Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) (14 page)

He nodded, his eyes wide. “I’m the exact same way. My brother calls me a serial dater, and I don’t even care. I haven’t cared in ten years. The way I see it, if there’s no commitment, there’s no—”

“Heartache,” I finished for him. We stood there in silence for a beat, the weight of our words dangling between us like thread. I finally took a breath. “The problem is… eventually everyone you know grows up and gets married.”

Demo’s mouth pulled into a frown. “I’ve been a groomsman in eleven weddings over the past six years.”

“Most of my friends have kids now, too.” Nodding, I tucked a stray strand of hair back into my messy ponytail. A flash of self-consciousness rippled through me. I never hung out with a man looking like this. If I wasn’t dressed to the nines, I was naked. And I was neither dressed up, nor dressed completely down, and I felt utterly exposed. “Nothing to make you more aware of your expiration date than watching everyone you love walk around with a baby on their hip.”

He nodded. “I have eighteen nieces and nephews, half of which came from my younger siblings.”

“
Eighteen
?” I gaped at him. “You could have a show on TLC.”

“We’re not that interesting.” Demo stepped closer to me, and my pulse spiked. “Do you see my point now?”

I swallowed. “I think I lost the point about five minutes ago.”

A line formed between his dark eyebrows. “I wouldn’t just go to bed with you, because you’re different.”

“Kind of sounds like we’re one in the same.”

He leaned forward, completely invading my bubble. Not that I minded. “Did you not feel something, I don’t know,
huge
when we kissed?”

I choked back some laughter, and another chunk of hair slipped out of my ponytail. “We weren’t
that close
, Demo. Now you’re just bragging.”

“Come on.” He rolled his
eyes and chuckled. “Don’t jerk my chain.”

I lowered my eyelids. “Baby, you won’t ask me to stop when
I’m
jerking anything.”

His hand raked through his hair, making it stand on end. “Knock it off.”

“Sorry.” I blinked a few times. “Old habits die hard, and all that.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

His eyes
searched mine. “Don’t make me beg, Marisol. Did you feel something that night? In front of your neighbor? The kiss and all that?”

My stomach whirled at the memory. “If by the
kiss and all that
, you meant did I feel like I was going to pass out cold, or explode into a trillion tiny pieces, or maybe both?” He nodded once, and I said, “Then, yes. I felt something.”

“Oh.” He moved closer. His chest was brushing against mine, and it made me want to purr like
Concinero. “Me, too,” he said quietly.

Suddenly the air in the Eats & Treats kitchen was entirely too hot, and it was hard to breathe. I tried to think of something witty to say.
Something to cut the tension in the room. But the only phrases that popped into my mind were different ways of asking Demo to hump me silly all over the stainless steel table.

Which would not only have defeated the purpose of the very conversation we were having, but would also
have broken a few health codes.

“You make me want more
,” Demo said, his voice rough.

I leaned against his chest, closing the space between us. “More what?”

“Time with you. I want things.” Demo clenched his teeth, as if it pained him to admit this. “Stability. One woman in my bed every night. Dinners around a table. Picket fences and swing sets in the yard. Garbage like that.”

My breath hitched in the back of my throat. Never in thirty-two years
had I ever want to hear a man say those kinds of things to me. Usually I ran from this kind of talk. But for the first time, I wanted to hear more. I
craved
more. “I’m starting to think I want those things, too.”

I raised a shaking hand and tried to tuck my hair back into its pony, but Demo’s hand on my wrist stopped me. His
touch scalded my skin, but instead of pulling away, I turned my hand so that his rough fingers could lace themselves with mine.

“Don’t.”
His breath tickled my face. “Leave it alone.”

             
“I’m a mess, I—”

             
“I like you this way. I like the way you look when you’re dressed down.” Demo cupped my face, gently dragging his thumb across my lower lip. A fire started to crackle and pop in my belly. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re not trying so hard. I didn’t think it was possible, but you are.”

             
“I… I…” Words eluded me. I don’t know why. I’d been called beautiful before, but never when wearing grubby clothes covered in debunked dolmades.

             
He grinned. “Just say thank you.”

             
“Thank you.” I bit my lip. I hadn’t bitten my lip around a man since I was in a training bra. “Listen, are you gonna kiss me anytime soon, because I’m ready to climb a wall here.”

             
Demo’s nose brushed the end of my own, and my spine melted into goo. His thumb did another sweep across my lower lip before he leaned in and nipped at it. Though the touch was gentle, it sent a shockwave twirling down my spine, then back up again. When his lips opened against mine, and the silky warmth of his tongue slid against my own, I wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled my hands in his dark hair.

