Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rosie

One week.

It had been seven days since we agreed to be partners in this dating experiment and besides my stomach flopping every time I thought about it, nothing had happened. As in, no experimental dates had taken place, no muse had been rediscovered, and no word count had increased. Granted, I had needed a couple days to come up with the dating phases I told Lucas I’d provide him with. Together with a couple of pages of notes that contained anything else I could think of that might help.

When I’d finally handed him everything, Lucas had smiled his megawatt grin, shoved my notes inside his bag, and told me he would study the material.

God, the whole thing was so clinical I often found myself battling between wanting to laugh hysterically and scream warning after warning at myself. Because what in the world was I doing? The man I had secretly daydreamed about for over a year was about to take me on “experimental’ dates I’d sort of designed. And then, he’d pack his bags and leave the continent.

My heart had had enough of getting through the day now that we were living together. It had had enough of not toppling out my mouth every single time Lucas strolled out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and an army of droplets dangling off his skin. It had had enough of not thrumming straight out of my chest at the sight of him turning around—still in that goddamn towel—and making the muscles that lined his neck, shoulders, and back dance when he lifted his backpack. My weak, silly heart had had enough of fighting the urge to fall at my feet when every evening he was back with a bag of groceries and a dashing smile and he asked me “How many words today, Rosie?” as he unpacked everything and got started with dinner.

And that last part in particular? Took a lot to survive.

Because Lucas cooking? Lucas at the stove? It was like having a first-row ticket to a show designed to fulfill sexual fantasies I didn’t know I had. Like the Magic Mike of Doughs and Pans. Lucas could be kneading bread and my sad and neglected lady parts would riot at the sight of his fingers pressing and stroking the smooth surface, working the mix with a diligence and iron hand that had me sweating and shifting on the stool. He could be flipping an omelet and I’d sigh in longing at the way his biceps flexed.

Ugh. And to make things worse—harder for my weak, silly heart and lady parts—the result, Lucas’s food, was brilliant, incredible, amazing, showstopping, and all the rest of Lady Gaga’s superlatives.

So my heart and I had had enough.

My phone pinged with a text, shaking me off my Lucas-induced thoughts. I reached across the island, where I set camp every day to work, and unlocked it.

Unknown: Date night, today. 6pm?

Ignoring the flutter at the words date night, I reread the message a couple of times.

It had to be Lucas. There was no one else who would send me a text about a date. But then again, it wouldn’t be the first time I got an accidental message, either.

Rosie: Who’s this?

Unknown: Lucas.

Unknown: Are you waiting for somebody else to take you out?

Unknown: I thought I was your only one

Rosie: fine, we’ll be experimentally exclusive

Lucas: we weren’t?

Shaking my head, I decided to cut to the chase and answer his initial question.

Rosie: 6pm sounds good. Thanks!

I was going to ask how he’d gotten my number—honestly, it was a little strange he hadn’t had it, considering we’d been living together for over a week—but the explanation landed in my inbox in a trail of texts from my best friend before I even hit Send.

Lina: Hey bestie! Just arrived in Trujillo. How is NYC?

Lina: Sorry for the radio silence, we were hiking and out of reception.

Lina: BTW I forgot to mention that my cousin would be visiting for the next few weeks. He’s staying at my place.

Lina: Okay, fine. I didn’t forget, I messed up the dates and thought he was arriving today. I suck. I still have wedding brain.

Lina: Anyways, I gave him your number. ONLY for emergencies, ’kay? Don’t feel obligated to waste your time on him. He’s a grown man.

Lina: if he texts you with unimportant shit, tell him to google it.

Guilt lodged itself deep in my stomach. Lina didn’t know about the rooming arrangement Lucas and I had. In her apartment. Nor did she know about our newly established experiment.

God, I really needed to stop lying by omission to every single person in my life.

Another text notification popped up.

Lucas: check this out.

Tapping on his conversation, an image opened on my screen.

A selfie of Lucas wearing an I NYC blue cap. His smile was lopsided, smug, and I could see the Empire State Building nearby in the background.

