Page 33 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

SANTINO

I t’s been three days since me and Lorena crossed a line we shouldn’t have. A line that she allowed me to cross, with legs spread wide and a knee draped over my shoulder, welcoming my tongue into her sweet, sweet, pussy, no longer denying either of us what we’ve both been fighting for too long.

Three days doesn’t seem like much, but it feels like an eternity when that’s how long it’s been since we’ve seen or spoken to each other.

I’ve been here before. Shaking and unwell, feeling the effects of existing without a substance that previously helped me function. Except the last time I felt like this, it was by choice. Right now, the only choice I have is to wait and hope that I’ll hear from her soon.

And the withdrawal I’m feeling rivals the one I’ve gone through when I cut myself off cold turkey from the pills and white powder I turned to when I was partying and trying to make it through the grueling hours I used to hold.

Or when I wanted to feel something other than the burdens life threw my way, to quiet the thoughts clouded my head.

But now that’s all I have. Thoughts. Countless thoughts. Swarming around non-stop.

This is torture. I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. I need her to answer me… to see her… something.

Like a fool, I’ve been staring at the last text message she sent after I laid everything out to her.

A proposal of sorts, of the friends with benefits variety, but a proposal, nonetheless.

I even did it through voice memo…and I hate voice messages.

What a fucking bizarre concept, it’s basically a one-way blabber fest of talking to yourself, rambling on, hoping the person you’re sending the message to can retain every word you said.

But I did it because it was way too much to text, and I already know how much Lorena hates actually talking on the phone.

I’ve seen her screen calls like it’s going out of style.

A voice memo was my best bet to let her know how I feel, and she hit me with an ‘okay’ back.

Okay. It’s the equivalent of a ‘lol’ or ‘yep’. It’s an answer but an open-ended one. One that’s making me fucking spiral internally.

Okay to what, Lorena?

Okay, as in you agree you’d like to sit on my face whenever you see fit?

Okay…as in ‘yes Tino, we are now official fuck buddies’?

I stare down at my phone, mildly embarrassed by how many texts I sent her afterwards.

Me: Okay as in…

Me: We’re doing this?

Me: As in each other?

My embarrassment reaches max level reading over that one. Doing each other? I sound like a pubescent teen. And just when I think it can’t get any worse…it does. Why would I stop there? That would be too rational, and rationale has never been one of my strong suits.

Me: That’s not what I mean

Me: But yes…I’d like to eat you out again…and again

Me: I’d like to do other things too

Me: Just let me know your thoughts

Desperate for an answer and needing to make sure she’s okay. I text her again.

Me: Everything okay?

A read receipt shows almost instantly.

Relief and nerves filter through me as she texts back.

Lorena: Hi. Yes. I’m good. Sorry

Lorena: I’ll make sure to be at Cielo + Cibo tomorrow. I know the James Beard judge will be there, and I don’t want to miss it

Me: Umm, okay? But that’s tomorrow. You’re not coming home today?

Three dots appear then disappear.

Me: LORENA

Finally, she responds.

Lorena: I was at my friend Sarina’s and then I decided to visit my mom. But don’t you worry, I’ve been busy working and using my connections, to aid in the clean-up I was hired to do, remember?

Unfortunately.

As much as I appreciate what she’s saying, it stings that she’s choosing to go over my voice message and my texts.

I don’t want to let this go. We need to talk about it, but right now all I want is for her to come back to Tomás’.

I need to see her, just as much as I need her back at the restaurant for moral support when the judge comes in tomorrow for a tasting.

So, in the interest of not pushing her too much, or scaring her off, I leave it… for now.

Me: Thank you

Me: So tomorrow you’ll be at the restaurant then?

Lorena: Yes

Me: And what about tonight?

Me: Will you be sleeping under the same roof as me?

Lorena: Is that what you want?

Me: You know what I want. But I’ll settle for being in the same location, if it means you’re near me and I know where you are and safe

Lorena: Then yes. If that’s what it’ll take to make you calm down

Me: Thank you

Lorena: Of course

That was it. It’s like our moment outside the restaurant never happened.