             
Demo’s rough hands glided down my arms to my ribcage, squeezing my waist before slipping to my backside and lifting me up. When I gasped against his mouth, he growled in response, then rested me on top of the table, before settling in between my knees. Latching my ankles behind his back, I tilted my head to the side and deepened our kiss, wanting more, more, more—my mind begging for the moment not to end. I could feel Demo’s heart thudding against my chest as we leaned back against the cold steel, and my own heart matched its rhythm perfectly.

             
Maybe those health codes
will
get broken after all.

             
Frantically, I tugged at the hem of Demo’s tee shirt with trembling fingers. His mouth began a trail across my jaw and down the side of my neck. “We should lock the door,” I whispered.

             
Demo’s head popped up, and he looked at me with wide eyes. “No,” he said breathlessly.

             
“No?” I giggled lowly. “That’s very risqué of you, Mr. Antonopolous.”

             
He nipped at the skin just above my collarbone, then shook his head. “No.”

             
“Whatever, Captain Morality, I won’t tell the health inspector.” Tugging on his neck, I brought our mouths colliding together again, earning an appreciative growl from the back of Demo’s throat.

             
“Wait,” he mumbled against my lips. Finally, after another two—okay,
four—
minutes of making out, his hands came down on the table top with a slam, and I fell backwards onto the metal.

             
“Oof,” I grunted, pushing myself up onto my elbows. “Um… what the hell?”

             
Demo stood upright and backed away from me like I was a lit firecracker. “This…” He gestured between the two of us. “Is not happening tonight.”

             
My head flopped backward. “If I had balls, Demo, they’d be—”

             
“If you say blue, I’m out of here.” When I lifted my head and looked at him, he adjusted the front of his jeans. “I think I’ve got that covered here, okay?”

             
“Fine,” I growled. “What’s your problem now, Demo? I mean, wasn’t it humiliating enough to admit that I’m like every other woman in the world, looking for the nuclear family, and praying for a Tiffany engagement ring?”

             
“It isn’t that I don’t want this, I…” He stopped speaking and stared at me. “Tiffany engagement ring? Aren’t those around ten grand?”

             
I sat up and shrugged. “For the small ones.”

             
“Listen.” Demo drug his hand down his face. “I’m not nailing you on a metal table.” I opened my mouth to say something rhetorical, but he cut me off. “I’m not nailing you until…”

             
I waited for his announcement, so that I could mark it on my calendar. In red ink. Circled twice. “Well?”

             
Demo stood up straight, and smoothed down the front of his tee shirt. “My grandmother is never gonna get off of my back if I don’t take you on a date.”

             
Slumping over, I gaped at him. “That was the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard in my life.”

             
He laughed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry.”

             
“Try again,” I ordered.

             
“Ugh. Fine.” He stepped closer, and put his hands on the table on either side of me. Once again his breath tickled my face, and I had to bite my lip to keep from wiggling in place. “Will you go out with me, Marisol?”

             
I paused. It was a completely, utterly deliberate pause, and I could tell by the way a wrinkle formed between his eyebrows that Demo was annoyed by it.

             
Good.

             
Finally he scowled at me. “All right, if all you’re gonna do is mess with me, I—”

             
“Yes, I’ll go out with you.” I laughed, then pressed another kiss to his mouth. “Now can I have the recipe for dolmades?”

             
Demo grinned. “Nope,” he replied, before plastering his mouth on mine again.

Chapter Thirteen

              When I saw the headlights in my driveway, a hysterical squeal escaped my lips, and nearly dropped the phone.

             
“Holy Hannah, did you just
squee
in my ear?” Lexie asked. “This is historic. Hey, Fletcher! Mark the calendar—Marisol is acting like a teenager with a crush.”

             
I heard Fletcher laughing in the background and winced. I really needed to get myself under control. “Don’t tease me. Remember the time your boobs leaked at an event, and you had to stuff your bra with coffee filters.”

             
Lexie’s giggling stopped. “You said you’d never bring that up.”

             
“I lied.” Looking down, I picked at invisible lint on my skirt. “Come on. Focus. Do you think I picked the right dress?”

             
“The red one with the halter top, right?” She popped something into her mouth and crunched down on it. “And the black strappy heels, right?”

             
“Uh huh.” I nodded even though she couldn’t see me.

             
“You look fabulous, and you know it,” Lexie told me. “Relax. Demo will take one look at you and ravage you.”

             
“I don’t want to be ravaged.” I surprised myself when I said it. “Well, maybe a little. But it’s our first date. No ravaging. Mostly I want him to
want
to ravage me.”

             
“Well, I think that’s already been established,” she said. “Which is why I had to sanitize that table twice, I’ll have you know.”

             
“I told you all of our clothes stayed on.” The doorbell rang, and I jumped half a foot into the air. “Holy balls, he’s here!”

