"In Which Reality Is, Not in the Slightest, a Meet-Cute Moment"

(Pt. 2)

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3:00 PM

Encontrarse

I look up and flash him a sheepish smile. "Hi-i-i, Timo."

He harrumphs, pulling me up on my feet with his meaty paws. "Were you just sneaking off with another pint of ice cream again?"

My jaw drops. "What? No! I would never do that!" At least, not this time.

The Benvidezes did have a good eye in choosing their staff. 

Take Timo, for example. This pastry chef was a godsend in the kitchen — along with the other members of the Chef de Partie* brigade.

Anything his hand touches was a gastronomical masterpiece — especially his apple buns and homemade ice creams.

Moreover, he was just in his early 30s with a shiny degree from ICE (not ICE-ICE*, but the Institute of Culinary Education)— his culinary brilliance has yet to reach its peak.

He raises a thick straight brow, unimpressed from my instant denial of his creations.

I let my eyes roam around the room, still on high alert in case he walks in. It wasn't like he can – employees and close family friends are only allowed inside, after all. 

"But, I would," he finally says, pulling out two dessert spoons from his apron.

He hands me one, and I eagerly take it with a slight humble bow. To have this man freely offer me his food was an honor!

He proceeds to take out a pint of his mouth-watering dessert.

He opens the lid.The cloud of frost permeating in the air was such an enticing sight, I almost cried while a choir of dessert angels sang around me.

I was about to join him when I sensed a shift in the air.

Every hair on my skin prickles, standing up from the roots to their very tips — and, it wasn't because of the open freezer. 

He's here.

He found me!

I don't know why. I just knew it! It was like my body was attuned to his presence whenever he's nearby.

I feel his shrewd gaze scan around every corner of the room, past the bustling culinary crowd, before they fixate on my back like a red-hot fire poker.

Quickly, I tried to come up with an escape plan when I remembered the service entrance.

Lady luck continues to turn my way when Simon, the Chef de Cuisine* and tenacious taskmaster, barks at him for trespassing. 

I guess this is the time I sashay away.

I send Timo an apologetic look. "I'll have to take a raincheck, Timo."

With a final longing glance at the pint of ice cream, I abruptly crouch down again — startling Timo — before crab-walking my way out of the door.

Thank you, culinary people!

I was close to the brink of escape, the door closing behind me when something — a finger — slips at the back of my collar, preventing me from said escape.

"Rumpelstiltskin!"* I jump away, my body poised in a counter-attack position.

The dim lighting from the bistro painted him as a mystery, wrapped in enigma and hidden by a shroud of danger.

But, out in the daylight, his all-too-glorious splendor was out in the open.

Everything about him was clearer, more tangible than the meager shards of memories poking at the back of my brain.

He begins to say something, only for his words to be overshadowed by the fascinating texture of his voice.

"For someone who was in a hurry to leave this morning without a single note, I never thought you'd come running back here despite knowing I play here. I must've made quite an impression on you."

I blink. For a moment, it's as if the light around him brightened. In the late afternoon sun, his hair was bathed in gold dust, forming around him like a halo.

Dammit, what's with the bishie sparkle filter?!*

He was every woman's walking, waking fantasy. A walking crime to her heart and ovaries waiting to happen.

He was a menace to my senses — and I hated him for it.

I wanted to search for a flaw about him — anything — to detract this physical attraction I have to him. 

I could say his shoulders were too wide or he had a drab fashion sense. But that would be a lie, considering how much I want to climb him like a koala bear.

Meanwhile, here I stand with hardly any makeup on, and my back gradually coiling in the defensive stance of an alley cat. My bloodshot eyes were so puffy that their bags could've been charged for excess baggage and my pale lips chapped from the lack of lip balm.

My bitch-armor was nowhere to be seen. Add in my thick glasses and skin-tight mismatched clothing, I can't help but wonder how a gorgeous specimen like him could ever sleep with someone as unremarkable as me. 

I almost felt sorry for him.

Sch-nap out of it, Ave!* I visualize Cher giving me a mental slap as if I'm Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck.

I put on my Medusa Stare.

He remains stoically still, unfazed. "I considered using a pick-up line on you, but even if it wasn't cheesy or reeking in desperation, I got the feeling you'd still run off to the hills."

My chin twitches. A pick-up line in this narrow secluded place reeking with garbage and littered with cigarette butts, why the hell not?

I shrug it off with a casual curl of my lips.