My rib cage squeezed, feeling a little too tight all of a sudden.

Rosie: living the full tourist experience.

Rosie: I love the cap!

I didn’t just love it. I loved it so much that before I knew what I was doing, the photo was saved to my gallery.

Rosie: Lina just texted me. She said she confused the dates and thought you were getting here today.

Rosie: she also mentioned she gave you my number.

Rosie: For emergencies.

I was working out a way to tell Lucas that we should probably tell her about the current situation, but his incoming text disrupted my train of thought, derailing whatever intention I had to confess. It was another selfie, this one from an angle that showed that wide and strong upper body I had ogled more than once or twice, and he was looking down at the camera. His crooked smile had been promoted to a full-fledged grin and the earlier flutter in my stomach had no choice but to revel, pulling out the big guns and turning into a riot.

Lucas: looking this good and not having anyone around to share it with was an emergency, Graham.

He wasn’t wrong. He did look good. Emergency-good, good.

And he’s a shameless flirt, too, I reminded myself. Remember his words: No woman has ever complained?

I rolled my eyes at myself because I really had no business feeling bitter or jealous.

Rosie: Hi Lucas’s ego. Nice to finally meet you.

Lucas: He says hi back.

The three dots jumped on the screen for a few seconds, making me bite my lip in anticipation. Then, one last message came.

Lucas: I’ll let you get back to work. Be ready at six. See you later, roomie.

Roomie.

I’d tell Lina about this. I would. The moment she and Aaron landed on US soil, I’d tell her everything.

Later in the afternoon, at exactly 5:45 p.m., I had just slipped into my favorite pair of jeans when I heard a knock.

Throwing the door open, I was not expecting to find Lucas casually leaning against the frame.

He straightened. And boy, I don’t know what was about him in that moment, but he seemed larger than usual. Bulkier, taller. But before I could process that, he took the smallest step forward and let his gaze trail down my body, slowly, in a way I had trouble processing.

Whoa, what… was that?

A slow smile bent his mouth. “Nope,” he said. Nope. Nope to what? What the hell had been my question? “You look very nice, Rosie. Beautiful.”

Very nice. Beautiful.

I thought my lips bobbed, opening and closing in some strange fish-like manner. “Thanks,” I finally mumbled. And then I felt the need to point out, “These are my favorite jeans.”

We looked down at the same time.

And when Lucas’s gaze returned to my face a beat later, that grin had somehow stretched. “I think they might be my favorite, too.”

More of that fish bobbing took place, but this time I recovered faster. “Good.”

I’d recovered faster, but clearly, not better.

I cocked a brow. “You live here.”

Amusement entered his gaze but he repeated, in that commanding yet gentle tone he’d only used once around me, “Invite me in, Rosie.”

Something tugged at my stomach. “Would you… like to come in, Lucas?”

I walked up to the bed, sat on the edge, and busied myself with the shoes I’d set apart for tonight. They were high heels. Blue velvet. Another treasured item in my closet—or, well, suitcase.

I strapped them on quickly and stood up, coming to a stop when I found Lucas’s eyes trained down on my feet.

He didn’t hesitate when he answered, “They’re perfect.”

But was it? With this intense way Lucas had been looking at me, I couldn’t tell, I couldn’t decide whether this was good or bad. Inspiring or distracting. Exhilarating or overwhelming. Real or… experimental.

My head swarmed with thoughts, questions, and speculations, while the flopping sensation, the up and down and up and down, in my chest continued. And I… “Lucas?”

He might have sensed something in my voice, because all that intensity coming off him softened. “Yeah?”

His palm fell on my shoulder, the touch bringing my words to a stop. His strong fingers felt warm against the thin fabric of my blouse. Comforting and thrilling. “Do you trust me?” I nodded, and he smiled. “Then, relax. You’re not making anything awkward. This is just Rosie and Lucas, Date Night. Phase one of the experiment. Just like we agreed.”

