Gramercy Nights (The Argo Press Trilogy Book 1) (3 page)

A waiter discretely places drink menus in front of us and retreats. Sebastian scans the menu before him.

“Those jeans make your ass look fantastic,” he says without looking up.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t know if I’m relieved or terrified but at least I know I wasn’t making it up.

Sebastian Casal is definitely flirting with me.

I take a look at the menu and almost choke on my tongue. The cheapest wine by the glass is $16. There’s a reason I don’t come to places like this.

“Have you made a decision?” the waiter asks, directing his question at Sebastian. Normally, I hate when waiters defer to the man at the table, but I’m pretty certain that next to Sebastian, I look pathetically juvenile, even if he’s only a few years older. But age is more than just a number. And Sebastian’s unspoken command over a room gives the impression that’s he’s much older than he is.

“Danielle?”

I feel silly ordering the cheapest wine on the menu, but even that would be stretching my budget. Noticing my hesitation, Sebastian asks if I prefer red or white.

“Red.”

He nods decisively. “A bottle of the Pinot Noir Machado.”

“Very good, sir.” The waiter disappears with our menus. I don’t even want to think about how much the bottle cost.

“You didn’t need to order a bottle.”

He shrugs. “I know. I wanted to. I make a habit of only doing things I want to.”

“That must be nice.”

He lifts one eyebrow but doesn’t comment. The waiter returns with the bottle of wine and uncorks it at the table, pouring Sebastian a sip to taste. He lifts the glass to his lips, his green eyes never wavering from my face. God, he’s beautiful. He gives the waiter an impatient wave, letting him know the wine is fine. The waiter fills each of our glasses.

I can feel Sebastian watching me as I take my first sip.

“Do you like it?”

I nod. “It’s perfect, though I would have been just as happy with a beer and a shot of whiskey.”

There’s a mild look of alarm on his face. “I’m sure they have beer.”

I shake my head. “Seriously. This is great.”

His shoulders drop slightly and he takes a sip of his wine. Maybe he isn’t doing it intentionally, but he runs his tongue across his lower lip and I can’t help but think there’s not a whole lot that he does by accident. And just seeing it makes me think of how much I’d like to be the one running my tongue over his lip.

Yup, I’m totally fucked.

“So,” I say, placing my palms flat on the table between us, “what are we doing here?”

“Having a drink.”

I make a face and Sebastian lifts his shoulder.

“I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”

I look around. Other than the couple at the window, there’s a bartender behind the bar drying wine glasses with a dishtowel and the waiter standing next to the bar, surveying the room.

“We’re not exactly alone,” I say, finally.

He shrugs. “If I’d invited you back to my apartment, would you have said yes?”

“Do you live close by?” I ask, ignoring his question.

“I do.”

“Oh.” Of course he does. Why else would he stop by the Gramercy every morning? “I don’t know. Maybe,” I answer honestly.

“Do you make a habit of going home with strange men?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“But you would have come home with me?”

He holds my gaze and I wish I knew what he was thinking. Finally, I take a sip of my wine. “Probably.”

Because the truth is, I would have. Against my better judgment, I would have followed him home, consequences be damned.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he nods thoughtfully. “If you’d come home with me, I don’t think we’d have gotten much talking done.” My eyes widen with surprise and he laughs. “Is that really so hard to believe?”

He leans back, folding his hands in front of him on the table. “Tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“I doubt that very much.” He smiles. “You’re a translator?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m working on a book of prose poems.”

“From Catalan?”

I take a sip of my wine, relieved with the change of direction the conversation has taken. Poetry and translation I can talk about, no problem. Whether or not Sebastian is attracted to me? A little more challenging. “Yeah,” I say, shrugging. “It’s not exactly lucrative, but I love it.”

Sebastian gives me a smile. “It’s the jobs you do for love, not money, that are the most satisfying.”

“Indeed. Though in the ideal world one is able to do something they love and still make money.”

“Do you have a publisher?”

“No. I published a few of the poems in a lit mag last spring but I haven’t finished the book yet. Hopefully, I’ll be done soon and can start sending it out. There aren’t exactly a ton of publishers dying to get their hands on prose poems, though.”

“You never know, Catalan literature has gotten some press recently.”

“Yeah, but those are the classics. I’m translating a contemporary poet who’s only written one book. He’s not even famous in Catalonia.”

“Is your family Catalan?”

I shake my head. “I’m about as American as you can get.”

“Really?” He leans forward and I can see the spark of interest in his eyes. “What made you decide to learn Catalan? It’s not exactly a common language to study.”

My mother, I think, but instead, I say, “What do you call a person who speaks three languages?”

A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Trilingual?”

“And what do you call a person who speaks two languages?”

“Bilingual.”

“Then what do you call a person who only speaks one language?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. What?”

“American,” I answer, finishing the joke with a sip of wine. I should stop drinking or at the very least slow down, but sitting across from Sebastian makes me nervous. Nervous enough to tell terrible, not at all funny, study abroad jokes.

“That’s not exactly an answer.”

“I guess I didn’t want to be a cliché,” I say. I hesitate before falling back on the stock answer I give everyone. “I studied abroad in Barcelona in college.”

“People usually go there to learn Spanish.”

“People usually don’t realize that it’s a bilingual city. Anyway, I learned both. I felt horribly rude every time I forced people to switch into Spanish for me when they were clearly more comfortable speaking in Catalan.” He watches me intently and I feel suddenly nervous. “What about you? Where are you from?”