"Ay-m zooh-wy, doo-ay nuh-yoo? Va te faire voir!" I cheerfully wave him off, stepping back further. [I'm sorry, do I know you? Go to hell!].

He follows me.

I bite back my annoyance and make an attempt at a sickly-sweet smile. "Excusez-moi!" [Excuse me!]

"Non," he says in a raspy toe-curling baritone voice, crowding me in. "Tu n'es pas excusée." [No, you are not excused.]

Dammit, of all the languages I could've faked, why did it gotta be French?! Worse, why did he happen to speak French?!

Uggh, you dug yourself into this, Avalon. Your French might be rusty, but you commit to the accent!

I scowl at him. "Pourquoi continuez-vous à venir à moi?" [Why do you keep coming up to me?]

He lazily slants his head to the side. "Why do you keep backing away from me?"

I give him the side-eye* and prop my hand to my waist. "C'est ce qu'on appelle le 'maintien d'un espace personnel'.'' [It's called 'maintaining a personal space'.]

"46 centimeters is a reasonable distance."

I move to bypass him.

BAM! He instantly blocks my path with his hand pressed to the wall beside me. "What the fuck! Since when did he manage to corner me into a wall?

My throat makes a gurgling noise.

I hold my stance, trying not to be intimidated by his height – and that gorgeous face and bod! – even if he resembles a jaguar or a leopard skulking around his prey.

Yet, that exactly sums up how he makes me feel. 

He goes into his nasty — and irritating — habit of staring, outlining every curve of my visage with an expression akin to anticipation.

What was he even waiting to happen?

Did he expect me to give him a Nobel Prize for discovering his way into my pants and for an orgasm that I never remembered?

Smack his butt and say 'attaboy'?

Run towards him like Baby* and we do the iconic lift scene in Dirty Dancing?*

I snort. Yeah, I don't think so, buddy! It would take you a million years before you get whatever shit you want from me. I ain't budging.

The corner of his lips tilt as if he can hear what I was thinking. However, somehow, I knew it was more of a sneer at my sheer display of hostility.

Whatever he was waiting for, he definitely got it.

I suck a deep breath. "Looh-k, kuh-leah-lee yoo 'ah-v muhs-tay-kuhn me fwuh suhm-wuhn ehl-suh." [Look, clearly, you have mistaken me for someone else.]

He leans in and whispers in English. "Are you seriously still going to pretend not to know me? Even when you took back your bracelet and were so shocked to see me that you bolted out of the room, Miss Stalker?"

I lurch back, the sudden assault of his aromatic scent was too potent for my nose.

Suddenly, the air between us wasn't enough. 

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"Je me suis perdu en allant faire pipi." [I got lost on my way to pee.]

He sighs, running his hand over his sharp jaw. "I should've expected it. Here I thought our past encounters prior to last night were barely positive. That apple* particularly hurt. I even had to ask what 'Big Foot'* meant. Now that I think about it, I definitely made quite an impression on you."

"What the hell are you talking about? Last night was the first time I saw you onstage!—Scheis"— I swallow a curse, biting my knuckles from slipping up even more.

He steps closer and closer until only a foot apart from me. He didn't even react when I spoke in English.

"Now that we cleared that up, you owe me for the pillows I had to dry clean. The eyeliner stains, in particular, were hard to get rid of," he says with a shake of his head.

Seriously, he chased me all the way here just for the laundry bill?!

I scoff, using one of his wrists as a lever to smoothly duck underneath his arm. "If you didn't want my disgusting eyeliner stains near your pillows, you should've left me to sleep on the floor."

Out of nowhere, strong tapered fingers slipped between mine, swallowing my entire hand in an impenetrable grip.

The sudden force yanks me back towards the wall, distracting me from noticing his fingers interlacing with mine. His other hand is pressed on my other side, blocking my view of the backdoor.  

He cocks his head, watching me curiously. "What kind of a gentleman would I be if I did that?"

I try to pry his fingers off my hand, disregarding the tight encasement of my blouse — or my boobs being pushed forward. Who cares, he's not even interested! "Trick question, none. Why are you even talking to me? Isn't it common knowledge you don't talk to a one-night-stand the morning after you did the deed unless the other party initiates it?"

"If it is, then we wouldn't be having this charming conversation right now, would we?" he counters, pinning both of my hands to the wall.

"Let go," I growl with a commanding tone.

Dammit, where are the annoying passers-by when you need them?!

He doesn't even let go. No, he just looks at me with a cocky half-smile on his brutally handsome face.

