Chasing Lucia

I've been sitting at this table for thirty-two minutes. Not that I'm counting. I'm definitely not obsessively checking my watch every two minutes like some kind of nervous wreck.

Except I totally am.

I told Lucia I'd pick her up at 7, but she'd insisted on meeting me here. "i can take the T," she'd texted. "it's literally two stops from my dorm." I'd argued—what kind of asshole makes his date take public transportation?—but she'd been firm. So here I am, at one of the nicest seafood restaurants in Boston, wearing my best button-down (the dark blue one that Kyle says makes my eyes pop), and I'm a nervous mess.

I take a sip of water. My third glass. The waiter is definitely judging me.

Then I see her.

Lucia walks through the door, and I literally forget how to breathe.

She's wearing this cream-colored dress that hits just above her knees, fitted at the waist and flowing everywhere else. Her hair is down in those waves that I've fantasized about running my hands through, and she's wearing heels—actual heels—that make her legs look like they go on for miles. She has on more makeup than usual, just enough to make her hazel eyes look even more striking, and when she spots me and gives this shy little wave, I nearly knock over my water glass.

I stand up too fast, almost knocking my chair over in the process. Smooth, Trent. Real smooth.

"Hey," she says, approaching the table. Her cheeks are pink. She's nervous. Lucia Garcia, who told me via text that she wanted me on my back, is nervous.

It's adorable. It's also confusing as hell.

"Hey," I say back, like an idiot who's forgotten every word in the English language. "You look—fuck, you look incredible."

Her blush deepens. "Thanks. You clean up nice too."

I pull out her chair for her, and she sits, smoothing her dress. There's this moment where our eyes meet, and I can see her trying to figure out what to do with her hands. She settles on folding them in her lap.

This is not the same girl who sexted me into oblivion four days ago.

"So," I say, sitting back down. "You found it okay?"

"Yeah, it's um. It's really nice. This place." She's looking around, not quite meeting my eyes. "I've heard about it but never been."

"They have really good lobster rolls," I offer. Jesus Christ, we're talking about lobster rolls. This is excruciating.

"Cool. I like lobster." She picks up her menu, and I can see her hands are shaking slightly.

Okay. Something is definitely off. This is the girl who told me—and I quote—that she wanted to be "in control" while she "took her time" with me. That girl did not shake while holding a menu.

The waiter comes by, and we order—she gets the lobster roll, I get the grilled salmon—and then we're alone again with the awkward silence.

"So," she starts.

"So," I echo.

This is a disaster. A complete and utter disaster. I need to do something. Say something. Anything to break this weird tension that feels nothing like the tension we had over text.

"Can I ask you something?" I lean forward, keeping my voice low.

"Sure?" She finally looks at me, those hazel eyes wide and uncertain.

"Where's the girl who threatened to cut off my balls?"

She blinks. "What?"

"The girl who sent me that kaomoji. The one who told me she wanted me on my back." I grin at her. "Where'd she go? Because right now you look like you're about to bolt."

Her mouth drops open. Then closes. Then opens again. "I—that's—"

"Lucia." I reach across the table and take her hand. It's soft and warm and fits perfectly in mine. "It's just me. You don't have to be nervous."

"That's easy for you to say," she mutters. "You do this all the time."

"Do what?"

"This. Dates. Girls." She waves her free hand vaguely. "You're Trent Marshall. Star pitcher. Guy who probably has a different girl in his bed every weekend."

I actually laugh at that. "Is that what you think?"

"Isn't it true?"

"No." I squeeze her hand. "I haven't been with anyone in months, Lucia. Not since—" I pause, wondering if I should admit this. Fuck it. "Not since that night in the library. Sophomore year."

Her eyes go wide. "What?"

"You ruined me for other girls." I'm going for broke here. "After I figured out it was you, after I realized the girl who'd been kind to me was the same girl who fired back at every stupid thing I said—I couldn't stop thinking about you. And nobody else measured up."

She's staring at me like I've grown a second head. "You're serious."

