“Humble is not exactly how I’d describe you,” she joked.
“What’s your favorite sports team?” he asked.
“I don’t really understand the whole sports fan mentality. I played football in middle school. It was fun, but I wouldn’t idolize someone for being good at it.”
Grant had never seen himself as someone who was easy to surprise, but he hoped his shock didn’t show on his face. “You played football? On a team?”
“Eighth grade. It was a co-ed team—no big deal.”
“I’ve never heard of a co-ed football team.”
“Technically my town hadn’t either, but I wanted to play. Both of my brothers had and had done well. I needed to prove that having a vagina didn’t mean I couldn’t catch a ball or outrun a defensive cornerback.”
You can tackle me anytime you want.
But football?
He almost said he was surprised her father let her play such a dangerous sport, but he kept that thought to himself. The story intrigued him. “Who were you trying to prove it to?”
“My father.” Her expression turned sad briefly, then she said, “I’d rather talk about you. Did you play?”
“No, like you I had brothers who were naturals. I preferred sports that had less chance of residual brain damage. Track and swimming were more my style. I enjoyed setting then beating my own record times.”
“That was me in high school. I still have a chart at home where I record my run times.”
“Me, too.”
“I compare my current times to my best from back then.”
He laughed. Dare I admit it? “Last year I couldn’t match my college sprint time, not even on my best day, so I upped my workouts.”
“I have totally done the same. I don’t care if someone can outrun me, but I’m damn well going to at least maintain my best. It’s about how I feel more than competing with anyone.”
“Yes.” The more he learned about her, the more he wanted to know. “Because you’re still trying to prove something.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Maybe.” He thought about how he’d turned down the assistance his siblings had offered, telling himself it was better for them if they weren’t involved. Is it really for the best or am I trying to prove something as well?
“So, you’re one of three?” she asked.
“Of five. I also have a younger brother and sister.”
“That’s a big family. Your poor sister. Four brothers. I can barely handle two.”
“You don’t get along with your family?”
Her expression sobered again. He regretted asking, but he also wanted to know. Realistically her personal life was none of his business, but a part of him wanted it to be. “I love them.” She sighed. “It’s just hard. My mother’s death changed our family. It changed me. I’m not sure I even know how exactly. It’s just a feeling I get sometimes. I think about who I am and who I might have been and I wonder if I’ve lost part of myself along the way. I came to Boston to try to find out. Does that sound silly?”
“No.” He reached out and took her hand in his. No, it didn’t sound silly at all. It mirrored how he felt about his own life. “I admire your honesty.”
“Life is hard enough without adding a layer of lies to it.”
Grant inwardly cringed as he remembered he’d lied about his last name. None of this was supposed to matter. If the conversation led to sex he’d thought names wouldn’t matter in the face of a hot memory. He hadn’t expected to feel anything for her—certainly not the protectiveness that was battling with the part of him that kept imagining how good it would feel to kiss his way up those beautiful thighs of hers. “Viviana, my real—”
Her phone beeped with a message pulling her attention away from him. “It’s Audrey. She’s checking if I’m okay.” She shook her head, typed something back, then stood and said, “I should get going.”
He rose to his feet. “Of course.” He didn’t want the evening to end, but they were both in workout clothing and unless he asked her to go home with him there weren’t too many places he could think of taking her. Still, the lure to find a way to stay together was undeniable. If the yearning he saw in her eyes was anything to go by, she felt the same way. “I’ll walk you out.”
She motioned toward a hallway toward the back of the juice bar. “I need to use the restroom first.”
“I’ll wait,” he said.
“You don’t have to.” After a brief pause she said, “That would be nice.”
Viviana threw a paper towel into the trash bin beside the sink and studied her expression in the mirror. There was a glow to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Her hair was disheveled and wilder than normal, perfectly matching how she felt.
He makes me feel beautiful.
And sexy.
But I’m neither. At least, I’ve never seen myself that way.
Viviana had lied to Grant. Audrey hadn’t texted to see if she was safe; she’d dared her to take it all the way. “Just do it,” Audrey had said. “You’ll see yourself differently tomorrow.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t even know who I am anymore. How could doing something impulsive help now?
She’d followed her first instinct and ended her time with Grant. Because hiding instead of overcoming my insecurities is what I do. As she faced herself in the mirror, she admitted that many of her choices had been in response to something she was afraid of rather than a journey toward her own dreams.
A memory, one that had shaped so much of who she was, fought to surface, but she pushed it back. It doesn’t matter who said what anymore. I’ll be twenty-eight on my next birthday. It’s time to stop blaming others for who I am and start taking responsibility.
She glared at her own reflection. I don’t like you.
She sighed. I want to.
How do I get to a place where I do?
Audrey says I need a win in the form of a good ole fashioned mind-blowing fuck. I would argue that she’s wrong, but since that doesn’t describe any of the sex I’ve ever had—I really don’t know.
Even Grant said you can’t say you don’t like something until you taste it. Taste. Lick. Nibble on. It all sounds good.
What’s the worst-case scenario? I go home with him, have disappointing sex, and discover one-night stands are not my style.
At least it’d give my vibrator a night off.
Or I could continue to hide in here until I admit I’m acting juvenile and essentially demolish what little remains of my self-esteem.
I may be overthinking this mindless, exciting sex stuff.
Fuck.
Viviana turned away from her reflection. If I run away from this, what am I running back to? I left Cairo because I wanted more, but I’m slowly recreating my safe, boring existence here.
It doesn’t have to be perfect. Isn’t that what Audrey was saying? Who he turns out to be doesn’t matter as much as what I prove about myself.
Boston is about me—discovering who I am.
And tonight maybe that means a dare and a stranger.
Whether he says yes or turns me down.
No matter what the sex is like—I refuse to sit back and hope my life gets better.
I’m doing this.
Viviana threw open the door. It crashed against the wall with such force that Grant appeared, looking concerned.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Barely breathing, she looked him in the eye and said, “Please fuck me.” She closed her eyes briefly as her request echoed in her own ears. Really smooth.
When the world didn’t end, she tentatively opened one eye to check his reaction. His expression gave little away so she opened both and looked lower. His response was hard, huge and straining against the material of his jogging shorts. With her heart beating wildly in her chest, she searched his face again.
“Come here,” he said in a husky voice that was a caress of its own.
She almost did as he asked, wanting nothing more than to give herself over to the desire pulsing through her, but instead held her ground. This was her fantasy and it would happen on her terms. “You come here.”
