Shadow: Cerberus MC Book 3 (33 page)

BT: Do you have any food allergies/aversions?

I put the truck in drive and make my way across town to the gym. I have only one client today, so after his session and my own workout, I have nothing but time for dinner with Aviana.

I pull up to the gym, grab my bag, and my phone out of the console.

Looking at the screen, I see she has replied.

Aviana: I don’t particularly like onions, but I have no allergies that I’m aware of
.

I pocket my phone, making a mental list of the things I need to get from the store. I’ve done a lot of traveling for various photo shoots recently, so I know my fridge is practically bare. I adjust my grip on the gym bag and head to the locker room. I love my job here almost as much as I love to work out myself, but I have to admit I’m hoping the next couple of hours fly by.

Chapter 2

Aviana

I’ve sworn off dating and relationships for good. With my childhood and the destruction I’ve seen two people capable of causing each other, I’m certain there’s no chance that happily ever after even exists. I know some couples
look
happy in public, but that doesn’t mean things are as they seem behind closed doors.

My parents
looked
happy in public, but once they were sealed behind the thick front door of my first childhood home, they were at each other’s throats constantly. The fake smiles and happy personas came out again the minute they stepped off the front porch. That was, until my mother had finally had enough.

My dad left one day when I was eleven years old and never came back. I didn’t hear from him for ten years and when he finally sought me out, he hadn’t changed from the memories I had of him from childhood. Many of the fights between my parents were always about money and how he was spending more than she could make. I never remember my dad having an actual job, and much of the family strife was centered on that fact.

Mom? I’d like to be able to tell you that Mom got better after Dad left, but things just kind of stayed the same. For a while, it would just be us, then she’d get a boyfriend. The boyfriends eerily reminded me of my father. They didn’t work and came with their own set of issues, whether it be drugs, gambling, or both.

Due to my less than perfect upbringing, I’ve made sure, up until this point, to avoid anything that could possibly resemble a relationship. This is why I was beyond shocked when I said yes to BT when he asked me over earlier.

BT. Where do I even begin? He’s gorgeous, a veteran, quick-witted, and the beard damn near slays me every time I look at his face, and that’s only when I don’t get trapped first by his magnificent brown eyes.

What’s the problem then? BT screams relationship. He seems like the guy who’s just waiting for his soulmate to come along. I know I’m not that person, so I never felt like it was right for me to stand in the way of him meeting her, whoever she may be.

I can’t even tell you how many times he’s asked me out. I’ve turned him down each and every time, until today. Today, the back and forth banter I’ve grown fond of made me, for a split second, want to be that girl. A second. A flash of urgency for him when my palm slapped his face in class. I nearly groaned when my hand met the roughness of his beard, and I tried to play it off and covered my mouth with my hands.

I should’ve agreed to go out with him but insisted that we head some place public, but I don’t date. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t noticed how sexy his arms look when they pull the fabric of his t-shirts. I’d be an idiot for not taking in the expanse of his back and the way every muscle in his body dances like a well-orchestrated symphony when he moves.

He’s absolute perfection, and most people would think I’m nuts for not jumping at the many chances he’s offered to hang out, but once again, I don’t date. He’s the talk of all the girls at the acting academy. Many have flirted with him and only received a gentlemanly rebuff to their offers; rebuffs that I hear ranged from just going on a date to some of the things I’m ashamed I’ve pictured doing with him myself.

Now the consensus is that he has to be gay. I know he’s not for several reasons. One, he’s also turned down the gay guys in the class. Two, I catch him watching me with the same look on his face that I know I must have when I’m watching him.

I caught that look more than once today. It was hungry and lustful. So I’m hoping tonight goes the way I’m thinking he wants it to, the way I want it to, which is also the only way I involve myself with a man. I said I don’t date, not that I’m a prude and don’t like sex. As a matter of fact, I love sex. I just haven’t had any in a while; another reason I think I finally caved at his offer this afternoon.

I pinch my cheeks, attempting to add some color to my face. I’m in a loose fitting t-shirt and some cute leggings I bought online. I’m cute but not ‘this is a date’ cute. Plus, the leggings are super easy to get off, and they stretch in case there happens to be a little hanky-panky later.

A quick look at my watch tells me I have fifteen minutes to make the twenty-minute trek to his house. I don’t want to seem overeager, even though I could easily admit I’m actually looking forward to where this evening will lead. I mean, I’ll admit it to myself, just not anyone else.

Due to traffic, the trip over took even longer than I’d thought, so a simple five-minute tardiness has now turned me into a fifteen-minute late asshole. I’m an even bigger jerk for leaving my phone sitting on the bathroom counter, so when I realized just how late I was going to be I couldn’t shoot off a text to him. I clear my throat, ready to apologize as I raise my hand to knock on his door. I don’t hear any noise coming from inside so I push the lit doorbell to the right. I glance around the adorable neighborhood as I wait for him to answer.

Eventually, I hear rustling and his voice as he talks to someone inside. I can see now that we won’t be alone, the direction I’d hoped for probably won’t come to fruition tonight. I’m a little disappointed and begin to wonder if in fact he isn’t actually asexual and just wants to be friends.

The door is tugged open, and I look up into his mesmerizing brown eyes. I see a wave of relief wash over his face. Seems he thought I was going to stand him up.

It’s not until I hear, “Stop, Scout!” that I notice the small brown and white ball of fur circling my legs fast enough to make me dizzy.

He bends at the waist and scoops up the anxious dog, cradling it in his arms as it tries to wiggle free.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “We don’t get much company. She’s more of an attention whore than a guard dog.”