Sebastian laughs. “I’m a mut. A little of this, a little of that.”

“Did you grow up in Spain?”

He shakes his head. “No, New York and London.”

“Well, that explains the accent.”

“What accent?”

I make a face. “Mid-Atlantic. Definitely not American but too light to be British. You pretty much sound like you grew up in a fancy prep school somewhere in the middle of the ocean.”

Sebastian laughs loudly and leans back. “Most people here assume I’m English. I also get Australian. Not sure where that comes from. You have a good ear.”

“Not really.”

“No, you definitely do. It must serve you well as a translator.”

I laugh, somewhat embarrassment.

“I’m serious. You’ve piqued my interest and that doesn’t happen often. The last thing I expected the other day was for you to speak to me in Catalan.” Sebastian closes his eyes and for a moment, his face is somber. When he finally opens them, he adds, “It’s been a long time since anyone has spoken to me in Catalan.”

I shrug my shoulders, uncomfortable with the way he’s watching me. His eyes focused on my face. Most people don’t hold eye contact the way he does. It’s intense.

When I finally glance at my phone, I’m surprised to see how late it is. I was expecting this to be awkward and uncomfortable, but instead, Sebastian is surprisingly easy to talk to. I don’t want the night to end, but it’s late and trains take forever at this time of night.

“I should probably go,” I say.

Sebastian straightens up. “Don’t leave yet.” God, how I’d love to stay but I just shake my head.

“It’s going to take forever to get a train.”

“You don’t live around here?”

“On what I make as a barista? No, definitely not. I’m in Williamsburg.”

He frowns. “I didn’t realize you lived so far away.”

I laugh. “It’s only fifteen minutes when the trains are running regularly, but at this time, I’ll probably have to wait forever.” I shrug. That’s life. And yet another reason why I never go out in Manhattan.

“Hang on,” he says, standing abruptly and grabbing his phone off the table. “I’ll be right back.” Long strides carry him quickly to the door and I watch as he presses his phone against his ear before stepping outside.

I stare at him through the plate glass window, trying to figure out what just happened. His eyebrows are drawn together as he speaks quickly into the phone and I have never wanted to be able to read lips as much as I do in this moment. He stops moving and stares at me through the window, giving me a rare, dazzling smile before shoving his phone back into his pocket and returning to our table.

He looks visibly relieved.

“Everything okay?”

He reaches out, brushing a piece of hair from my face and tucking it gently behind my ear. My whole body freezes.

“It is now,” he whispers. “As much as I’d like to keep you here all night, I suppose I should probably let you go.”

My eyes go wide and Sebastian let’s out a laugh and I swear I can feel it in my bones. He’s gorgeous. I mean, really gorgeous, and tonight has been surprisingly fun. I don’t know what I expected from him. That he’d talk down to me, be condescending, but he isn’t. Quite the opposite. He’s treated everything I’ve said with the utmost respect.

I can see the desire burning in his eyes, centered on me. I know I’m relatively attractive, but Sebastian is still way out of my league.

I drain my glass. All I can think about is what it would be like to have him kiss me, to feel him grab my hair and press his body up against mine. Just one look at him and I know it would be an experience unlike any other.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, stroking my knuckles with the pad of his thumb, sending a rush of heat between my legs as I think of all the other places on my body his thumb could be stroking.

“What it would be like to sleep with you.” My voice catches, and I’m mortified. But there’s something about Sebastian, something that makes me want to tell him the truth.

And the truth is, I can’t seem to get the idea of his naked body out of my mind.

Desire flashes across his face and I can feel the moisture between my thighs. No one has ever looked at me the way Sebastian is looking at me across this table. Like he would push it out of the way and have his way with me right here. I’m struck by the realization that I’ve only ever been with boys and Sebastian is definitely a man.

“We should go.” Sebastian’s voice is tight. I nod wordlessly, watching him drop bills on the table and stand, taking my hand. Every time he touches me, it’s like a jolt of electricity passing through my entire body, awakening every nerve. I wonder if he feels it too or if it’s just my sex-deprived body responding to a masculine touch.

The second we’re outside, Sebastian pulls me up against his long, lean body. My heart pounds as I stare up at him, watching. Waiting. The seconds tick by and then his lips are on mine. He tastes like wine and I let my eyes close as he gathers me against him, his kiss demanding. His hard bulge presses against my hip, and I dig my hands into his thick, unruly hair, pulling him closer. In a flash, he wraps his strong arms around me, lifting me to meet him, spinning me around until my back is pressed up against a wall, my legs wrapping around his waist.

His kisses are demanding, urgent, making me realize he wants this just as much as I do. All thoughts of going home evaporate. I want Sebastian. Want to feel his naked body pressed against mine, want to feel his lips against my skin.

He drags my lower lip between his teeth before sighing heavily and letting me slide gently down the wall until my feet are once again firmly planted on the sidewalk.

He looks away quickly, running a hand through his hair. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

My heart sinks and I sag against the wall. This is Jake all over again, a humiliation I’m not willing to take. Moments ago I was practically begging him to fuck me on the street, anything to ease the throbbing pressure building inside of me. Now, all I want is to go home. 

His hand caresses my cheek with surprising gentleness. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He cups my chin in his hand, urging me to look at him. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you. The way you blushed when you asked if I was Catalan.” He rests his forehead against mine and I can feel his warm breath fanning my face. “But not like this. Not in the middle of the fucking street.” His lips softly brush mine.