Uncovering Camila (Wildflowers Book 3) (2 page)

Chapter 3

“Mr. Tall, Dark and Sexy at table 5 wants another Tom Collins.”

Camila looks out toward the table. Gemma isn’t kidding. He’s definitely tall and gorgeous, at least from his profile. His cobalt linen tee shows his defined arms beautifully. But it’s not his looks that have Camila staring. “What is he reading?”

“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

Camila grabs a bottle of Hendrick’s and begins to pour. “Try me,” she says.

“One Thousand and One Nights.” Gemma shakes her head. “I’ve been in New York long enough to see all kinds of people, but who brings that book to a bar at two in the morning.”

Camila smiles. “I think it’s cool. It’s one of my favorites.” She shakes the ingredients together vigorously in the shaker.

“Oh yeah? I don’t read much, but I’ll listen to the audio version if you think it’s good.”

“Definitely give it a try.” Camila strains the cocktail into a collins glass over two large cubes.

“Mind if I cut out after I deliver this order? Todd said it would be fine if you’re cool with closing alone.” Gemma leans against the bar.

“You haven’t closed out yet. What about your tips?” Camila asks.

“Not worth waiting for tonight. I haven’t finished the designs for my summer class yet, and they’re due this afternoon.” Gemma waves her hand subtly to the three occupied tables. “I think that couple over there doesn’t plan to order more. They keep staring at each other like they’re having telepathic sex or something. The rest, well, it’s late enough.” She doesn’t need to explain more. It’s late, and they both know better than to expect a crowd after 2 a.m. on a Wednesday.

“I’m sure I can manage.” Camila slides the drink toward Gemma. “Good luck on your project.”

The young Italian unties her ponytail. “Thanks. God knows I need the credits if I’m going to graduate on time.” She takes a quick look back at the man at table 5. “Just let me see if I can get this guy’s number before I go.”

“No luck?” Camila asks when Gemma returns empty-handed.

“Maybe yours will be better than mine,” she replies, taking her bag out of the small closet.

“Doubtful,” Camila replies. Mostly because she’s not interested enough to even try. But Gemma doesn’t need to be burdened with Camila’s pathetic sob story (so her cousin calls it) about a Cuban guy she hung out with for three months before he left her to move to Miami, only to completely ghost her after that. No, no one needs to be reminded of it, not even Camila.

She looks over at the guy at table 5 then turns away to count her meager tips for the night.
Not interested at all
.

“Would you like anything else?” Camila asks, trying to suppress her impatience. The other two tables left when she announced
last call
. But he’s nursing his third Tom Collins, nose still stuck in the book. She looks at him with envy, a part of her wishing she could be enjoying her favorite drink with her favorite book, getting lost in the faraway tales of intrigue. Doesn’t seem that will be happening any time soon.

He brings the glass to his lips and takes a sip.
Those full lips
. Camila bites her own before she expresses her thoughts out loud. Finally he looks up at her with eyes as dark as night. Now she can understand Gemma’s interest. His skin appears smooth as velvet, while his defined features make him appear almost statue-like. What she wouldn’t give to run her hands over his strong back.

She clears her throat and shifts her weight to her other foot.
Still not interested
, she reminds herself.

He looks up. “No thank you. I’m good.” He gives her a reserved smile, which catches her off guard. It’s not the friendly kind she’s gotten from patrons over the years. It’s not standoffish either. Rather it’s self-possessed and distant, polite yet unfeeling.

“Alright then,” Camila replies, placing the bill on the table next to his phone.

She’s halfway to the bar when she hears him say, “I thought you said you were treating tonight.”

Camila stops in her tracks. “I’m not sure if I heard you correctly. Did you just say that I’m paying for you?”

He folds in the bottom corner of the page and closes the book. “Yes I did.”

“You have one twisted sense of humor.”

He chuckles and says. “You ignore me all night and now you try to renege on an offer that you made. Sounds to me like you’re the one with a ‘twisted sense of humor’.” He makes air quotes with his long fingers.

Camila clenches her fist, anger surfacing. “This is a pretty fucked up game you’re playing,” she says returning to his table. “Either pay the bill or I’ll call the police.”

