Chapter 4

Maria

At the end of their shift, Maria and Darius head to the break room in the back of the coffee shop. It consists of nothing but two oak tables with mismatched metal chairs and a small kitchenette with only a microwave and a tiny fridge.

On the far wall is their open-faced lockers.

She heads to her locker while rolling the stiff muscles in her neck. She's tense and she knows it. The whole thing with Mark has her a nervous wreck. If she were smart, she would listen to Darius and delete the thing. Hell, even delete her social media so she doesn't do something so stupid again.

She unties her apron and hangs it in her locker while Darius does the same thing next to her. He grabs his wallet, stuffs it into his back pocket, and turns to face her. Leaning against the locker, he says, "So what are we going to do when we get home?"

"Beats me," she responds, shrugging. She snatches her purse from the hook and shoves it over her shoulder.

She honestly has no idea what to do tonight. All she knows is that a whole bottle of wine can't wash away the feeling of foolishness that she has coursing through her veins right now. But she won't tell Darius that because he'll just chuckle at her and say "I told you so."

Together, they walk out of the break room. The rush of after-work caffeine addicts has arrived and the place is flooded once more with people who need their coffee fix.

"That one show is on," Darius suggests, raising his voice to be heard above the noise. "Do you want to order takeout and watch it?"

She frowns up at him. There are a lot of shows that they watch together, so she takes a stab in the dark and asks, "The one with the crazy housewives?"

"Yeah." He says it like she should have known immediately.

She ignores his attitude. "Sure. They left the last episode on a cliffhanger. I'd like to know if she's actually going to vandalize that guy's car or if she'll chicken out."

They stop just short of exiting the hallway that leads to the break room when Darius snorts. "Always up for the dramatics."

"Well, my life is pretty boring," she excuses. "I have to live my life somehow. Why not through someone else's drama?"

Darius chuckles and looks above her head at the crowd waiting for their coffees. Then his eyes go wide. "Holy shit."

"What?" Did he forget something in the break room? Did he forget that he has a date tonight and can't hang out?

"Your social media boyfriend," he says, still looking over her head.

She gently pokes his peck. "Oh, would you lay off that already?"

"I can't." He lowers his gaze with a twinkle in his eyes. "And neither can you."

"Why?" Dread fills her. She just knows whatever he's going to say next isn't going to be pleasant. The hair on the back of her arms stands on end, and she has the insane urge to hide behind Darius.

He guides her by the shoulders and turns her around. "Because he's here."

For a second, she forgot how to breathe. For a second, her heart forgot to beat. And for a second, she forgot to blink. But she blinks now. The air whooshes from her chest. Her heart picks up the pace and floods her system with adrenaline, because there he stands, right at the edge of the counter not fifteen feet away.

He's dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. His hair is styled and his striking blue eyes are set on hers.

She yelps, jumps, and backs into Darius's chest. Shit, shit, shit.

Chest rumbling from quiet laughter, Darius says, "Look what you did."

He must have known he found the right person, because Mark's shoulders and expression relax. He takes in Maria, and then Darius, whose hands are still on her shoulders, preventing her from running far, far away.

"Save. Me," she grinds out. "You will save me from this."

"Oh no. You made your bed. Now you have to lay in it."

Panic settles in and she attempts to turn to face him and give him hell, but he keeps her facing forward, toward the man still waiting for her by the coffee bar. "Darius!"

Darius gives her a mischievous grin, shoves her toward Mark, and walks away. Over his shoulder, he says, "See you at home." And then he's gone, swallowed by the crowd and leaving her there by herself, huffing and puffing and absolutely terrified.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Mark is watching her every move, taking in her expression, her body language, and her wide eyes. When he sees that she's struggling with herself about if she's going to bolt or not, he smirks and leans a hip against the counter. He crosses his arms over his chest and seemingly settles in. But she makes no move to go to him. Eventually, he lifts a hand and crooks a finger at her.

Gulping, she gathers the nerve and walks up to him. She's an adult. She can have a conversation with the tiger she eenie meenie minee moed. "You found me."

"I did." His voice! Shivers cross her body at the sound of his voice. It's deep and rich. Deeper than most guys, and she'd be lying if she said it didn't do anything to her.

"How did you find me?" she asks breathlessly. She's having a hard time getting her heart to calm down.