I swallowed. “Do you think we can take a break for a second? Be… just us? Rosie and Lucas, every other day, just for a few minutes before we leave?”

Ro.

That was new.

I liked it. Loved it. A lot.

Which was bad. Real bad. I shook my head, trying to focus, ready to tell him just how not rusty he was based on how he’d affected me, but his hand left my shoulder, and the absence of his touch distracted me.

He slipped his hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket. “I guess this is a good time to give you something I got you. It’s nothing special but…” He pulled out that nothing special and placed it on my head. “You said you loved it.”

His palm returned to my shoulder, and he turned me around until we were both facing the large mirror against the wall behind me.

I took in our matching blue and pink I NYC caps in our reflection, thinking how very wrong he was to think this wasn’t something special, and I realized that I’d made a big, big mistake.

My heart flipped in my chest. No, it might have pirouetted straight out of it. When my lips parted, and instead of words, only laughter came out. An eruption of giggles. Happy, chaotic giggles that released whatever tension or awkwardness I had been feeling minutes ago and replaced it with pure, unfiltered giddiness.

And that right there had been my mistake: a miscalculation of what I could or couldn’t take; an overestimation of my control, of what would be experimental or real to me. The answer to my own question, what did I have to lose by doing this? Turned out, more than I thought. And we hadn’t even gone on our first date yet.

His smile faltered for an instant, too quick for me to guess why or how. And then he was taking off both his and my cap and tossing them on the bed.

Rosie, not Ro.

I swallowed, my earlier anticipation and nerves returning, but different. Bigger, scarier, but more… manageable, if that was even possible. So, I grabbed my leather jacket, threw my arms in, and said, “As ready as we’ll ever be.”

After walking a few blocks, Lucas broke the mostly comfortable silence. “Phase one,” he said. “The meet-cute, a spark of interest, the sweet anticipation that leads to that first date. First dates are like first impressions: you only have one chance to make it count.”

My cheeks flamed at hearing my own words on his lips.

I wasn’t exactly proud of myself for looking at romance through the lens of an engineer or a project manager, as I’d been in my job at InTech. As if I was optimizing a process. Setting these four pivotal points in a relationship that I needed to check in the hope of jump-starting my inspiration. But I guessed habits die hard, and this was an experiment anyway. We needed structure. Efficiency. A plan.

And Lucas had definitely studied the material, as he’d promised.

Lucas’s voice dropped when he spoke. “And I’m going to fix that.”

I looked down at my feet. “Maybe it should be you writing a romance novel.” I tried to joke. “We could look for a nice pen name for you, too.”

His chuckle rang in my ears, and I smiled in response. “I’ve never been good with my words, Rosie.” He came to a stop, his hand brushing my elbow. And only when I turned and met his gaze, he added, “But I make up for it with my hands.”

I thought my jaw fell open, all kinds of images—involving Lucas’s hands—invading my mind. And none of them had anything to do with him kneading dough. Or doing origami.

Before I could say anything, Lucas was spreading his arms and gesturing at the store behind him. “We’re here.”

My eyes jumped to the sign hanging above the door, and there was no point in denying my voice came out a little rocky when I said, “A record store.”

He opened the front door for me with a flourish. “Beauty before age.”

Ignoring how that comment didn’t make things exactly easier for me, I walked in, the characteristic scent of vinyl and cardboard triggering a succession of memories.

Before Olly was born and our mother left, Dad would take me to shops like this one. A different one every Saturday morning. We’d browse records for hours, each of us picking our favorite cover, the one we’d thought was the weirdest or even the one we deemed the ugliest. We’d never buy anything, though, but even that way, it had always been something I looked forward to.

Making my way inside with my head stuck in the past, I wasn’t aware of Lucas trailing close behind me until he placed both hands on my shoulders. For the second time today, I mentally noted.

He pushed me forward gently, leisurely, moving us farther in. I felt his breath on my temple before I heard his words. “You okay?”

I looked at him over my shoulder. “A good way, definitely a good way.”

