Freeform (11 page)

Her expression saddens a bit, but she doesn't bother pushing the subject. For the first time since she's come to the table she gives me a glance and then asks him something in Spanish.

Don't ask me! I don't speak Spanish. English is hard enough.

Tucker chuckles a little, shakes his head at her, and places an arm around my shoulder before responding in her native tongue.

Where is the balance to this much sexy? He's ripped. He's an artist. He's passionate. He's sweet and kind.
And
he speaks other languages? Remind me what he's doing with me? Right. I'm the over-paid babysitter.

She gives us a both a polite smile at the end of Tucker's sentence and walks away.

He turns to me and announces, “I ordered us two Cuban sandwiches. They make the best ones in the entire city.”

“Never had one before,” my voice does its best to drop the jealousy.

“Adolfo and I went to the same college Freshman year. Fate knocked us around. He ended up in the dorm room adjacent due to a typo. At the end of the year, he had to drop out to help his mother run this place when his father died. The summer I took off, he let me crash in the back while I decided where I wanted to go. They were struggling to get new business, struggling to keep old business pleased, so I made a couple suggestions like adding a dance floor and live music. Maybe a change in the furniture and some art on the walls. I knew he couldn't afford it, so I made him a deal. If he let
me
paint the walls until he could get something better, I'd toss him the money needed to help his business out. That was back before I vowed to spend only the money I made off of my art.”

My shoulders drop. “That's...incredible.”

“I needed the outlet. My mother was....” He shakes his head. “The only time I could find peace was when I was painting. Adolfo could sense and understand that having dealt with his own father's death just a year before mine. He'd tell me stories his father told him and I began to paint them. See the mural surrounding the bar?”

I move my attention to the painting of a sexily dressed woman in a red dress on one side with a man in a fedora shielding her.

“His parents.”

In awe, my elbow falls on the table and my head tilts towards him. “They're beautiful.”

“Maria is his baby sister.”

“And he was alright with the two of you together?”

“No,” Tucker denies. “Not at all. He knew I wasn't ever going to stay still again and he knew how much it would hurt her when I left.”

“Did you love her?”

He folds his hands together. “In a way. I love all women I sleep with to a certain degree. The same way I love all art I create. However, I don't find myself overly attached to either. Appreciation of beauty without obligation is best.”

A curious hum escapes me. “What about
sharing
that appreciation with someone special? What about obligation to your heart? To allowing yourself to connect on more passionate levels.”

“I've had plenty of passion, June Bug.”

“Which I'm not questioning, but the art of
making love
is described that way for a reason. And if you've never truly given that much of yourself to someone else, then that's one art form you've yet to explore.”

He presses his lips together.

“And you'll know you've truly discovered it when you get ready to leave whatever expedition you're on and your instinct is to take that person with you to make the next adventure even greater because everything with them is so much better than without.”

To my surprise a sad, distant look creeps into his eyes.

Quickly, I shake my head. “I mean that's just my opinion, anyway. And who am I to tell anyone about that subject? Totally a nobody, even in that department. I mean I haven't dated anyone in three years or had sex in two, so you should probably just take my mumbo jumbo like a tiny grain of salt.”

Tucker cocks an eyebrow. “Did you just say you haven't had sex in two years?”

Did I say that out loud in a panic? Damn it! Well! I don't know! I just...I didn't wanna seem like such a bitch for what I said! And you saw the look in his eyes. He was sad...I don't ever wanna be responsible for dimming such a bright being.

Thankfully our food is delivered and the subject of my dry spell is momentarily dropped.

As we eat Tucker tells me about the trip he took that lead him to Havana, followed by Haiti, and eventually the Dominican Republic for six weeks. Every story centers around the people he met, the experiences he shares nothing more than retellings of what he was told. The cultural adventures lack the very obvious element of himself. 

By the end of his stories and my sandwich, I playfully comment, “I bet your passport itself looks like a work of art.”

“It does.” He laughs as he pushes his plate away. “But I love it. I love traveling. Seeing and experiencing new parts of the world. What about you June Bug? Where do you travel?”

“Um...” I lean back in my chair. “I don't.”

“You've never traveled before?”

“No.”

“Not even as a kid?”

“Within the state, ya know. Class trip or rare family reunion. Nothing else.”

“What about in college? Spring Break?”

“Couldn't afford it,” I answer. “See, while my mom used to have this amazing job, all these health problems started to arise. She muscled through what she could, but eventually she was let go. Though her resume sparkled, her diminishing health issues kept her from steady work. Another reason it was important for me to keep track of all my sisters. Sometimes she would be in so much pain, she could barely get out of bed. So, being the oldest and capable of financially helping, I did when necessary. Whenever I started to save for something personal, something else would always come up. A pipe would burst. A storm would hit and they'd need extra cash for the deductible. Oh! Tabby's dream prom dress one year. I mean, I didn't get to go to my own prom because my mother was having surgery that Friday and it wasn't in town and....” Realizing what a bummer I sound like, I try to push a smile on my face. “Maybe someday I'll get to see more. Who knows? Maybe Brandi will wanna whisk me away for a work trip rather than leave me behind.”