He scratches his cheek with his thumb as he answers, "You take a lot of pictures of yourself in this place. Especially with the guy who just left. Are he and you . . ."

It takes her a minute to realize what he's asking. "Oh! No." She shakes her head. "We're just friends. Roommates. We live together." She realizes she's stammering but his mere presence is intimidating. He towers over her, and his muscles . . . even though he's wearing a suit, she can clearly see that they're just as big, if not bigger than his picture showed.

He nods but says nothing else.

Dancing from foot to foot, she asks, "So what are you doing here?"

A smirk plays on his lips and she nearly swoons. God expertly sculpted those lips. She wants more than anything to taste them. "Can't a guy come to see his girlfriend at her work?"

"Oh." She looks around wildly. "Um. About that. We don't have to-"

He pushes off the counter and steps toward her. "What? Are you backing out now?"

She fights the urge to back up a step because her head is swimming with his scent. It's not cologne. She can't smell any on him, but it's a natural aroma packed with pheromones. Her ovaries definitely take notice and scream hallelujah. "Oh. I - Um -"

His smirk widens into the most beautiful and sexy grin she's ever seen. Under it, she feels like a mouse caught beneath the paws of a tiger. "Don't you want to at least have a first date?"

"We don't - I don't - I can delete it." She pulls out her phone from her back pocket to do just that, but he gently places his hand over hers. She looks back up at him and nearly whimpers at the way his eyes smolder.

"And what would you say if I told you I didn't want you to?" His voice is husky and it causes her to blink. That's not what she expected him to say. In fact, she was sure he was here to get her to delete it. But now? Now he says he doesn't want her to?

He's coming on to her, she realizes with a blush rising to her cheeks. She hasn't been hit on since college before she gained the weight.

"You don't?" she whispers.

"Have a first date with me, Maria." She nearly purrs at the sound of his voice. It's deep, her name sounds like a song.

"I think I might die if we do that," she blurts. Embarrassed, she grimaces. Did she really say that out loud? She's losing her shit.

He cocks his head to the side. "Die? Would a date with me be so bad?"

"No!" she nearly shouts. Everyone seated at the nearby tables turns to look at her, and the blush creeps down her neck. Quieter, she adds, "I mean, I'm me and you're you and . . ." She gulps and his quizzical gaze follows the movement of her throat. "Look, I don't date guys like you. Or better yet, guys like you don't date me."

He moves his eyes from her throat and frowns at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're a Greek god and I'm . . ." She refuses to call herself a fat toad to this guy's face. "I'm just me."

He invades her space and bends down to whisper in her ear, "You're not the only one who has an attraction right now."

Heat rises from her neck and creeps over her cheeks as he pulls away. "Isn't a skinny blonde more your type?" she asks.

"No," is his only answer. He has a straight face too, so he's definitely not lying. It just serves to confuse her more.

"Oh." It's the only thing she can think of to say. God, she's sounding like an idiot today. How is she supposed to go on a date with him if she keeps embarrassing herself?

"Pick you up at seven?"

"O-okay."

He removes his hand from overtop of hers and slides it into his pocket. "Where do you live?"

She rattles off her address like it's perfectly normal to tell a stranger where you live. A hot stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Her parents would be so disappointed in her right now.

"Good. I'll see you then." Without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving her holding her breath. At any minute, he could turn around and tell her that he's joking, but when he leaves the shop entirely, she knows that he's not.

She stands there for a few minutes. Customers weave around her still body. Her heartbeat slowly returns to normal, and on numb feet, she leaves The Brew and gets into her car.

The entire way home, she chastises herself for such a stupid, stupid mistake. Honestly, this isn't what she thought would happen when she pressed that ‘in a relationship' button. She expected nothing to become of it. Not this.

When she arrives home, she rushes into the apartment. She has two hours to shower and do her hair and make-up. Not to mention the perfect outfit. One that hides her curves.

As soon as she flings open the door, she quickly crosses the small kitchen that Darius keeps so clean that someone could perform surgery in it. She drops her purse on the counter and strides with purpose into the boxed-in living room. The TV is on, but playing softly, and Darius sits on the couch with a phone to his ear, ordering takeout.

She picks up her pace and jogs past him and into the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. He shouts after her, "Where's the fire?"

"Can't talk now! I have to get ready!"

And that only serves for him to follow her into the bathroom and pepper her with questions.