             
“Shhhh. He’ll hear you.” Lexie started to laugh again. “Take a deep breath, hang up the phone, and answer the door.”

             
“Okay.”

             
“Oh, and call me later to fill me in.”

             
“Got it.”

             
“And don’t forget to be a lady. Order a salad and all that.”

             
I scoffed. “Shut up. I’ve got to go.”

             
“Fine.” She sighed happily. “My little girl’s going out on her first date that won’t end in a one night stand. I’m so proud.”

             
Snorting, I pressed end and dropped my phone into my purse. Where yes, my gun was in the bottom, too. The last thing I needed was to forget either one.
Again
. The doorbell rang a second time, and I suppressed an excited scream as I turned the doorknob. “Get a grip, Vargas,” I hissed, before opening the door and flashing my twenty-tooth grin at Demo. “Well, hello. You’re early.”

             
He was as handsome as ever, but the obvious effort he’d put into himself made the whole package even that much more delectable. Instead of his usual torn, dirty Levis, Demo was wearing dark wash jeans and a button down shirt that was white enough to look fresh and clean, but just wrinkled enough to reinforced his casual attitude.
What, me? Nervous for a date? Pssshh. Pass me the Heineken.

             
Demo grinned at me, and I noticed that he was clean-shaven. For the first time since meeting Demo I realized that his roguish good looks, whiskers, and disheveled locks were all hiding a boyish face. “You look like a million bucks.”

             
I struck a pose. “Oh, this old thing?”

             
“You’re gonna look pretty out of place in my tow truck.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels self-consciously. “Not that I’m complaining.”

             
For the briefest of moments, I was mortified that I would be driving around in a tow truck all night, and I could practically hear my mother’s inevitable groan of disapproval from clear down in California.

             
But as quickly as those thoughts came, the image of my huge, empty house waiting for me when I got home pushed them aside. Followed quickly by the empty right side of my bed, and the not two, not three, but
four
empty bedrooms that sat unused upstairs. Sure, my last date had been with a real estate developer who drove a Ferrari, but the date was dead in the water before we’d even finished our salads.

(Of course, I didn’t tell Candace and
Lexie that the next day—the version I’d told them ended with mad, passionate lovemaking that blew his mind.)

It was time to stop acting like some sort of unattached sex kitten. I wanted different things now. And Demo was just that.
Different
. And different was good.

I offered him a warm smile. “I think it’s your tow truck that’ll make me look good.”

Demo’s lips twitched. “This nice side of you is kind of pleasant. You know that?”

“Likewise,” I told him, holding out my hand. “Ready to go?”

He took my hand, lacing his rough fingers with mine. Giving me a tug, he pulled me over the threshold, and I yanked my door shut with a click. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“So where are we going?” I asked, enjoying the warm evening sunshine on my shoulders as we walked over to his truck. The bright white paint was decorated in cobalt blue script, aptly the same color scheme as the Greek flag, and a cartoon of three men with curly dark hair and wide smiles lined the doors. I pointed one of my freshly painted nails at the picture. “Looks just like you.”

“Ha, ha, ha. My niece painted that.” He walked to the driver’s side door. “It’s my grandfather, my father, and myself.”

“You all look the same.” I touched the smile on one of the faces.

“We did in real life, too. Wait ‘til you meet my family.”

A funnel cloud of excitement whirled through me. He wanted me to meet his family? In twenty years of interactions with people of the male persuasion, I’d only been invited to meet a man’s family three times. Once when I was sixteen, and that was only because she’d wanted pictures of us before the prom. The second time was when I was twenty and his mother immediately hated me because I asked for something stronger to drink with her meatloaf than lemonade—whoops. And the last time was when I was around twenty-eight, and he’d only introduced me to his family because I’d shown up at the same restaurant where they were dining. Alas, I’d been on a date with another man that night, and we’d broken up via text message by the next morning.

I’d decided many moons ago that meeting the family wasn’t for me, and therefore avoided it like one avoids lice.

N
ot anymore.

“If your family is as nice as your
Yiayia, I can’t wait,” I told him happily, waiting by my door.

Come on. A girl’s got to have some standards.

Demo pulled on his door handle, then winced. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Forgot about that.” With a sheepish grin, he lumbered around the truck and tugged my door open. It creaked loudly, and he snickered. “Your chariot, and all that.”

“Wow. Be still my heart.” I was teasing, but in all reality, my heart was thudding like a base drum with Demo this close to me.

He leaned in, his still damp hair flopping across his forehead. I could still smell the scent of whatever soap he’d lathered up in. “Thanks for going out with me tonight, Marisol,” he whispered, his minty fresh breath dancing across my cheek.

