No Easy Choices (A New Adult Romance) (4 page)

             
Well, duh, because we weren’t in a restaurant. This was his apartment. But it might as well have been a five-star restaurant for the way it was decorated. Modern stainless-steel appliances gleamed from the oversized kitchen nook just inside the door, separated from the living area by a granite-topped bar with high backed stools along its edge. A leather sofa took up one of the pristine white walls next to a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. A white-washed brick fireplace on the opposite wall was filled with candles of various sizes, and a narrow hallway led to an immaculate bedroom at the back of the apartment.

             
I wasn’t even sure precisely which country Javier was from, but apparently it was one of those countries where they expected a little dessert on the first date. I stayed frozen in place in the doorway until he fetched me, holding out his hand and gesturing for me to sit on the sofa.

             
“Come. I will cook for you. Sit.” I did as I was told, watching Javier’s gorgeous, retreating backside as he headed off to the kitchen area. It was the first time I noticed the incredible smells of spices swirling around the room, aided by the palm frond ceiling fan overhead.

             
What had I gotten myself into? I basically agreed to have dinner with a stunning guy in an effort to piss off my sorority sisters and their controlling ways. So how in the world did I end up in his apartment, admiring his firm rear end?

             
Javier returned to the sofa carrying a small platter of steaming yellow circles, setting it in front of me with a funny little bow, sliding a neat stack of napkins in front of me before setting the platter on the coffee table. He took a seat next to me while more sizzling sounds continued in the kitchen.

             
“This is arepas. The recipe is from my grandmother’s kitchen. Here, you try.” He cut one of the circles with a small fork and rolled it in what looked like melted butter, offering me a bite. Okay, that’s a little personal for a first date, but maybe he grew up in a country that didn’t have a lot of forks and where everybody had to share.

             
“Wow,” I said, wiping a drop of butter from my lower lip, “that’s incredible! What is it?”

             
“Arepas are corn meal cakes, very simple, but these have garlic and aji pepper, because I like spicy things.”

             
My heart sank at the thought of us having garlic breath, before I caught myself. Why, exactly, did I care if we had garlic breath? I hadn’t planned on any serious making out with Javier. That whole train of thought left me confused and cursing at myself.

             
Luckily, I didn’t have long to dwell on the garlic breath because then the pepper he mentioned kicked in. I clamped a hand over my mouth, like I could somehow contain the burning pain. When that failed, I pleaded with Javier with my eyes to do something to fix the fire I had just eaten.

             
“Is it too much aji? I could not taste it,” he said, shrugging. He ran to get me a can of soda, which I gulped in as lady-like a fashion as I could considering the culinary agony I was in. It immediately squelched the burn in my mouth, only to replace the burn with the stale taste of overpowering beer. I turned the can over in my hand, only to realize the bright green can of Costeñita also had the word “cerveza” on the side. Beer. Not soda. Okay.

             
Javier had brought one for himself, and I had two choices. I could just go with it and enjoy the meal, or I could chunk it at him and demand to know what his intentions were, bringing me to his apartment, assaulting me with peppers, and then giving an under-aged sorority girl a beer.

             
Sorority girl. Those two words made my choice for me. I took a long, refreshing drink from the can in my hand—something else that was strictly forbidden by Theta Zeta Delta rules, as a sister never drank from the can—and speared another piece of arepas, prepared this time for the burn. Javier smiled, obviously pleased that I liked his cooking.

             
“Javier, you never told me anything about yourself,” I said somewhat later, spooning some of the arroz con coco onto one of the ceramic blue plates he brought over. “Where are you from originally? And how did you manage to make your way to Georgia?”

             
“I am from Colombia,” he began, but the muscles in my legs turned to mush over the way he pronounced the name of his country. “I am here to go to school, like you. My uncle is an ambassador.” It was breath-taking the way he said certain words by putting the accent on the wrong syllable. I almost needed to fan myself with something, just from listening to him talk. I swear, he could read a grocery list and I would be halfway to undressing myself.

             
“Ambassador? And you work in the library?”

             
“Yes. I work there as Spanish tutor, and it helps me with my English. I need to practice more my English,” he said with an embarrassed grin.

             
“Your English is just fine, I promise. Half the citizens of this state don’t speak it as well as you do.” He laughed at my joke, so I hope that meant he understood it.

             
“And you? Why are you studying?”

             
I looked confused. Well, so much for his great English skills. “I think you meant, ‘what’ are you studying,” I replied. “I’m in the art program.”

             
“Art? Oh, wonderful!” he exclaimed, and tore out of the room, calling to me to join him. Yeah, right. Sure, lure the young college girl to your bedroom because you want to “show her something.” Just like Bryce must have had something really amazing to show me upstairs. But somehow, Javier didn’t seem the type. Against my better judgment, I downed the last of my beer and followed.

***

“Ladies, if you’ll quiet down and take your seats, please. We have to get this discussion underway,” Quinn called out from the podium at the front of the chapter room. The animated conversations dwindled down as the sisters took their seats.

             
“Now, I’m sure you have all heard why we’re meeting tonight. One of our new sisters, Andrea, has apparently accepted a date with someone none of us has ever heard of. Harper was there and saw the two of them arrange to have dinner. Kennedy also spoke to Andrea and told her of the Escort Committee and the rules for dating as a Theta sister.”

