Page 5 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

As soon as I tap on the message, I feel disorientated. All I can focus on is that one word. That one fucking name that makes my knees buckle, all while simultaneously making me want to drop to them, whether I read it or hear it.

Her name.

Lorena.

Dante: Don’t know if you spoke to Tomás yet but Lorena is back in town

A clammy sensation dampens my hands, as I force my eyes to focus so I can read the next text that comes in.

Dante: Just promise me you’ll behave

My high feels like it’s taking a backseat to the adrenaline flowing in my veins as I fire back a response.

Me: When did she come back?

Dante: Santino…is that a yes?

“Santino!” Marty shouts. I bring the phone back to my ear.

“Yes?”

“Have you listened to a fucking word I’ve said? This is serious.”

“Yep,” I lie. “Don’t worry I’ll talk to Tomás about it and have him reach out to them. You just worry about getting me more business opportunities.”

He huffs. “I feel like what you truly need is above my level of expertise.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you need someone who can handle you and clean up all these public messes you keep making. I’m your agent, not a miracle worker.”

“Got it.”

I hang up and go to call Tomás. I know that when I speak to him I should discuss what Marty was clamoring on about but I know full well that I won’t bring up anything work related until I confirm what Dante told me. However, he beats me to it with a text message.

Tomás: Going to Hummingbirds tonight. Come join

Me: Sounds good. I could use a drink

To say the least.

Me: I have some things to discuss with you

Tomás: Yeah, I bet. I saw the latest online buzz concerning New York City’s favorite hot and hotheaded chef

Me: Ew

Tomás: I ripped that one right from the comment section of the post the news station’s gossip column posted. Nothing like walking out of the office and they are already typing an article about you

Tomás: …and Marty called me…as it was happening

Fucking Marty.

Me: Wonderful

Tomás: I’ll have a Manhattan waiting

Me: Thanks

Closing out of the text, I walk to the parking garage and hand in the ticket so my car can be brought up on the lift, and I can get over to Hummingbirds.

I know driving in the city isn’t ideal, parking is at minimum, not to mention expensive, but I look forward to my driving time.

Much like when I’m cooking or at my restaurant, the stick shift helps me focus while the music helps my mind do something my anxiety doesn’t allow it to do often…

relax. Something I need to be since I have no idea what the impact of tonight’s outburst — which is menial in comparison to some of my other not-so-great moments — means for my career and the cooking line I’ve been curating for months, but all I can think about is Lorena.

The drive to Hummingbirds takes me a little bit longer than I anticipated. Then again, it’s New York City, so no surprise there. What does surprise me however is the parking spot available smack dab in front of the entrance.

Finally, some luck.

I stay inside my car for a few minutes, first taking out my phone, and swiping to the parking app so I can pay the digital parking meter, and then to take another hit or two of the joint that I started earlier.

Music fills my car, but the mood shifts in an instant as the song that plays bleeds into another one.

The shuffle on my playlist is killing me because the song now spewing from the speakers is a complete one-eighty from the reggaeton song that was just playing. In its place is Wonderwall by Oasis.

Ironically, a dance version of this song was playing when I last saw Lorena. It’s always been a favorite song of mine, but now it’s just dredging up all the mixed feelings I have, which have only intensified with each passing day.

I’ve debated texting her so many times since that night, but each time I worked up the nerve, I lost it just as quickly.

Though with her being back in the city, and that I’m temporarily living with her brother while my place is being renovated, I’m bound to see her at some point.

I might as well rip it off like a Band-Aid and be the first to reach out by text.

I sit for a few seconds more, contemplating what I should say, and when I should send it. But impulsivity, my near and dear friend, figures that all out for me. Before I know it, I have our deserted text thread up, my thumbs moving quickly and hitting send before I have an opportunity to stop it.

Me: Hi

Okay, that’s a little basic. But a solid start nonetheless.

My pulse thrashes in my veins. I stare at the phone screen, brainstorming what to say next. I need to come up with something better to follow up the most basic of greetings.

I type ‘How are you?’ and delete it. That still feels too vague.

I try a ‘It’s been too long’. That feels obvious and still like I’m beating around the bush.