I immediately drop my purse on the porch, take a step forward and scratch the adorable little dog’s ears. She licks my hands and continues to wiggle in his grasp.

“You’re such a cute little thing aren’t you?” Embarrassed with the little baby voice that always seems to sneak out when I’m around adorable animals, I raise my eyes to him to find him watching. I take a step back, give the dog a final pat on the head, and pick up my purse.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say holding my purse strap in both hands in front of my body.

“Don’t worry. Dinner’s almost ready.” He turns and places the dog on the floor at his feet only for her to skitter back out on the porch and wiggle around my feet once more.

I reach down and pick her up because that’s just what you do when a tiny dog wants attention.

“She sheds,” he warns as he opens the door wider for me to step past him into his home.

“Most dogs do,” I say with a wink as he watches me pass him.

He chuckles lightly and closes the door behind me.
He holds his hand out indicating my purse and hangs it on a hook inside the entryway closet. The smell of delicious food hits my nose, and I’m certain my stomach is going to cause even further embarrassment soon when it begins to grumble.

“It smells delicious in here,” I admit as he turns toward what I assume is the kitchen.

“I’m Sicilian and Cuban,” he says over his shoulder. “Cooking sort of comes naturally.”

I watch as he makes his way to the stove to stir the sauce that continues to taunt my empty stomach and wait for others to join us.

“Is it just us?” I probe. He gives me a smile that says
who else would be here?
“I heard you talking to someone before you opened the door.” I hook my finger over my shoulder indicating where we’d just come from.

“I was talking to her,” he says pointing at the dog hanging out peacefully in my arms. “I was making sure she knew to mind her manners when the pretty girl came in the house.” He looks down lovingly at the almost weightless dog. “Scout doesn’t listen very well.”

I look down at Scout and smile, hoping he thinks it has more to do with the dog than him calling me pretty. She’s licking my hands and progressing her way to my wrist.

“I think she likes the lotion I put on,” I say.

He clears his throat causing me to look back up at him. “Well if you taste as good as you smell, I can see why she won’t stop licking you.”

He winks at me and turns back to the stove just as I feel my cheeks flush at his words; the double meaning doesn’t go unnoticed, and now I’m ecstatic that we’re the only ones here.

Yep,
I think to myself,
definitely not gay
.

I gently place the dog on the floor and look around his almost obsessively clean kitchen as he begins to plate food.

“Parmesan?” He asks and holds up a hand crank cheese grater just like they have in the restaurants.
Who even has stuff like that?

“Just a little, please.”

“Garlic bread?” He asks pointing to a plate of the most delicious bread I’ve ever seen, adding a slice to his plate.

I look from the bread to his mouth and shake my head no. I watch as he licks his lips and then smiles.

“Yeah, me either,” he says pulling the slice off his plate and putting it back with the other pieces.

I’m pretty sure we just confirmed that we’ll be making out later, and I almost want to ask if he’d like to skip the meal, but my stomach takes this time to remind me that I skipped lunch as it grumbles loudly. My eyes widen, and I clutch my hands to my stomach.

“I’m glad you’re hungry; I’ve made enough to feed an entire platoon.” He hands me a plate before grabbing his own and nodding toward a doorway.

I step into the dining room and look in awe at the beautifully made table. A bottle of wine chills on ice and an amazing array of flowers adorn the center. I wait for him to set his plate down before doing the same at the remaining place setting. Salads are already on the table, and the dressing is in a glass container, and I’m certain I’ve never had dressing out of anything but the plastic bottle from the store.

I begin to sit down and expectantly, BT is behind me helping me to push my chair to the table. I raise an eyebrow at him as he sits down.

“What?” He asks with a smile wide enough to draw both dimples in his cheeks.

“This may be the most romantic Netflix and Chill I’ve ever been to.”

His smile falls slightly, but he catches himself and reaches to pull the bottle of wine from the ice bucket. “You do this a lot?” I can tell he’s trying to act nonchalant about it, but I can hear the concern in his voice.

This is the reason I turned him down as many times as I did. He’s a commitment type of guy, and I’m as anti-commitment as they come.

“No, BT,” I answer him honestly. “I don’t.” It’s the truth. I’ve never gone to a man’s house under the pretense of “just watching” a movie. The guys who usually come up to me lay their expectations right at my feet. I knew he was different when his initial approach didn’t include the words, “hey, wanna fuck?”

I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into as I watch him pour the wine into both of our glasses, and I want to kick myself for not wanting to get up and leave.

Chapter 3

BT

She was late getting here, and I’d just about convinced myself that her reluctance to say
yes
to coming over had turned into standing me up. Like a teenage boy, my heart was racing when I heard the doorbell, and it continued to race when she reached down and picked Scout up like it was the most natural thing to do.

I had to restrain myself from acting natural when she walked past me, and I got a whiff of her. She is absolutely decadent, but not in an overpowering way. It’s almost as if she’s covered in oranges and honey, making my mouth water at the urge to lick her and see if she tastes the same.

We make small talk through dinner, and she seems to shut me down each time I ask a question where the answer is more than skin deep. She may not want to talk about her family and such, but her face lights up when I ask about her future. She seems to have things in order as far as which direction she wants her life to go.

“You want to do what?” I ask with eyes widened in shock.

“I want to be a showgirl in Atlantic City,” she deadpans.

When I asked what her ultimate goal was after finishing classes, this was not the answer I would’ve ever guessed.

I run a rough hand over my beard in an attempt to hide my surprise. How she will ever go from the incredibly shy person I met weeks ago to someone who dances all but naked on a huge stage I’ll never know.