It’s like I didn’t bare my everything to her, begging her to consider my offer.

Nothing. Even after coming the way she did, squirting that perfect pussy on my face, she just flipped a switch, going right back into publicist mode.

I’d be more insulted if I didn’t know that is how she deals with things…

she doesn’t. As long as I’ve known Lorena, she stashes her feelings and emotions away, putting on a neutral face, pretending everything is okay.

It’s probably one of the reasons why she’s such a good publicist, but fuck, I wish she didn’t have to do that. Not with me.

She can tote around the city all she wants, busying herself with work to avoid me, but she is going to need to face this at some point. I went six grueling months without having her in my life, and I can’t bear the thought of more time slipping by without having her where she belongs…with me.

Morning light sneaks into the vast penthouse windows, and relief flows freely throughout my body as I spot Lorena’s blazer hung on the coat stand near the entryway.

She made good on her promise to me, and came home last night.

I was awoken by the clicking of her heels strutting past my door and into her room.

Since then, I’ve been wide awake, which given that today is one of the biggest moments in my career, presenting a meal to the judge to be considered for a James Beard Award, it was a dumb decision.

As I yawn for what feels like the hundredth time in a row, I feel how damn exhausted I am.

But I figured, if I stay awake, I can hear if she tries to leave before I do.

“You’re up early,” Tomás says, walking down the spiral staircase that leads to his bedroom suite and into the kitchen, already dressed for the day.

Unlike me, Tomás usually gets up at the ass crack of dawn to get a lift in before he gets ready for the day, whereas I usually roll out of bed a half-hour before I have to head to the restaurant.

Somedays, a tad earlier, if I need to stop at the farmer’s market.

“Yeah, I know. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nervous about today?” Tomás asks, as he grabs a mug out of the cabinet before heading over to the coffee machine to get some of the brew I set up ahead of time.

I manage a ‘mhm’ in response as I look to the end of the long kitchen island I’m standing at.

Her laptop and purse are still there, and as I skate my gaze down the hallway that leads to our rooms, her door is still closed like it has been since I walked out of mine.

A smile creeps onto my face. I can feel my dimples, making their distinct crease in my cheeks.

With her belongings she always has with her, still here, I know she hasn’t left yet.

Now she’ll have no choice but to talk to me while I make her breakfast, as well as when I drive us into the restaurant…together. How it should be.

“Yoo-hoo, pendejo.” Tomás jokingly whistles for my attention as he sits with his freshly poured coffee.

I go to join him, purposely picking the stool at the corner of the island that faces the bedrooms so when she opens the door and walks out to the hallway, she is forced to see me first.

“Sorry, I’m a little preoccupied,” I say.

“Umm, I’d say so. You’re zoning the hell out. I know you’re nervous. Having the judge come in today is a huge deal, but you’ll crush it.”

“Thanks.” I flick my wrist up to look at my watch.

It’s actually not a bad thing that I’m up earlier than usual today.

It’ll give me plenty of time to prep my menu for the judge and plate everything just so.

However, it’s like Lorena must sense that I’m up waiting for her, since she’s taking her time waking up.

Tomás takes a sip of his coffee, instantly shifting gears, humming and hawing, at the flavor I chose for this morning. “?Qué es eso?”

“Coffee, dude.” I laugh, pointing out the obvious, though, I know he keeps eyeing the glass canister on the counter next to the coffee machine, because it’s not his usual boring breakfast blend.

He takes another sip. This time seeming to enjoy it more than the first time. “No shit, it’s coffee. But I just restocked the breakfast blend. You know, what we usually drink.”

“You mean what you usually drink. I stop at the bodega near the restaurant most mornings for a café con leche.”

Tomás rolls his eyes. “No really, what is this?”

“Blueberry,” I say, as my fingertips now rap on the countertop. My impatience mounting by the second as I wait for Lorena to wake up.

“Blueberry?” Tomás asks, confused.

I turn to face him, angling my head just enough that when Lorena opens the door, I can still see her through my periphery.