"Completely."

"But you—you were such an asshole to me."

"I know. I'm an idiot." I run my thumb over her knuckles. "I didn't know how to talk to you. So I just... kept poking at you. Like a kid pulling pigtails on the playground."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"I know."

"You could have just asked me out like a normal person."

"I know."

She's quiet for a moment, processing. Then: "You really haven't been with anyone?"

"Not since I figured out I was completely gone for you." I lean closer. "Your turn. Where did those texts come from? Because the girl sitting across from me right now seems like she's never sent a dirty text in her life."

Her face goes completely red. It's the prettiest thing I've ever seen.

"I—that's—" She's stammering. Actually stammering. "I may have... exaggerated. Slightly."

"Exaggerated how?"

"I may have been... channeling creative writing energy."

It takes me a second. "Wait. Are you saying you made it all up?"

"No! I meant it. I just—" She's definitely going to combust from embarrassment. "I'm maybe better at writing sexy things than actually doing them."

Oh. OH.

"Lucia." I'm trying so hard not to laugh. Not because it's funny, but because it's so fucking endearing I can barely stand it. "Are you telling me you're actually shy?"

"I'm not shy!" she protests. "I'm just... awkward. In person. With you. Because you're—" She gestures at me. "You're you."

"I'm me?"

"You're hot, Trent! Objectively hot! And you're sitting here looking at me like—like—" She can't seem to finish the sentence.

"Like I want to kiss you?" I offer.

She freezes. "Do you?"

"Since the moment you walked in." I'm still holding her hand. "Actually, since Monday night. Actually, since sophomore year. Take your pick."

The waiter arrives with our food, and we have to break apart. Lucia immediately starts fiddling with her napkin, and I want to laugh and also kiss her senseless and also protect her from every uncomfortable moment for the rest of her life.

"So tell me about this creative writing," I say, taking a bite of my salmon. "What exactly have you been writing?"

"Absolutely not." She's hiding behind her lobster roll. "We are not talking about that."

"Come on. I showed you mine."

"You literally showed me nothing."

"I told you I haven't been with anyone in months. That's vulnerable."

She considers this, chewing slowly. "Fine. I... may have an AO3 account."

"A what?"

"Archive of Our Own. It's a fanfiction site."

I'm trying so hard to keep a straight face. "You write fanfiction."

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You're thinking it."

"I'm thinking it's hot." And I am. The idea of Lucia sitting in her dorm room, writing out fantasies, getting herself worked up—yeah, that's doing things for me.

"It's not hot. It's nerdy."

"It's hot," I repeat. "What do you write about?"

She takes a very long sip of her water. "Enemies to lovers, mostly."

I can't help it. I grin. "Like us?"

"We're not enemies to lovers."

"Lucia. You literally threatened to castrate me."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because in my stories, the guy is usually less of an actual asshole."

"Ouch." But I'm still smiling. "So these stories. Are they... detailed?"

Her face is doing that red thing again. "Some of them."

"How detailed are we talking?"

"Trent."

"I'm just curious about your writing process."

"My writing process is none of your business."

"See, that's where I disagree." I lean back in my chair, watching her squirm. "Because if you're writing detailed, explicit stories, that means you've been thinking about detailed, explicit things. And I'd very much like to know what those things are."

"This is harassment."

"This is flirting."

"This is you being annoying."

"This is me trying to figure out how innocent you actually are versus how innocent you're pretending to be." I lean forward again. "Because that girl who texted me on Monday? She knew exactly what she was doing."

"That girl was fictional."

"Was she?" I challenge. "Or is she just scared to come out in person?"

Lucia sets down her lobster roll and looks me straight in the eye. For a moment, I see it—that flash of the girl from the texts. The confident one. The one who knows exactly what she wants.

"Maybe she's scared you won't live up to the hype," she says, voice low.

Fuck. There she is.

"Then let me prove myself." I haven't broken eye contact. "Let me show you I'm worth the risk."