I scrunch my nose. I fail to see what attracted me to him in the first place.

I take a deep breath through my nose. I didn't need to have another reason to visit Chief Calder's desk for the second time today.

"It was just one night. Barely more than 7 hours max. Please tell me you're already over it like I am."

He stares at me, leaning closer. "You don't seem like it. Your nipples are hard."

Somebody, please just snatch me away right now and bury me into the earth's core.

"So is your dick," I retort, trying my best to ignore the heat emanating from his pants. "Doesn't mean I'll be scratching it."

He stuns me a bit with a lazy half-grin. "You could kiss it. I don't mind."

I snap out of it instantly. "Je t'emmerde!" [Screw you!]

He quirks a brow. "So, we have a deal?"

I take a deep breath through my nose again. "You do realize that 84% of erectile dysfunctions are caused by blowjobs?"

He quirks his brow again. "And the 16%?"

"Going after a former one-night stand."

I tried to lift my knee, but he already beat me to it. He engulfs the remaining space between us (I'm talking from chest to down there), preventing me from gaining any room to mess with his family jewels.

"Listen, you insufferable hi"—

The door slams open.

"Chile,* you better be out here jacking someone's dick off* for money than leaving us with the bi...ll," Tamieke slowly trails off.

All four of us stare at each other in silence. Tamieke's round whiskey eyes bulge in their socket. Jhett gapes at us with a slackened jaw, his pale freckled face twisted in a look of intrigue and betrayal.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what they were thinking.

Two people with their bodies pressed so closely to each other that even a 90-page magazine would have trouble squeezing through. His arms lodged on either side of me, hands intertwined with mine while I lean further into the wall.

I can feel their eyes zoom in on my scarlet-flushed neck caused by the heat from his breath and my swollen red mouth from my excessive lip-biting.

Jhett tries to sidestep Tamieke, but Tamieke wouldn't let him.

Tamieke titters. "Don't mind us, sis"— he pushes a squirming Jhett back inside — "we'll just put it all in your tab... like we always do."

SLAM! He closes the door before I — and Jhett — can even get a word out.

Well, there goes my chance of escape. I can't blame them. Pact rules are binding.*

I slant my head. "You were saying?"

He stares at me, mildly amused. "It's not often that I fall asleep with a woman in my arms and wake up to an empty bed."

I fought myself not to roll my eyes at the unmistakable signs of aggressive masculinity behind his words.

"Really? Wow, you have no idea how deeply — immensely — inconvenienced I am to leave such a pivotal mark in your sex life! But, just in case you don't know or are not aware of it, we have this thing where women are capable of leaving early, too" — I distinctly slide my gaze down his male junk — "Just as men are capable of finishing too soon."

He shrugs a muscular shoulder. Clearly, his self-confidence was too high for my snide remark to bother him.

But, not high enough.

"It made me think I did something wrong," he confesses, his gaze piercing me.

I raise a brow. Turning the tables now, aren't we?

I snort. "Don't think so highly of yourself. Let me set it straight in a way you can understand. You"— I jut my chin — "parked your boner in my garage* for the night, and I — I flutter my eyelashes — "simply checked you out. You're welcome. See? It's not that hard to say it."

He tilts his head in a sardonic manner, a mocking half-smile stretches on his lips.

"I'll admit, men have a tendency to prefer sex than the emotional intimacy right after," he goes back to staring at me again, my body exposed to his eagle-eyed perusal.

My eyebrow twitches.

He releases a deep inaudible sigh. "But, it's rare to find a woman who shares the same sentiments."

DITCH Rule #2: Simply put, the moment of intimate interaction ends along with one of four exits:

(1) 6 hours for one-night stands;

(2) 3 days for two dates and one night of sex and brunch;

(3) 2 weeks for the occasional booty-calls, and;

(4) 1 month for people who seem to be interesting enough for some decent beyond-the-weather-type of conversation.

Once the interaction is over, no further contact must be retained and both parties are back to being strangers.

I narrow my eyes at him, hands on my waist. "Why? Were you expecting I act like I have grown feelings for you when we were just having a quick fuck? Would it help if I write your dick a glowing recommendation or a five-star review on Yelp? "

He shakes his head in wonder, running his hand through his lustrous hair. "Do you always try to antagonize people for no reason or does it just come naturally from you?"

I shrug, momentarily distracted by the small violent bruise on one of his temples. A tight heavy feeling clenched the insides of my stomach.

I shake the unwanted feeling off, my lips twisting in a snide grin. "Only when I fucking feel like it — which is always. What can I say? It's part of my brand!"