“You don't even travel with Aunt Brandi?”

“We conference call and email and most of time she doesn't actually
need
me to be there. She prefers I keep an eye out on everything local for her.”

That's me. Local, responsible, invisible June Bailey.
Hey...there are worse things to be at twenty-six.

Tucker shakes his head, stands, and demands. “Come on, June Bug. Let's dance.”

I look at his hand before looking up at him with a sarcastic expression. “Have you lost your mind? I can barely walk in these shoes. Hell, I can barely walk in
flats
.”

He tosses his head back in laughter before nodding. “Both of those things are true, but you gotta loosen up a bit June Bug. Don't worry so much about how you look falling. Appreciate the fun you were having before you did.”

Unable to resist his logic or his grin, I take his hand and let him lead us to the dance floor where couples are spinning around one another.

If I break an ankle, I'm suing him.

He curls one arm around my waist and begins to twist his hips with mine. I do my best to follow his lead, observe and mimic what I see around me, yet for the most part end up tripping and almost hitting the ground face first. Like a highly trained professional from Dancing with the Stars, Tucker repeatedly swoops in to prevent the damage and to gracefully keep us moving.

One thing! I just wanna see one thing he doesn't do well aside from getting along with his mother. Oh...right. Talking about himself. Guess that technically does make two.

With one hand death gripping his shoulder, I playfully say, “Why do I feel like you picked salsa dancing so you'd have a reason to keep your arms around me?”

He leans his lips against my ear. “Because I did.”

Our grinding bodies continue to sway to the music.

“And before you June Bug, I never had that problem. I never needed a reason to do something. I just did it.”

Confusion and curiosity hit my face.

“You're not like any other woman I've ever met, so it feels wrong to treat you that way. It'd be like trying to draw the Mona Lisa with a crayon.”

I giggle at the comparison. “Is it bad that I'm different?”

He leans in closer. “I think it's beautiful.”

Breathlessly I question, “Yeah?”

“I think everything about you is beautiful, June.”

Tucker doesn't wait for a response. His mouth locks onto mine allowing our tongues to dance better than our feet ever could. My body continues an erotic mindless movement matching the tempo while I succumb to the intense way Tucker seems to be determined to devour me whole.  He lifts my leg up and a long moan seeps out. Abruptly he pulls us apart, dips me backwards, which is where I hang as the final note of the song hits.

The crowd cheers for the band, but Tucker lifts me back up and states, “I wanna make love to you right now, June. Let me.”

My breath hitches.

He pushes a loose strand behind my ear. “Tell me yes.”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.

Tucker briefly bites his bottom lip before tugging the two of us off the dance floor for the front door. Not sure if he's paid or sure that I care at this point, I do my best to keep up with him as we quickly cross the parking lot.

While the drive over felt as if it took at least half an hour, we're pulling into the condo driveway in what has to be half that amount of time. The second I'm out of the vehicle, our hands are linked and our mouths instantly follow suit. In a whirlwind of heavy pants and frantic tongues, our clothes join the paint stained hard wood floor, and our bodies tumble onto the foot of his bed.  His bare body bumps against mine as if still waiting for permission to continue.

Tucker pulls back and drags his hand down my chest to lightly graze my nipple. The action vibrates my pussy in anticipation. With his eyes now drinking in the completely exposed flesh he whispers in awe, “Your body's like a canvas just waiting to be restored.”

I smile at the odd compliment. “Don't tell me you know how to do that too?”

“Art restoration? Yes.” He tugs the hardened nub before switching to the other side. “Pussy restoration?” His fingers fall to the apex between my thighs, where they gently glide themselves in. “I'll let you decide that...”

Tucker dives deeper and my legs part themselves wider as I cry out. Unfortunately, his touch completely vanishes merely seconds after.

What the hell...

My eyes pop open to see him grabbing a condom from a box on the dresser across from us. 

You don't...you don't think he bought those for someone else and I'm just about to benefit from them do you? Is he sleeping with someone else? You'd tell me right? I mean it's okay if he is, 'cause this is just sex, at least I'm assuming it's just sex...he did say make love, but I'm not sure he really gets the difference.

Tucker groans. “Stop thinking so hard. Learn to just feel, June Bug. It's an okay thing to do occasionally.”

I lift myself onto my elbows and state, “I don't remember buying those for you last time I went to the grocery store.”

He rolls the rubber on and informs, “Good thing there's a corner store not far from here.”