"Here? In the restaurant?"

"If you want." I'm half-joking. Mostly joking. Okay, maybe not joking at all.

She bites her lip, and I track the movement like my life depends on it. "You're insane."

"You're the one who started this."

"I started nothing."

"You sent me that kaomoji."

"That was a joke!"

"Was Monday night a joke?"

She's quiet. Then, so soft I almost miss it: "No."

I signal for the waiter, pulling out my wallet before Lucia can protest. "We're leaving."

"We haven't finished eating!"

"I'll get us food later. Right now I need to get you somewhere private before I do something that gets us kicked out of this restaurant." I throw down enough cash to cover the bill and a generous tip. "Come on."

She stares at me for a second, then—thank god—she stands. I help her with her coat, and my hand lingers on her lower back as we walk out. She shivers under my touch.

"Where are we going?" she asks once we're outside. The night air is cool, and she moves closer to me instinctively.

"My place is a ten-minute walk from here." I'm already guiding her down Newbury Street. "If you're okay with that."

"Your place. With all your roommates?"

"They're all out. Some party in Allston." My hand is still on her back. "It's just us."

"Trent—"

"If you don't want to, we can go somewhere else. Get actual dinner. I'll behave." I stop walking, turning to face her. "But if you're comfortable with it, I'd really like to kiss you without an audience."

She looks up at me, and in the streetlight, her eyes look more gold than brown. "Just kissing?"

"Whatever you want," I say honestly. "I'll follow your lead."

She's quiet for a long moment. Then she takes my hand and starts walking. "Ten minutes, you said?"

I don't think I've ever walked so fast in my life.

We make it to my room in eight minutes. Personal record.

I unlock the door and flick on the lights, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. My unmade bed. The sports posters. The pile of laundry in the corner that I'd meant to deal with.

And then I remember—

"Oh, uh." I move to block her view of the wall. "I should probably mention that I took down most of my posters this week."

"Posters?"

"I had some... questionable decorating choices. Bikini models. Sports Illustrated shit. Very bro-y." I run a hand through my hair. "Took them down on Tuesday. Seemed inappropriate given—well. You."

Her expression softens. "You took them down for me?"

"They seemed disrespectful. Having them up while trying to date you." I shrug. "Plus they were kind of tacky."

"That's..." She steps closer. "Actually really sweet."

"Yeah, well." I'm suddenly nervous again. Lucia Garcia is in my room. Standing close enough that I can smell her perfume. Looking at me like—

She kisses me.

Just launches herself up on her toes and presses her lips to mine, and for a second I'm too shocked to respond. Then my brain catches up, and my hands go to her waist, pulling her closer.

She tastes like the wine she had at dinner and something sweet, and when she makes this little sound in the back of her throat, I nearly lose my mind.

I deepen the kiss, and she opens for me immediately. Her hands come up to my chest, fisting in my shirt, and I walk her backward until her back hits my door. She gasps, and I swallow the sound.

"Trent," she breathes against my mouth.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not that experienced."

I pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips are already swollen, her eyes hazy. "You're doing great so far."

"I mean—" She bites her lip. "I've done stuff. Just not... everything."

Oh. Oh.

"How much is not everything?" I ask gently.

"I've never..." She can't seem to finish the sentence. "You know."

I do know. And somehow that makes me want her even more. "That's okay."

"It is?"

"Lucia." I cup her face in my hands. "I don't care about your experience level. I care about you. And we don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"But what if I want to?" she asks, and there's that bold girl from the texts again. "What if I'm just nervous?"

"Then we go slow." I kiss her again, softer this time. "And you tell me if you want to stop."

"I don't want to stop," she whispers against my lips.

That's all I need to hear.

I kiss her harder this time, and she matches my intensity. Her hands slide up to my hair, tugging, and I groan. She seems to like that reaction because she does it again, harder.

"Fuck, Lucia." I'm kissing down her jaw, her neck, finding that spot just below her ear that makes her shiver. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Tell me," she demands, and god, this version of her—breathless and bold and bossy—is everything.

