Page 59 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
Sucking on my straw, I pulled away and said, “So what do you do, Alejandro?” I knew what he did, it was on his profile, but I was trying to stray away from cat talk.
“I’m an artist.” He casually sipped his drink and maintained eye contact with me while he spoke. It was quite impressive actually. “My loft apartment is actually right around the corner. If you’re comfortable with me later on, I can show you some of my pieces.”
Weirdly enough, I was comfortable with him, even though he could be abrupt at times.
“That sounds wonderful. What aesthetic do you work with mostly?”
“Oils, only oils. I find mixing the colors and working with the thick paint gives me more movement on the canvas.”
“I’m sure your art is just dreamy.”
Dreamy? I looked at my drink and noticed I was almost finished with it. Phillip was right—they were good, but it was time to slow down as I could already feel it sneaking up on me.
“I’d never heard dreamy, but I do have a gallery in Soho.”
“Do you? Wow, so you must be very good.”
“I do the best I can,” he said, being modest obviously if he had a gallery in Soho.
“So where are you from? Clearly not a New York native with that beautiful accent.”
He smiled at me and grabbed my hand so our fingers were linked together.Okay. That’s a little forward, but let’s see what happens here.
“Spain is where I originate from. My father wasn’t too proud of my artistic abilities so when I was eighteen, I decided to make a life of my own where I wouldn’t have him looking down on me. I was able to move to America, earn my citizenship, and provide for myself. I am quite proud.”
“As you should be.” I wanted to applaud him but thought it might be too much, plus, our hands were linked and I was enjoying the light circles he was creating on the back of my hand.
“Here we are,” the waitress said as she set down two plates of tacos.
Sitting on three small corn tortillas were fish tacos with a cream sauce, cabbage slaw, and lime. To the side was a little tortilla bowl of beans. It was fresh-looking Mexican food, something I enjoyed immensely.
“This looks amazing.”
“Yes, querida. These will be the best tacos ever to grace that bonita mouth of yours. You want me to show you how to eat them, yes?”
“Please.” I gestured for him to continue.
Sadly, he released my hand and grabbed the limes on his plates. I watched his strong hands squeeze the lime juice over his tacos and then with a quick roll, he picked up a taco and took a bite.
“Simple.”
“I guess so.”
Just like Alejandro, I grabbed my limes, squirted the juice over my tacos and took a bite. The acid of the lime hit my tongue first, followed by the spice of the sauce and the cool flavor of the fish. Food-gasm struck me head-on, and I felt my eyes close in pleasure and a light moan escape my mouth.
“These are amazing,” I admitted once I swallowed.
“Watching you eat them is even better,” he responded with heavy lids.
Oh, I was in trouble.
The rest of our dinner, we ate our tacos, talked lightly about our lives in New York City, and stole glances at each other very often. Delaney was right. Alejandro was a must to go out on a date with. Just from the way he looked at me, I could feel my breasts screaming,yes, please.
Alejandro paid our bill, not bothering to acknowledge my offer of help. He stood up from his chair and held out his hand.
“Would you like to see some of my art, querida?”
“I would love that,” I stood up and felt myself wobble. Thank God I only had one of those margaritas,Thank you, Phillip.