His smile widens as he pulls his wallet out of his front pocket. “I’ve never met anyone who’d invite someone for drinks and treat him this way. But suit yourself.” He comes to his feet and places four twenties over his glass. He stands only four inches taller than Camila, who doesn’t bother to make eye contact. She’s still too angry. He picks up his phone along with his book and heads for the door.

“Catch you around, C.C.”

“What did you just call me?” She demands, spinning on her heels.

“C.C. What? Now you’re gonna tell me you have no idea who I am?” He points to himself. “I think you’re the one playing some fucked up game.”

Camila crosses her arms, irritated that he keeps throwing her words back at her.

“I swear I’m not. But I think my cousin is.”

Chapter 4

Camila scrolls through the numerous messages Shoshana had sent the handsome stranger, pretending to be her. “Did she seriously ask you who you’d rather do, Ruth Bader Ginsburg or Sonia Sotomayor?” She asks, cringing on the inside.

The man nods. “Sure did.”

“I’m not sure what it says about her for asking, but what does it say that you replied “Both.”

“Did you read why?”

Camila’s thumb moves up the screen. “Brains beat beauty at any age.”

“Are you for real?” She asks, unable, no, not wanting to believe this guy is as cool as he seems. A warm feeling hits her stomach. She tries to ignore it.

The man holds up his hands. “What can I say, I’m a sucker for nerds.”

“Or you’re just a smooth talker.” Camila shakes her head, wondering why her cousin thinks he would be an appropriate date for her. Or perhaps Shoshana didn’t select him for that but rather for the
other
reason—sex. Camila steals a quick glance up at the man. His strong, lean body is enough to make her wonder how good he’d be in bed.

“I’m surprised you still showed up here after being asked that question.”

“I haven’t been on Tinder very long, just long enough to dismiss ridiculous stuff like that. I liked a lot of the other things you, I mean she, said.”

“Apparently. You guys were texting for a week. That’s a relationship by Tinder standards.”

Camila’s eyes stop on the final few texts:

“Drop by L

We can hng wn I close

Drnx on me”

“So I really did promise to pay for your drinks, huh?”

He nods. “But don’t worry about it. We can at least agree that it was a misunderstanding perpetrated by a rather intrusive cousin.”

“Intrusive is a good word. Although I’d also say caring.”

“So this wasn’t some sick practical joke?”

Camila shakes her head. “Shosh isn’t like that. I mean, it’s pretty messed up, but I can’t fault her for caring.”

“Let me guess, you got out of a relationship, and she wants to throw you back into that minefield.”

She shrugs, both intrigued and taken aback by his direct way of speaking. Rarely does she encounter someone so straightforward, aside her cousin that is. “Something like that,” she replies quickly, trying not to conjure up Eliseo in her mind. “Look, I’m sorry she wasted your time. Can I get you another drink? It’s on me this time, I promise.” She holds out his phone for him.

He takes it back from her and puts it into his pocket. “Yeah, okay.”

“Great,” Camila replies quickly, surprised at herself for even making the offer. She heads to the door and locks it. When she returns, he’s seated at the bar, his book open in front of him. She smiles despite herself.

“Another Tom Collins?”

“Why don’t you surprise me this time. I kept ordering Tom Collins hoping you’d take the hint and come talk to me. I’m more of a brandy or cognac guy.” He smiles. This time it’s not the reserved one from earlier. It’s disarmingly friendly and genuine.

“Guess that didn’t work out too well for you.”

“Seems to be going well now, don’t you think.” He rests his elbow on the bar and runs his fingers across his lips, not taking his eyes off Camila’s face.

She quickly turns away and sets about making the cocktails as he watches her measure, pour and shake their drinks. A Tom Collins for her and a Metropolitan for him. “I don’t know if my cousin mentioned that I like Metropolitans too. Although I don’t use simple syrup.”

“She didn’t, but she did tell me your favorite color.”

“Which is?” Camila raises an eyebrow.

“Purple.” He taps the side of his glass to hers. “Cheers. To unusual first dates.”