"Does your brand also include leaving so quickly?"

I tap my chin with my finger, pretending to mull over it. "Depends on the situation. Sometimes I stay in for a few minutes to take pictures of my recent fuck as leverage in case they unceremoniously chase me into a back alley."

He shakes his head disbelievingly. "You walked out on a person who offered you kindness and a place to stay. Frankly, I never felt so thoroughly violated"—

Wait-Hold the fuck up!

I hold my hand out and cut him off.

"Did that word just leave your mouth? Kindness?! After you took me to your sex den and did whatever stuff to me? You're the one who got violated?! You took advantage of me!" I lash out heatedly, incessantly stabbing his rock-hard chest with my finger.

Eyes unwavering, he blankly stares at me, not in the least concerned with my contemptuous outburst — or bothered by the sharp tip of my nail digging into his chest.

He sighs. "You clearly haven't recalled what happened that night. Truth is, I had done nothing of what you just said."

"N-nothing?!" I sputter. "If that was the truth, then how come I found myself naked next to you and my lady parts squashed and sore? Not to mention, these hickeys!" 

I tuck my hair to one side, exposing small quarter-sized purplish marks splashed along my bare neck. Yet again, a stark reminder of the night before. "What are you, a toothless vampire?"

"I could say the same with the scratches on my back. I take it we're even?"

I kick his shin, wining slightly at the pain throbbing in my big toe.

Damn, his legs are as hard as a damn tree trunk!

He curses, doubling over and rubbing the affected area.

"What?" I taunt.

I crouch down, my hands propped on my knees."What? You can take the sex, but you can't take a blow?"*

He doesn't respond. He's probably busy regretting coming after me now.

I snort. "Why'd you even follow me? And, don't even think about lying that I took your V-card and now you're expecting me to take responsibility."

"The condom broke," he replies, at last, under his breath and pulling himself up.

My jaw slackens, the blood leaving my face. Bile rises in my throat.

(To Be Cont.)

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Well, you gotta admit, at least the guy didn't run out on her. 

Will this be that twist of fate that changes her entire story? 

Write your thoughts in the comment section.

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PLAYLIST

I Just Had Sex — The Lonely Island (ft. AKON)

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*[F/N]*

Chef de Partie — a chef in charge of a particular area of production in a restaurant.

ICE vs ICE — the acronym of the school Timo went to, Institute of Culinary Education. ICE can also stand for Immigration and Customs Enforcement, an agency within the Department of Homeland Security. Over the years, the agency has received backlash for "separating families". The Democrats want to abolish it, characterizing it as a "deportation force" and arguing that immigration issues should be separate from criminal enforcement. 

Chef de Cuisine — a chef that leads and manages the kitchen and chefs of a restaurant or hotel.

Rumpelstiltskin — refers to the "magic word" Ave uses to dispel bad forces of nature (i.e. Aidan Richards from Episode 5, Pt.2). 

Bishie Sparkle Filter — (TV Trope) is often used in anime where attractive men and women walk around in a cloud of sparkles. It is presumed that they're so pretty that light, behaves strangely around them. This filter is sometimes accompanied by a background full of roses.

Sch-nap out of It — an iconic line delivered by Cher  in the 1987 movie, Moonstruck, when she slapped Nicholas Cage in the face.

Side-eye — a facial expression meant to convey doubt, shock, scorn, or criticism of the person it's aimed at.

Baby; Dirty Dancing — Dirty Dancing is a 1987 American romantic drama dance film whose main characters include Johnny Castle and Baby Houseman who were part of the iconic dance lift scene.

Apple — (DITCH: Episode 6, Pt. 1 Reference) the object Ave used to hit the "hitman" they stalked.  The man implies that he was the "hitman."

Big Foot — (DITCH: Episode 1.2  Reference) the name Ave threw at the guy she had bumped into at the cafe. The man implies that he was the guy she called, Big Foot.

Chile — (US Slang) pronounced "child" but without the D. it's used when somebody says something questionable or fucked up.

Jacking someone's dick off — (US Slang) To masturbate or bring someone to orgasm with one's hands. Said especially of a male.

Pact rules are binding — (DITCH The Pact Reference)

Garage (Boner Garage) — (US Slang) refers to a woman's vagina. 

You can take the sex, but you can't take a blow? — a wordplay on blowjob. Ave purposely used the first syllable, blow, to refer to her knee attacking his shin. 

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Copyright © 2017 Lei André