That earned me one of his slow smiles. “Good,” he said before walking around me. “Because we’re here on a mission.”

Letting my hand move above a stack of records, I couldn’t ignore the rush of anticipation at his words. “A mission?”

Lucas pinned me with an all-business look. “You”—he pointed a finger at me—“are going to pick a record. Any record you want. And I’ll buy it for you.”

I frowned, but he waved that pointer finger, stopping me.

My throat seemed to go instantly dry. “Our soundtrack?”

He nodded. “Lucas and Rosie’s Soundtrack.”

Oh boy. Oh man.

A cheer, loud and chaotic, erupted between my temples.

Lucas and Rosie’s soundtrack.

I moved on to the next crate, my fingers grazing the edge of a record, and I’d never know what the heck came over me, but the need to tease him over it overwhelmed me. “Yeah, it’s a little cheesy. But cute, I think. I guess that after that one line about me falling out of heaven or something, I shouldn’t be surprised.” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Maybe you’re just a little cheesy.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes at me, his expression morphing. “You remember that line. Of course you do,” he muttered under his breath.

His expression morphed and before I knew what was happening, he was moving.

Somehow, in what seemed the ninja version of one of his hug attacks, his arm wrapped around my shoulders and he tucked me to his side. The first thing I felt was his minty breath on my cheek, then the line of our bodies pressing together. Him, solid and warm. Me, nothing but butter at the contact, molding myself to him. And then, he tickled me.

Lucas Martín was tickling me.

Pinching my side.

Pulling a yelp right out of me.

He tickled me again, and I broke into a fit of giggles, the skin under my sweater tingling for many different reasons.

The tickle attack itself lasted only a few more seconds. But when he seemed to be done, Lucas didn’t release me from his hold. Instead, he kept me right where I was, gently lodged into his chest, my side against his front. And as my laughter died, his chin came to rest on my shoulder, bringing our faces so close that I felt, rather than heard, his chuckle on my cheek.

At that, his hold loosened the slightest bit, and I took the chance to jump out of his reach, out of pure self-preservation.

His smile was nowhere to be found for a few seconds, then, the side of his mouth tipped up. “Get to work, Rosie. Find us a soundtrack.”

And he sounded so bossy that I had no choice but to do exactly that.

After a while, I pulled out what was probably the hundredth vinyl and inspected it in my hands. I glanced over at Lucas. “This is harder than I thought.”

He hummed. “I feel a ‘but’ coming.”

I pretended I wasn’t surprised by his assumption. “How do you know I wasn’t the one who messed it up?”

I sighed, because oh no indeed. “Prom night. Jake had been trying to kiss me the whole night, and I’d been dying for him to finally do it.” I chuckled at the memory of us dancing with almost three feet of space between our bodies. “He’d been so nervous, though. He’d forgotten my corsage, his tie was all crooked, and his palms were sweaty on my shoulders.”

Lucas made sure he was meeting my gaze when he said, “I would if I was trying to work up the courage to kiss a girl like you.”

I stared at him, my head spinning with the possibility. The thought of Lucas’s lips on mine. Of his mouth moving against mine. Would he really be nervous? Was his admission… true?

This is experimental flirting, I reminded myself.

I cleared my throat. “So, anyway. We were dancing, spinning in slow circles, song after song after song. ‘Speed of Sound’ comes to an end, Jake leans forward very slowly, and I start thinking, Oh my God, he’s going to do it. Here comes my first kiss. I close my eyes and wait for that brush of his lips against mine and then, boom, they are there. Pressing tightly against my mouth. Just a peck. But I was so shocked that I opened my eyes just in time to see…” I trailed off, shivering at the recollection of what happened next. “Jake rearing back and hurling all over my dress.”

Lucas’s eyes grew wide, just as his mouth formed a big O. He whispered, “No.”

He plucked the Coldplay album from my hands and put it back into the crate. “Okay, let’s stay away from Coldplay. I don’t want you thinking about that.”

He pulled a new vinyl out and held it in the air. “What about the Smiths?”

