Page 2 of Ready or Not (The Nape #I)

He was tall.

Like I had to look up to see his face, tall.

With a muscular-lean build that I could tell came from a man with a proper gym discipline, his skin was a rich shade of golden oak, accentuated by the large rooftop lights that kissed it.

His curly hair, a beautiful shade of ebony, was styled into a small fro that looked too perfect.

He wore a simple black shirt and dark blue jeans that hugged his frame just right, leaving just enough to the imagination.

His neck was adorned with a gold Cuban link and a second gold chain with a small pendant of the Dominican Republic bar coin.

“Thank you,” he took his card back from the bartender and smiled, flashing me a view of diamond bottom bar grills on some of his perfectly straight, white teeth.

Damn, this man was high levels of fine.

Words stuck in my throat, I could only stare back at him while my heartbeat drummed in my ears. My palms felt clammy, my cheeks heated, and my mind went blank once when his eyes caught mine. They were deep, dark brown pools with flecks of gold that I wanted to drown in.

His smile widened, causing a dimple to appear in his left cheek.

“Your drink,” he said, and my ears picked up the deep timbre of his voice… smooth and honeyed, like a sip of the finest whiskey. “It’s behind you.”

Bobbing my head as if it were loose, I reached for the mojito, unable to break eye contact. My hand clumsily hit the rim of the clear plastic cup, causing some of it to spill over my fingers.

“Shit.” I gasped at the sensation of the cold liquid running down my hand. Reaching for a napkin, our hands connected as his reflexes were quick, catching mine in his.

“Let me help with that?—”

“It’s okay—” I shook my hand, wanting to retreat, but he held on, his touch sending my senses into overdrive. His eyes bore into mine, and I melted even more under his gaze.

"I want to." He brought my hand closer to him as he reached for a napkin.

With a gentle motion, he dabbed at the spilled drink on my fingers, his touch feather-light and careful.

Each contact gave me a flurry of butterflies in my stomach, and I unintentionally held my breath.

As he cleaned with unwavering focus, I couldn't help but notice the intricate details of his hands—strong fingers, multiple rings, his nails meticulously trimmed and clean, and the contrast of his tanned skin against my umber hues.

When he finally looked up, our eyes locked once more, and I almost melted.

"Sorry about that," he continued.

I shook my head, attempting not to make a fool out of myself by squeaking. "No, it's... It's fine. T-thank you for helping. And thanks for the drink."

"Anytime." He flashed me another of those heart-stopping smiles before releasing my hand. “I don’t mind paying for a drink for a beautiful woman.”

I smiled nervously, blushing furiously at his compliment. “Well.. Thank you?—”

“The name’s Desiderio, but call me Desi.”

“Desi.” I nodded, feeling a rush of warmth spread through me at the sound of his name. “Sounds Latin.”

“It is,” he nodded. “Born in the DR, raised in the Bronx.”

“I could tell by your necklace.”

He chuckled, his fingers touching the bar coin pendant. “What about you?”

“I’m from D.C, but my family moved to Brooklyn freshman year of high school.”

“BK? Makes sense.” A smirk appeared on his face.

I pursed my lips as my eyes turned to slits. “What?”

“Brooklyn always has gorgeous women.” He winked and I blushed. “Where in Brooklyn?”

“Fort Greene. I grew up around the big park. Lived right off of Clermont until I moved to Williamsburg. You?”

“I was raised in Parkchester until my family moved to Riverdale. Oh, that reminds me... I never caught your name.”

“Sorry about that. I’m–”

“Girl! We been looking everywhere for you and—oh!” Naomi grasped my shoulder, her eyes widening as she took in the scene before her. I cleared my throat, tearing my gaze away from Desi to awkwardly smile at my best friend as if I’d been caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to do.

“Naomi, this is Desi.” I gestured towards the man standing beside me. “He… uhm.. he was just helping me with... I spilled my drink.”

“Nice to meet you, Naomi.” He extended a hand to shake hers, which she took with a grin.

“Likewise.” Shifting her attention between Desiderio and me, a smirk appeared on her lips before she turned to me.

“What’s up?” I looked at her, my cheeks feeling warmer under her knowing gaze, and it caused her smirk to grow.

“Nell and I was looking for you to come dance with us but…” She paused as she eyed Desi again, and then turned to me and winked. “I’ll let her and Liz know you’re all good.”

“I was just grabbing a drink. I can come now?—”

She held her hand up. “Naaaaah. Have fun here with Desi .” She turned back to him with a sly grin. “Make sure she doesn’t spill any more drinks, sir. Can you promise me that?”

“I’ll try.” He nodded with a chuckle, and I did my best to ignore the flutter in my heart at the sound. Shooting me one last mischievous smile followed by a wink, Naomi disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone with Desiderio, who was still wearing that disarming grin.

“Looks like I’ve been assigned as your drink spillage prevention specialist,” he joked.

I let out a nervous laugh, biting my lip. “Well, I promise I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression playful. “Had me fooled for a second there.”

I rolled my eyes at his teasing, but couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.

“You have a nice smile,” he continued, taking a sip of his drink. “Don’t try to hide it.”

“I—” I felt myself turn into a tomato at his compliment. “T-thank you.”

“Mhm.” He leaned casually against the bar counter, his eyes never leaving mine. “So, spill-prone, what brings?—”

I gasped, holding my hand to my chest in mock offense. “Spill-prone?”

“You never told me your name,” he quipped, taking another sip of his drink. “It’s gonna be spill-prone until you tell me your name.”

“It’s Solène.”

“ Solène .” He gave me a nod, rolling my name around on his tongue as if testing it. “French?”

“Mhm.” I nodded, finally taking a sip of my drink. “Haitian grandparents.”

“Interesting.” He mused with a slight tilt of his head, as if intrigued by this new piece of information while silence settled between us, the music and chatter from the surrounding crowd filling the gap.

“So, Solène with the spill-prone tendencies,” Desi finally broke the silence. “What brings you out here tonight?”

I sucked my teeth, pretending to be offended. “You’re not gonna let go of the spill-prone nickname, are you?”

“Nah.” He grinned, his dimple making another appearance. “It’s either that or I can call you Butterfingers.”

“Butterfingers?” I wrinkled my nose at the suggestion, playfully swatting his arm. “C’mon, now you’re just being mean.”

“Butterfingers, spill-prone Solène—” he started, but I cut him off with a playful glare, making him laugh even more. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” He raised his hands in surrender, still grinning from ear to ear.

“I think you can come up with a better nickname for me, or even better… just call me Sol.”

He chuckled, tapping his chin. “Sol like the sun? It works, considering that you’ve brightened my evening.”

I tilted my head. “Are you always this smooth, Desi?”

“Maybe.” He smirked, leaning in a little closer. His scent, a mixture of sandalwood, mint and something distinctly him enveloped me. “Only when I meet someone worth the effort.”

This man’s too charming.

I laughed. “Such a cornball.”

“A corn-ball that got you blushing and giggling,” he pointed out, which earned him another giggle. “So, back to my question, Spill-prone. What brings you here tonight?”