             
“To be fair,” interrupted a sister from the back of the room, “the Escort Committee only has jurisdiction over dates who attend Theta functions. The committee can’t decide a sister can’t have a dinner date with someone.”

             
“Nevertheless,” Quinn continued icily, eyeing the sister who interrupted, “Andrea needs to understand what’s expected of her as a Theta. There are people we date, and people we don’t. And apparently, this person she went out with is a ‘don’t’.”

             
“So, didn’t you say Harper has met the guy?” Carter asked from her seat as secretary. “What does she have to say about him?” The sisters mumbled among themselves until Quinn banged the gavel for attention.

             
“Yes, Harper, why don’t you tell us what you think of him? What do you know?”

             
Harper slowly rose to her feet and looked out at her sisters. “Well, it was very dark, and we were exhausted from sober driver duties, so...I don’t know that we really got a good look at him.”

             
“But didn’t you tell me he is foreign? And works at the library?” A gasp went up around the crowded room.

             
“Well, I think that’s what he said, but I could be wrong.” Harper slowly sank back into her chair, torn between the loyalties of sisterhood and the realization that Andie had the guts to go on a date with a guy that Harper herself would love to have gotten to know.

             
“Apparently, Kennedy’s chat with Andrea didn’t do the trick. We’ll schedule an Escort Committee Oversight meeting and have a talk with our newest sister. Ladies, remember, these rules have been in place for a long time. They protect the Theta name, and they protect you. From dating library employees. Meeting adjourned.”

Chapter Seven

             
“Where did you get those?” I demanded for the tenth time. “You just, what, packed them up and took them to college with you?” I leaned in closer to stare at the three paintings. It wasn’t possible. I was looking at an original Picasso, an original Dali, and a two-hundred-year-old Monet, standing close enough to spit on them. I was afraid to breathe since the moisture in my breath could mess them up or something, but Javier just looked at me.

             
“You like them? They are my favorites from home, so I bring them here with me!” He crossed his arms casually and smiled, like he had just shown me pictures of his dog or eighth grade science fair project.

             
“But, how? How do you even have these?” My mind suddenly leapt from he-brought-me-here-because-he-thinks-I’m-easy to he’s-an-international-art-thief.

             
“This one,” Javier said, pointing to the Picasso, “the artist paint for my grandfather. Special for him. And this one, by Dali, my grandfather receive as gift from the United Nations.” I stared in awe at the original works by some of the recent masters, not even letting my eyes wander to the Monet for the moment.

             
“And how do you explain this one?” I teased, pointing to the impressionist scene of lily pads on the water.

             
“Oh, that one we like, so we buy it. It was in the garage for years, so I bring it to school to make me think of my home. But you like these?”

             
“Of course! They’re unbelievable! You’re unbelievable!” At that moment, I forgot all about leaving home or meeting what the Thetas considered to be the “wrong” kind of boy. I just stood mesmerized by his incredible paintings.

             
“You know much about the paintings?” he asked, almost surprised, like he thought I wouldn’t have any clue.

             
“Well, I spent last year at an art school in Paris. My hometown didn’t really have a lot of opportunities for art. We didn’t even have a full-time art teacher. And since I wanted to major in art, my parents let me spend the year after high school in an art program. We did a lot of instruction, but then got to do a lot of traveling to museums and stuff. I’ve seen works by these guys before, but never this close! I was always on the other side of a velvet rope. This is so cool,” I finally said quietly, my words having rushed out of me all at once.

             
“Then I am glad you see them today. I am glad you are here.” Javier came and stood behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. For a split second I was alarmed again, but he did nothing more than rest his chin on top of my head and let me marvel at the paintings some more. I took my time, soaking in the colors and the shapes, while Javier stood behind me silently and let me enjoy them. Somewhere in the apartment, a timer went off and Javier excused himself to check on dinner.

             
This would have been a fantastic time to snoop around his bedroom, or at the very least, to check out the luxurious bathroom I could see now that I was standing in his room. Seriously? Who in the world gets to have a jetted tub in his apartment while still in college? Oh, I don’t know, maybe the guy who has three world-famous paintings hanging in that same apartment! But I couldn’t take my eyes off the paintings, and couldn’t comprehend the fact that I was in the same room with canvases that those artists had touched.

             
When I recovered, I walked back out to the living room where Javier had put out the full spread of dinner. There was chicken in some kind of coconutty sauce and something that he said was carne asada. There was more beer to go with it, but he must have sensed how I had to choke down the first one because Javier also brought some carbonated water. Just the fragrance of the meal was enough to knock me down, I couldn’t wait to actually taste it.

             
“How did you learn to cook so well?” I asked in between bites, trying to remember to use the most simple words and not throw in some slang that might be confusing.

             
“My grandmother insist all the children in our family learn to cook. She lived through very, very bad times in Colombia, and she demand that we all can take care of ourselves. Because life is too uncertain.”

             
“Well, that is very good advice,” I agreed, scooping up more of the chicken and fighting the urge to rub it on my skin to save the scent for later. Okay, not really, but it did cross my mind that this would be an absolutely intoxicating cologne, not that Javier needed any more reason for me to want to throw him down on the couch and kiss him all over.

             
“You are smiling. Why?” Javier asked, an amused expression on his face. The bad thing about drinking beer when you’re not that used to it is it kind of works like truth serum.