He frowned. “Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing? That’s a rom-com, isn’t it?”

I gasped, a little outraged. “The first line of the movie is literally a warning that it’s not a love story.”

Lucas chuckled and picked another one. “Elton John?”

I sighed and patted my chest. “Uh, I couldn’t.”

My brows rose. “Can you think of Elton John without thinking of ‘Your Song’? Of Moulin Rouge?”

Lucas frowned. “Wasn’t that a—”

I turned my head very slowly. Pinned him with a look. “The most beautiful yet heartbreaking movie ever made? Yes, it was.”

He dropped the Elton John record back on its box with a snicker and something in Spanish I didn’t catch.

I decided to ignore that as we continued browsing, something occurring to me. “I’ve told you about my first kiss. I think it’s only fair you tell me about yours.”

One corner of his lips tugged up. “My first kiss wasn’t memorable in any way. Good or bad.”

He tilted his head. “I might have one. But it’s not nearly as good as yours.”

Lucas thought about it for so long that I thought he wasn’t going to tell me. But then, he said, “It’s the story of the night I didn’t lose my virginity.”

My hand came to a halt just as I was lifting a record off a crate.

My jaw might have dropped to the floor.

I stuttered over my words. Words that were not even leaving my mouth.

Did that mean…? No.

Impossible.

It couldn’t be. There was no way.

Lucas threw his head back and let out a laugh. “Oh, you should see your face right now. I’m tempted to take a picture, actually.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him pulling out his phone, and that snapped me out of it. I patted at his arm. “What face? I have no face whatsoever.”

I looked around, checking for other customers close by, concerned on Lucas’s behalf. But Lucas didn’t seem to care.

And when he leaned forward, and lowered his voice to say, “I’m not, Rosie. I lost it a long time ago. I’m very, very far from being a virgin,” I somehow knew it wasn’t so people wouldn’t overhear.

And boy, was it hot in here? Or was he doing that thing, the one where he turned up the intensity and I felt breathless and warm?

I went with the first thing that crossed my mind and fist-bumped his shoulder. “Good for you!”

Amusement entered his gaze, but he didn’t smile or laugh.

I refocused on my task and moved along the row of crates. “Okay, so what’s the story? I’m intrigued.”

I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t the tiniest bit jealous of this Lorena, even if she belonged in Lucas’s past. “You got her a beautiful bouquet? Lit up the whole place with candles? Put on some body oil?”

Lucas did a double take. “Body oil?”

Lucas continued, “I rented a movie, laid the cake and the gummies on the coffee table, and sat really, really close to her. By the time the credits were rolling, a few pieces of clothing were on the floor, and I was doing my thing.” He chuckled. “Or what I thought was my thing back when I was seventeen.”

Holding my breath, I waited for a mental image I knew would stick.

Lucas’s grin was big, unashamed. “I was kneeling on the floor, between Lorena’s legs, trying my best to… you know. Make sure she was enjoying herself, feeling good.” He tipped his head down. And I knew exactly where he was pointing. “And the next thing I know I’m being dragged out of the house by the ear. No recollection of how, except for the fact that Mamá and Abuela were somehow there. And they were pissed.”

My hands flew to my mouth, and God, I tried to hold it in, but laughter escaped through my fingers.

Finally sobering up, I said, “Well, at least some cherry was popped that week.”

Lucas looked lost in thought for a second, then a burst of deep-belly, boisterous laughter left him.

Feeling elated at being the one that had caused that rowdy, happy sound, it didn’t even come out bitter when I added, “And I’m sure Lorena was happy when she got her Lucas cake.”

He waved a hand in the air. “Oh, I don’t think I ever baked anything for her.”

I turned my head and peered into those two chocolate-brown eyes, warmth spreading across my chest, filling every nook and cranny of my rib cage until there was no spot left.

Lucas’s answer never came. He just said, “Now, stop distracting me and get back to it, Rosie. We’re two embarrassing stories down and no soundtrack yet.”