Dear God, I promise to be a good girl and stop acting like a tramp if you make him kiss me
right now.
I also promise to give a bunch of money to charity, and go to church with Lexie and Candace once in a while, even though Lexie’s mom makes me want to poke myself in the eye with a pickle fork. Amen.

Thank heaven for answered prayers, because Demo’s mouth met mine with the revere
ntial gentleness of a fifteen year old kissing a girl for the first time. But the passion behind his lips was definitely full-grown man. Because when his hands met my hips, and he walked me backwards until my back was pressed against the cool metal side of the truck, his tongue brushed mine in a way that hinted of things to come.

Good things.
Ravaging
sorts of things. Uh huh.

When he pulled away, staring down at me with heavy-lidded eyes and a hand on either side of me, trapping me against the vehicle, I said, “I thought you were supposed to kiss me at the end of the date.”

“Guess I forgot.” He licked his lips. “You taste good.”

Sweet Jesus, thank you for listening to my prayers. My check to the Red Cross will be in the mail first thing tomorrow morning. Amen.

I cleared my throat, and sat down in the cab. “What do I taste like?”

“Candy.” He shut the door and took his time sauntering back to the other side. He knew I was watching him. Cocky bastard.

“So where are you taking me?” I asked as he climbed in and started the engine. There were a handful of new restaurants that had opened up downtown that I’d been dying to try out, and I was dressed for a night of three courses and expensive wine, if I did say so myself.

Demo looked at me and winked. “It’s a surprise. We’ll start with dinner.”

“All right then. Let’s do it.” I sat back in my seat and buckled my belt. “Let the shock and awe begin.”

We drove along High Drive with the windows down, the
May breeze bringing the scent of fresh lilacs into the cab as we talked. On one side of the road there were huge brick houses, palatial structures that’d been there for a hundred years, and on the other side was a cliff overlooking Latah Creek. The view was incredible—the sky rich with pinks and oranges as the sun set—and the conversation was even better.

Turns out, Demo was a giant softie. When he was fifteen, he rescued a neighborhood kid from drowning in the Spokane
River, and then spent every day after school for the next two months reading to him until he could return to school. His nieces and nephews—all eighteen of them—called him “Uncle Bobo,” and he gave each and every one of them a crisp two dollar bill in their birthday cards every year.

But what
was weird was the information Demo pulled out of me—and the fact that he still seemed to like me after I’d said it all. He was now the one person in the world who knew that I’d slept with one of my father’s dress shirts wrapped around my bed pillow for two years after he left, and still had it tucked underneath the corner of my mattress. And Demo didn’t bat an eye when I told him that I’d lost my virginity to a camp counselor my ninth grade year simply because I’d caught my mother flirting with him while I dropped my suitcases off in my cabin.

We talked like old friend
s as Demo’s tow truck rumbled down the hill into downtown, then crossed the Spokane River towards the north side of town, I looked around curiously. “Didn’t you want to stop?”

He gave me a sideways glance. “Nope.”

“But downtown’s where all the good restaurants are.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt stupid. Here I was, trying to show Demo how
not
snobby I was, and what I’d just said was, in fact, completely snobby. “What I meant is, I haven’t heard of any new places up here. Where are we going?”

“Who says we’re going to a restaurant?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. After a beat, I smiled sheepishly. “Touché.”

He grinned. “You’re not used to not being in control, are you?”

“How’d you guess?” I laughed as the tow truck took a turn towards the city courthouse. We’d left the cosmopolitan part of town, leaving behind the mirrored high-rise buildings and ornate brick structures overlooking the white waters of the Spokane River, and now we were idling through the rougher neighborhoods. Dilapidated brownstones with sagging front stoops lined the road on either side of the palatial courthouse, and tiny mom and pop café’s and greasy spoon diners filled the spaces between buildings. People were sitting on their stoops to beat the late spring heat, and a group of men outside a corner market with barred windows were sharing a forty ounce bottle of cheap beer. Their eyes locked on the tow truck as we idled by, narrowed and suspicious.

In the years I’d lived
in Spokane, I’d only been in this neighborhood once or twice, to file for our small business licenses and stuff like that. And judging by the amount of broken down cars lining the sides of the road, and the presence of sweaty wife beater shirts, I could tell why. Had I been by myself, I’d have pressed the lock button inside my Beemer, and headed back to my gated neighborhood. But Demo seemed unaffected by the ghetto we were rolling through, a mild smile on his face, his elbow hanging out his open window in the sun.

“Okay, Princess, I want you to have an open mind, all right?”
he asked as we pulled into a cracked parking lot outside a seedy looking bar. The lettering above the door said “Yokey’s Watering Hole,” but several of the letters were flickering, so that when the sun went down, it probably said “Yo terin Ho”.