My thumbs glide across the touchscreen, and I see ‘I miss you’, immediately deleting that.

I mean, I do miss her, but that comes off too desperate.

Sitting with bated breath and absolute nausea, I wait for her to respond.

Three dots fill the screen, once, twice, three times, making the twisted feeling in my gut deepen but no response is coming through.

Fuck it. I’m going in.

I can do better than a generic message.

It’s Lorena.

I have to do better than that. But it still doesn’t make knowing what to say any damn easier. However, my thumbs decide what to say for me, and I hit send.

Me: I heard you're back in the city

Wonderful, another subpar response on my part, but this time the read receipt appears immediately, letting me know she probably has our conversation open.

Pressure’s on fuckface.

Shit. I don’t know how she manages to do it, but even interacting with her like this, with me saying the most basic shit, on an arguably one-way text message thread, has me working up a sweat.

But then again, why am I surprised?

This is how it’s always been with Lorena.

If she isn’t making me sweat from the nerves that she unknowingly causes me, or from the pent-up frustration I have when she runs that smart — beautiful, kissable, fuckable …

Fuck Tino, focus.

When she runs that mouth of hers.

She always has my heart pounding feeling uneasy… nervous.

Finally, she responds.

Lorena: Yep, I am

I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm, but from how we left things last time we spoke, her response tracks.

Still, I was hoping, foolishly — delusionally — that it wouldn’t be this strained, or that I didn’t fuck this up before anything could even start.

Which, of course, it can’t, Tomás would kill me.

Even if I can’t have her where I want her, beneath my body, for me to kiss, fuck, and lick every inch of while I praise her, I at least want to be on okay terms with her.

I’m not one to settle, but for her, I’d settle for whatever I can get, just to have her not hate me.

Me: Hopefully we can meet up soon…

Me: To talk

Lorena: Sure

These one-word answers are killing me.

Me: Cool. When are you thinking?

Lorena: Soon

My phone vibrates in my hand. It’s a voice memo from Tomás.

“Your drink is going to get warm. Come inside, I know you’re parked out front. I can see your car.”

I close my phone, slip out of the car, and head towards the entrance of Hummingbirds, trying to forget the conversation with Lorena. Though I’m fully aware that I just opened a can of worms by talking to her that my mind, body, and fucking heart has no intention of closing.

The soles of my Vans barely break the threshold of the bar when a group of women, clearly here to celebrate a bachelorette party, judging from the bride-to-be and bridesmaid sashes, start batting their eyelashes at me, whispering amongst themselves.

One of them — the bride of all people — clicks her heels over to me with one of her friends in tow.

Remembering what Marty has been trying to drill into my head about how to handle situations where people come up to me, I decide to stay still for now.

“Oh my god, are you Santino Amato?”

An uncomfortable chuckle breaks my lips. “I’m afraid so.”

The bride looks back at her friends and shouts over the music, “Told you!” They all murmur amongst themselves while each one purposely gives me a ‘fuck me’ wink.

“Knew it.” She takes a step closer, stumbling, clearly intoxicated.

I help break her fall, and as I do, she takes the opportunity to run her hand down my arm, playing with the vein centering it.

“Oops.” She giggles. “Well, I was thinking, since you’re so good with your hands and all…

” The irony of this is that her hand is no longer on mine and is drifting to my crotch, about to cup it, but I step back, creating much-needed space between us.

She blushes, continuing on. “Well, I was wondering if you can help me enjoy my last night of freedom.” She wiggles her left hand, showing off her diamond.

Sensing what I’m about to say, she pouts her lip. “Aww, please?”

Her friend standing next to her chimes in, not only pouting her lips but bringing her hands to her breasts, squeezing them together.

Tempting, but no.

Getting caught up in a situation like this is the last thing my already fragile image needs.

“I’m sorry, ladies, I have plans.”

A unified sigh erupts from all of them as I look over to my brother Dante manning the bar, who is giving me a ‘don’t you fucking dare’ look.

I nod and wink at him before bringing my attention back to the bachelorette party.

“But I happen to know the owner, so how about a round of shots and whatever your drink of choice is on me?”

They all clap excitedly, and that’s my cue to leave.