“I didn’t realize this is a date.” Camila savors her drink, realizing just now how badly she needed something to help her unwind.

“We’re in a bar, drinks are being poured and paid for. I’d say it’s a date.”

“Fair enough,” Camila agrees. “Then, if that’s the case, we’re going to have to level things a bit more since you seem to know an awful lot about me, and I don’t know anything about you.”

“You could call this cousin of yours and find out,” he suggests.

“Or you can just rehash your conversations.”

“Alright, like what?”

“For starters, your name. Your phone only showed your initials, M.J.”

“Marshall James,” he says, offering his hand. “What does C.C. stand for?”

“I’m the one who gets to ask the questions, remember?”

“Favorite color?” She asks.

“Navy blue.”

“Favorite place to travel?”

“Italy.”

“Favorite time of year?”

“Fall.”

“Favorite sport.”

“I don’t really like to play any, but I’d have to say tennis.”

“Favorite food.”

“Cacio e pepe linguine.”

“First date?”

“I was fourteen, and we went to the movies where I got to first base.”

“When did you lose your virginity?”

“Sixteen, with the same girl.”

“Favorite book?”

“Ah, man. It’s like asking me who my favorite child is.”

Camila looks at him curiously, and he shakes his head. “No, no kids.”

He sighs. “Fine, let me at least give you a short list.”

“No.”

“You sure it wasn’t you sending those texts because you have the same tone.”

“Shoshana channels me very well.”
Too well apparently
. She should’ve guessed her cousin would know how to pick someone for her. He’s ideal in so many ways. Not only does he fit the bill in terms of looks, but also in personality. He may not be as suave or charming as Eliseo, but the way he carries himself, with an air of self-respect and dignity, commands a level of respect that she appreciates. If only the timing were better, which in Camila’s case might be in three to five years.
Sounds like a prison sentence
.

Marshall throws up his hands. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. There are too many.”

Camila smiles, sympathizing with his struggle. “Fine, what’s the last book you read?”

“
Everything Good Will Come
.”

Her eyes go wide. She’d read the book when she was in high school. While it echoed her own feminist views, it inspired her to pursue a career in law and to view her modest life in Brooklyn a privileged one given how hard life can be for women in other countries.

“I didn’t take you for a post-colonial feminist.”

“I’m not into labels. I like to read books that expand my mind, make me inhabit worlds far from my own.”

Camila swallows the last of her drink. She finds herself wanting to know him better. Maybe it’s the gin. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the hottest, most intriguing man she’s had a conversation with in months. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because her cousin knows Camila better than she knows herself sometimes. “Are you hungry?”

Chapter 5

“I’ll have two Viagra,” Marshall says.

Camila gives him a look.

“What? It sounds good, and I’m hungry.” He points to the menu on the counter. “It’s the seafood empanada.” 

She shakes her head and presses her hands against the counter to keep from touching him. It’s been a long time since she’s wanted to hold someone’s hand, or rather since she’s wanted someone to want to hold her hand. Even Eliseo didn’t inspire that urge in her.

In rapid fire Spanish she orders her usual, ham and spinach
arepas
with a
café con leche
.

“Oh, I’ll have a coffee too,” he adds.

Camila repeats his order in Spanish before handing over the cash.

“I should get this,” he offers, opening his wallet.

She turns her body toward him and folds her arms in front of her chest. “Why? Because you’re a guy and we’re on a date?”

“What? Why can’t I pay?”

“Because you just said that you ‘should’ as if there’s some rule about who pays on dates. For a supposed feminist I thought you’d know better.”

Marshall scowls and leans the side of his body against the counter. “And as a feminist I figured you would respect my desire to pay, as in treating me the way you want to be treated. I didn’t mean to imply that I
should
because I’m male.”

“What else does
should
imply in this context?” She can feel her anger spread through her and her face flush.

“That I would like to make up for showing up at your work place when you weren’t expecting me and for my attitude. I’m grateful you gave me a second chance, and I wanted to show you by paying for dinner, or breakfast, or whatever this is.” He waves his hand toward the tray the server is pushing toward them. Marshall picks it up. “I’d offer to let you carry it, but I’m not sure if that would make it seem like you’re serving me.”