"You drive me insane." I bite gently at her neck, and she arches against me. "Every time you rolled your eyes at me. Every time you fired back with some smart-ass comment. Every single one of those kaomojis." I trail kisses back up to her mouth. "I wanted to do this. Kiss you until you stopped talking back."

"I'm never going to stop talking back," she says, but she's smiling against my lips.

"Good." I walk us toward the bed, and she comes willingly. "I don't want you to."

We fall onto the mattress together, and she pulls me down on top of her. Her dress has ridden up, and my hand finds her thigh. Her skin is so soft I could die.

"Is this okay?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I know the answer from the way she's looking at me.

"More than okay." She pulls me down for another kiss, and this one is desperate. Hungry. Her leg hooks around my waist, and I can feel every curve of her body pressed against mine.

My hand slides higher up her thigh, and she gasps into my mouth. I pull back to look at her. "Still okay?"

"Yes. God, yes."

I kiss her again, harder this time, and my hand keeps exploring. I can feel the heat of her through her underwear, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to just—

"Trent." She's breathing hard. "Touch me. Please."

Fuck. Hearing her ask for it like that, all breathy and desperate—I'm done for.

I slide my hand under the hem of her dress, and she whimpers. Actually whimpers. It's the hottest sound I've ever heard.

"Tell me what you want," I murmur against her neck. "Use your words, baby."

"I want—" She can't seem to finish, but her hand guides mine higher, and that's answer enough.

I kiss her deeply as my fingers trace over her underwear, and she bucks against my hand. She's so responsive, so perfect, and I want to learn every single way to make her fall apart.

"You're so beautiful," I tell her, watching her face. "So fucking beautiful."

"Trent—" She's gripping my shoulders now, her nails digging in through my shirt. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

"Not planning on it." I increase the pressure, and her eyes flutter closed. "Look at me, Lucia."

She does, and the way she's looking at me—like I'm the only person in the world, like she trusts me completely—it does something to my chest.

"I've got you," I promise, still working her over. "I've got you."

She's close. I can tell from the way she's breathing, the way her body is tensing. I kiss her again, swallowing her moans, and—

The front door downstairs slams open.

"TRENT! You home, bro?" Kyle's voice echoes up the stairs. "Party got shut down! We're back!"

Lucia freezes underneath me. Her eyes go wide.

"Shit," I mutter. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Your roommates are home," she says, and I can hear the panic creeping into her voice.

"I know. I'm sorry. I thought—" I'm already helping her sit up, smoothing down her dress. "Are you okay?"

"I'm—yeah. I'm okay." She's flushed, her hair messed up from my hands, her lips swollen from kissing. She looks absolutely wrecked, and I've never wanted anything more than to kick my roommates out and finish what we started.

There's a knock on my door. "Trent? You in there?"

"Yeah!" I call back. "Give me a second!"

I turn back to Lucia. "I'm so sorry. Terrible timing."

"It's okay." She's trying to fix her hair, her hands shaking slightly. "We should probably—I should probably go."

"Let me walk you back."

"Trent, it's fine—"

"I'm walking you back," I say firmly. "Not negotiable."

She smiles at that, and even though we got interrupted, even though this wasn't how I wanted the night to end, seeing that smile makes everything worth it.

I help her up, stealing one more kiss before we head to the door. "To be continued?" I ask against her lips.

"Definitely to be continued," she confirms.

I open the door to find Kyle standing there with Devon and two other guys from the team. They all stop talking when they see Lucia.

"Oh shit," Kyle says, grinning. "Marshall, you dog."

"Shut up," I say, but I'm smiling. I take Lucia's hand. "We're heading out."

As we walk past them, I hear Devon whisper, "Dude, isn't that the girl who threatened to cut off his—"

"Yep," I say proudly. "That's the one."

Lucia hides her face in my shoulder, but I can feel her laughing.

Best first date ever.

To be continued...

Previous chapter | Next chapter