“Hey.” He smiles at me with that lopsided grin and for a second I feel my knees go weak. The man makes me feel like a teenage schoolgirl. I can’t remember the last time I felt like that. Yes, I do remember, I was a teenager.
“Hi.” I smile at him. I swear his smile is contagious, I just see it and my mouth mirrors his in response.
“I just need a minute to shut down my computer.” Nico nods and I step around Regina’s desk. The front reception had been hiding my body and I’m still looking at him when he catches the first glimpse of my outfit. I watch his face change and it makes my day of running around to make up the hour that I was late this morning all worth it. I head down the hall to my office and steal a glimpse back at him as I turn to enter my door. He’s watched me from behind as I walked. He doesn’t see the smirk on my face as I go into my office to get ready to leave.
I lock up the front door and wait for Nico to show me the way to his car. But instead he walks forward to the motorcycle parked at the curb in front of the building and hands me a helmet with a devilish smile. Really? Who picks up a date on a motorcycle?
“Umm...I can drive.” I offer, thinking maybe he doesn’t own a car. With gas being the price that it is and living in a city with a good public transportation system, it might even be practical to have a motorcycle instead of a car.
“Have you ever ridden before?”
“No.”
“Are you afraid?” He seems genuinely concerned that I might be.
“No.” I’m actually not, although I probably should be.
He smiles and there I go again, responding in kind. “Good, then get on.”
I look down at my skirt and back up at Nico in contemplation. His face is amused. He slips his helmet on and casually throws his leg over the bike seating himself like he’s done it a thousand times before.
He turns to me and waits, his smile still in place. I shake my head at him and put on the helmet before carefully straddling the seat behind him so as to not give anyone who might be watching a show. I’m pretty sure I heard him chuckle.
I’m not quite sure what to do with myself once I’m on the back of the bike. I feel awkward. Leaving space between us, I rest my hands on Nico’s back, my palms near his shoulders. Nico takes my purse from my hands and tucks it into a saddlebag I hadn’t even noticed was there.
“Scoot forward.” I do.
“Wrap your arms around my waist and hold on tight.” I hesitate for a second, but do as I’m told. Safety first, right?
“Put those sexy shoes on the pegs and don’t move them. Not even a little.”
Okay, so now I may be a little nervous. I consider asking him what could happen if I move my feet, but my thought is fleeting as he pulls away from the curb and I find myself wrapping my arms around his waist in a death grip.
After a few minutes, I start to relax. Most of the traffic has passed and it’s a beautiful late summer night. The wind hits my face and it feels exhilarating. Freeing. I loosen my death grip around Nico’s waist, and splay my hands around his abdomen. For the first time, I’m relaxed enough to actually feel what is beneath my hands. Solid muscle. Not just firm and in shape like William, the kind of muscles that are ripped. Swollen. Deeply defined. They’re raised under his flesh and I want to move my hands around to explore better. But I don’t.
We slow as we enter a neighborhood I’m not familiar with. I’ve never been to a restaurant in this area. William and I tend to stick to the same restaurants, exploring new ones occasionally that he finds when a new Zagat comes out each year. We crawl almost to a stop in front of what looks like a warehouse and I watch as a metal garage door opens. It looks like a delivery entrance, but Nico steers the motorcycle under the slow rising door and it begins to close behind us.
He turns the motorcycle off and takes off his helmet. I follow his lead. “Where are we?” I look around the unfamiliar surroundings as I speak. We’re in a garage, there is a large, dark colored SUV parked next to us and a few bicycles hang on the walls to the side.
“My house. Well, technically we’re in the gym down here, but I live in the loft upstairs.”
I look at the SUV next to me as I do my best to unstraddle the bike in a ladylike manner. It’s not an easy task to accomplish. “Is that your SUV?”
The sides of Nico’s mouth turn upwards in a hint of his devilish grin. “Yes.”
He takes my helmet, hands me my purse, and motions to the door. “Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour before we go up. Dinner is in the oven, but we have a little time.”
I’m still absorbing that he is cooking me dinner and we are not going to a restaurant when I feel his hand on the small of my back as he begins to lead me into the main part of the building. His large hand takes up half of my lower back and I can feel my skin underneath his hand sizzle. The hair on the back of my neck stands up of its own accord, my body buzzing from a simple touch. I don’t even think he notices my reaction.
Nico flips a switch and the enormity of the room we entered comes into focus. It’s the entire bottom floor of what was likely once a warehouse. But now it’s a state of the art gym. There is exercise equipment in one half of the space and the other half has what looks like two large boxing rings set up.
“Wow. This is really nice. It doesn’t look anything like my gym.”
Nico chuckles. “I doubt any of my clientele look anything like the people at your gym either.”
I look at Nico confused and he explains. “It’s a fighter’s gym, Elle. It’s filled with men with tattoos and raging testosterone. I’d hate to see what would happen in here if you walked into this place dressed how you probably look for the gym.” Nico shakes his head and chuckles.
Oh. I’m not sure if I should be offended or take his words as a compliment, so I choose the latter.
After a few more minutes, we walk into a freight elevator and Nico pulls down a metal gate. He inserts a key into the control panel and the elevator slowly ascends. Nico lifts the gate and his hand is back on my lower back, as he steers me out of the elevator and into his loft. It’s enormous, almost as wide as the downstairs.
At least half of the floor is a huge open space. Off to one side is a sleek modern kitchen with stainless steel appliances. There’s an oversized island and gleaming granite countertops that modernize the dark wood cabinetry beneath them. The living area takes up the other half of the floor and has the largest sectional couch that I have ever seen. I bet the couch can hold ten men. I notice it’s strategically positioned in front of a large flat screen TV and I envision a bunch of guys sitting around watching fights. A complete bachelor pad, but a very nice one at that.
My nose catches a scent and I’m surprised. “Chicken Franchese?”
Nico smiles at me as he walks into the kitchen. “Very good.”
“I’m impressed. You can cook?” I never gave it any thought before, but in the years that I have been seeing William, he has never once cooked for me. I’m not even sure if he even can cook.
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m pretty good at it, if I may say so myself.” Nico walks to the oven and checks on dinner.
“Do you cook often?” I’m so curious about this man.
“I have to, it’s part of the sport. You can’t keep in shape and eat crap, so you learn to cook healthy pretty fast if you’re serious about fighting.”
I nod, it makes sense. It’s next to impossible to maintain a good diet when you live off restaurants and takeout. I should know. The only choice is salad, which is how I have been able to keep thin, but a man that looks like Nico needs an intake of way more calories than a salad could supply. “Do you still fight?” I don’t even think before the words come out of my mouth. Maybe he doesn’t like to talk about fighting. I remember the newspaper saying he had retired after what had happened, but he was definitely younger than whatever the normal age is for fighters to retire.
Nico tells me dinner is ready and puts out an entire meal of salad, vegetables and the main dish. I noticed that he didn’t answer my question, and I’m not sure if it was intentional or just the timing.
We sit at the table for a long time after we eat. I tease him about how domestic he is and he teases me about how dependent I am on takeout. He laughs when I tell him I’m on a first name basis with at least five deliverymen. Our conversation flows naturally and time goes by fast. Too fast. Eventually we relocate to the couch and our conversation turns to how he got into MMA. Nico tells me he’s the youngest of four boys and was
