. “What are you doing?” she asked, leaning into his touch.
He stared at her mouth as he traced the calloused pad of his thumb down her jaw. “I don’t know,” he finally whispered. He took another step until he stood over her. “But I don’t want to let you go.”
Heat flooded her face as his fingers played along her skin. A tingling sensation buzzed in her chest and in her belly, while her breasts rose and fell with each breath. Mickey wanted to reach out and grab him, her mantra long forgotten. She wanted to kiss him, searching his mouth with her tongue, to bury her hands in his hair. “You don’t have to let me go,” she told him. “We talked about this.”
He raised a brow in recognition as he gave her an uncertain nod. “I didn’t—I never gave you an answer.”
Diego hadn’t said anything during their phone call about acting on his desires, but perhaps this moment was his answer. With her back against the wall and Diego right on top of her, Mickey had hoped he would find her through the haze of doubt and lust. “Talk to me, Diego.”
His hand shook as it drifted down to her neck. He used his thumb to stroke her riotous pulse, looking between that spot and her face. “Call it luck, but I’m glad you spilled coffee on me. I’m glad my car’s in the shop today. And I’m glad that you’re standing right here.”
Mickey’s brain glitched as she stared at his lips. “Why’s your car in the shop?”
“Brakes,” he said, planting his hand on the wall above her head. “I wore my brakes down.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “That could be dangerous.”
“Very,” he agreed. “I feel like I’m driving without them right now.”
Mickey was also barreling toward a cliff and had no intention of slowing down, either. “Why are you glad that I’m standing here?”
His other hand tipped her chin upward. His calloused fingers were cool against her warm skin as he splayed them along her neck. “Because, Mickey,” he murmured, “I’ve waited too long to touch you. Do you mind if I touch you?”
“No, I don’t,” she said dreamily. His fingers caressed her thrumming pulse delicately, pulling her toward him like a moth to flame. She held the wall behind her and pushed forward until she was only inches from his face.
“Can I kiss you?”
She nodded.
“Talk to me, Professor,” he commanded with a quiet rumble.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Diego studied her lips while she waited impatiently for him to do something. It was as if he wanted to commit the terrain of her mouth to memory before tasting it.
“Please?” Mickey added.
His dark brown eyes cut to hers. “Of course,” he said before slowly dipping downward to kiss her. His lips brushed lightly against hers, but the grip on the back of her neck tightened.
She raised up to meet his lips, pressing hard against him and feeling the softness of his mouth. He angled his head to take more of her, licking at her until she opened her mouth and accepted his tongue. He released the wall behind her and pulled her soft body against him.
Mickey gasped between his devouring kisses, trying not to drown in them, but soaking in pleasure that wet her through and through. She clutched his biceps and kissed him back, spiraling in a maelstrom of sensations. She tilted her head back as he kissed down her neck to her chest. His hands cupped her breasts through her dress, pushing them upward. Diego kissed through the fabric as he squeezed. “Mickey,” he whispered. “Can I taste you?”
