Page 18 of Forbidden (Wicked Billionaires #1)

STORM

I run quickly into the lobby, and I shake the rain from myself. I avoid the kind uniformed man, and I realize the only good thing is, the rain is covering my tears.

What a disaster.

In the oak lined elevator, I close my eyes, and sob. I’m such a loser.

The dinner was fine. The drinks at the two bars, were fine.

He even seemed like a nice guy. He worked in music, or so he said. We then ended up at his apartment, and it was spectacular.

Everything seemed right, even if he implied, I had a boring job, and was not from a big city.

He was not as cool as Lorenzo, and he was nowhere as graceful, or manly. The cheesy music he put on, was not subtle, and I could see straight through him. At least I could tell he was keen, and I wanted sex, too.

I still can’t believe what happened, when he stopped, and laughed, before…

Before telling me I can’t kiss.

I mean, what the actual F. I can kiss, my ex and I kissed a lot, before we had our vanilla sex. I’ve seen it done on TV, and in movies. I’ve done it in my head, a million times.

I wipe my eyes and stamp my wet foot. “Shit!” I yell.

That is it. My last attempt at dating.

I can’t see Lorenzo like this! No fucking way. I’ll move fast, exit and sneak into my room.

Finally, the elevator doors open, and I look left and right. Classical music plays, and I walk in dripping.

Again.

I quickly run to my room, and I slam the door. Inside, I pull off the wet jacket, and then the wet catsuit outfit.

I hang it up fast, leap under the covers, and cry. Screw making all the effort, and also the stupid make over. Also, thousands of dollars, and maybe a thousand hours trying to be a hot date.

A total waste of time.

At least my hobbies are cool. He was all about music, and nothing else.

I think about the three other boys I have kissed. One, when I was thirteen with Dan who lived next door. That was when my braces cut his lip.

He’d pushed me away, and called me a name I’ll never forget.

The school dance was my second and also awkward. Again, I was told I was a terrible kisser, and that was it. Enough!

After, I avoided socializing with guys, and I started to live in my books. That is, until I met my ex. We’d stuck together, and we’d started having sex.

Sex that was not as amazing as it should be. And now…

As I cry, there is a knock on my door. I ignore it, and a minute later, it’s knocked again. Slowly it opens a little. “Are you okay?”

Wiping my face, I roll over sniffing. I cannot see well, my eyes are cloudy.

“May I come in?”

I nod, and nothing happens. “Yep.” I say feeling disgusting.

A protective Lorenzo walks over, and he sits next to me. “Want to talk about it?” I slide over, and remaining under the covers, I rest my face on his lap, and cry.

Slowly, he puts his arm around me, and he rubs my back, like Mom used to do.

Lorenzo whispers things to me, and I eventually begin to calm. We lean into each other, and he holds me close, as if protecting me.

Lorenzo pulls the sheet over me to keep me warm, and he wraps his big arms around me. As if they are huge strong wings.

His deep voice calms me, as he continues to rub my shoulders. I am still wet, and I start to shiver.

After another minute, Lorenzo wraps the sheet around me, then lifts me into his arms. He carries me towards the bathroom. His mouth is near my head, and he kisses my forehead. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

An hour later, after a long hot shower, and a whiskey he handed me through the door, I dry off.

The rain has stopped, and Lorenzo and I walk up to his rooftop.

I’m in comfy cotton knickers, and a long old jersey that he has loaned me. It comes to my knees. I also have thick, sloppy winter socks on, and I feel better.

Lorenzo pulls the cover off the outdoor sofa area, and we sit. We sip on fresh whiskies, and he looks nice in his suit.

We sit in the old section of the roof, next to the statues of eagles and the herbs that I planted.

We lay back on the sofa next to each other, and Lorenzo looks at my herbs. “They’re coming along. You’ve done a good job,”

“Thanks,” I say sniffing.

I realize I owe Lorenzo an explanation. Or he’ll think I’m a stupid kid who can’t take big city living. “I’m just gonna come out with it and call it what it is. I hate dating, there.”

We share a look, and we both laugh. “Don’t laugh, it’s not funny.”

“Hey, I’m not good at it myself.”

“Yeah, well, at least you get some. Sex that is.”

I decide to give Lorenzo my complex history, and I explain as a not hot, not even cute teen, I was laughed at twice. I then tell him I’ve only kissed three guys.

That my skillset, and confidence around romance, from small talk, to kissing, and even to bedroom styles, is below par. Way below par. Actually, non-existent.

Lorenzo listens, and he doesn’t give anything away.

He just rubs my shoulder as he listens, and I sniff between sentences. I lean in, and he wraps a caring roommate arm around me.

I flip my legs under me, and we talk on, until we finish our whiskeys. Finally, we go downstairs, and we discuss relationships over another strong drink.

Back on the roof, with our third whiskey, I ask Lorenzo about kissing. Also about matters of love, sex and things like that.

He starts to close down, and he seems reluctant to discuss it. I push him, and he opens up, a little. Lorenzo explains some, and finally says, “I hope that’s enough.”

I still feel like I’m at ground zero, but Lorenzo stands, as if we are about to call it a night.

The thing is, we’ve not really solved much, or anything!

I still feel like a failure, I cannot make dating work, and stay in NYC, like this. Awkwardly, I stand, and walk up to Lorenzo.

“Can I ask one thing?”

“Anything,” he says caringly. It’s a different Lorenzo I’m used to, and his protective side is strong and reassuring.

As if helping prove everything will be alright.

“I’m inexperienced with men, as you now know. Their minds, their hearts and well, their needs. I think I need help!”

I explain more, and we discuss dating. As we talk on, we walk around the rooftop. The stars are now out, and it’s a clear beautiful evening after the rain.

I then have a mad idea, as I spin to him. “What about fake dates. Like, us, at dinner time? You can train me.”

Lorenzo shakes his head, then he tells me he’s against it. I push on, and it has to work. Why the heck not?

Finally, and reluctantly, Lorenzo caves. I grab him. “Thanks, and, I won’t waste your time.” Lorenzo wraps a big arm around me, and I hold him tight. Maybe, just maybe this way I have a chance.

Because Lorenzo is Italian, we often have Italian for dinner. We both love it, and we can both cook Italian meals with ease. When we do, I practice my bad Italian, and he corrects me with his. It’s fun, and playful.

Over the next week, we have fake romantic dinners of all kinds. Both in the penthouse, and on his rooftop.

During the fake dates, we talk as if we are on a real first date. At times, Lorenzo stops us, and he teaches me things. We do Italian music and Italian food one night. Cuban food, and Cuban music, the next. We even have some fake lunch dates on the weekend.

It felt weird at the start, but after around date twelve, my confidence lifts. I do my best, and I try to be cool, interesting, and romantic. Lorenzo, as always, plays cold, calm, and reserved, but when not, he coaches me, gently.

He explains, what to say to men… How to say it… When to say it… And how to act on first dates…

Also, what to expect on second and third dates…

I work hard, and I try to be warm, but not too warm, small town, or sweet. Even if people, including family, and colleagues, have at times said, I’m adorable, I do not want to be. Others have said over the years, I should never lose my charm.

The thing is, I want to. I don’t want to be me.

I want to be like the sophisticated, tall, hot model he took, and claimed.