Camila notices the muscles of his neck tense as he speaks.

“Be my guest.” Camila motions toward the communal high-top table occupied by one person she recognizes as a bartender from a local pub.

She pulls a few disinfectant wipes out of her bag and hands one to Marshall.

He opens his mouth, but she holds up a hand. “I don’t want excuses.”

“How about an explanation then?”

Camila sets aside the wipe and fixes her eyes on him.

“You’ve got to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Trust doesn’t develop out of the blue,” he says, wiping his hands. Up close, Camila can see just how well manicured and smooth they are, a far cry from the scars and tattoos Eliseo had. “Admittedly I was exasperated, but it’s because I think you judged me unfairly. I was making a friendly gesture, and you made it political. How can any parties bridge their differences without some trust?”

“Can you at least understand my position? You’re still a stranger to me, and I don’t want to feel I owe you anything.”

Marshall holds up a hand. “I wouldn’t try to make you feel that you did, and in the end, only
you
can choose how
you
feel.”

“Are you patronizing me?” Camila bites into her
arepa,
feeling frustrated.

He finishes his first empanada. “Why would I presume to do that? I’m just trying to get you to see my position and why I felt insulted that you would assume I had some sort of agenda.”

“Don’t most men on Tinder have an agenda?” Camila fumes.

“Are you seriously going to judge me for using Tinder? What’s the alternative then? Being
alone
because I’m afraid of meeting people who may not meet my expectations? Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

Camila narrows her eyes at him. “I’d prefer to think I’m selective.”

They eat in silence, mutual tension radiating off of them. While Camila knows there’s some truth to what he’s said, she’s too stubborn and too proud to admit it, at least to Marshall. She steals a glimpse and notices him watching her.

“What?”

“You always argue with your dates?” He asks.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had a real one since college.”

Marshall chuckles. “And I thought I was out of practice.”

She smiles at that. “I don’t know who’s worse at it, you or me.”

“I think we can assume we’re equally terrible.” He points to his plate. “Want some Viagra? It’s incredible.”

Camila picks up a plastic fork and takes a piece of crab. “That is amazing,” she says before swallowing.

“Think we can try again?” He asks, offering his hand. “I’m Marshall James.”

Camila hesitates for a moment, unsure if she wants to bother getting to know him. Then again, this is the closest she’s been to a guy since Eliseo. By his intensity, she doesn’t doubt he’d be a good enough lover.
Maybe it’s enough
. She finally says, “Nice to meet you, Marshall. I’m C.C.”

“Tell me a little about yourself C.C.”

Camila shakes her head. “You already know a lot about me.”

“Not really.” He holds up his right hand and begins to count with his fingers. “A feminist, a bartender, well-read, speaks Spanish, likes the color purple and has a crazy cousin named Shoshana who sets her up on Tinder dates with misunderstood feminist men.”

“That’s more than I know about you.”

“What do you mean? You know the last book I read, how old I was when I first had sex and had my first date. I mean that’s more like second or third date information right there.”

Camila chuckles. “Since you were such a Casanova in high school, why aren’t you meeting women the old-fashioned way?”

“Oh you mean like picking them up in bars?” Marshall smiles.

“Touché.” Camila smiles in spite of herself. She gave him that one.

He shrugs. “Friend of mine told me to try it. I haven’t lived in the City since high school, and when you get to be my age, it’s hard to meet new people. So I thought I’d give it a try. I honestly think you were my first swipe.”

“Lust or love at first swipe,” Camila muses. “There’s a topic for Shosh’s podcast.”

Marshall smiles. “It does have a ring to it.”

“So how old are you if you don’t mind me asking?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all. I’m thirty. You?”

“Twenty-five. Where’d you move from?”

“D.C. area,” he replies vaguely.

“You getting bored with this interview?” Camila asks.

Marshall nods. “Kind of. All that stuff doesn’t really speak to who we are does it?”

Camila shakes her head in agreement. “No it doesn’t.”