Tristan
I looked up as the shop door opened, the tinkle of our chimes breaking my focus. I’d been doing it all day; looking up at the slightest hint of her walking in. Waiting for Nikki. Hoping and waiting, waiting and hoping.
Disappointment curdled in my gut as the customer bounced to our counter. I forced a smile, looking into her blue eyes as I asked, “Welcome to Henry’s. What can I get you?”
Her smile faltered; cheeks colored. Without thinking, I ran a finger across my stubble. Was there something on my face?
“Americano, please. Large.”
“Yes, yes, Americano. I do now.” Uncle Henry shuffled past me, his rolling gait faltering, age catching up to him. He looked up, took in the customer’s face and broke into a wide, toothy grin. “Ah, Millie, I not see you for weeks. Where you go?”
Millie’s cheeks flushed scarlet, and I fought a laugh, busying myself with the pastries as Uncle Henry caught up with the latest member of the Henry’s family.
To countless people, this was probably just a simple, somewhat eclectic coffee shop in the middle of Manhattan. To me, it was more. Uncle Henry, the owner, could take credit for that.
His adoptive nature centered on warmth and kindness. He cared, and this place reflected that. Covered in tapestries, dripping with kitsch items, basked in a sunset-yellow light, this was an escape. A place to breathe.
It was also the backdrop for one of the most life-altering moments of my life. It was where I fell in love with Nikki Gataki.
Uncle Henry chatted to Millie as if they were long-lost relatives, handing over her coffee with the reluctance he was known for. She’d be calling him Uncle in no time. Everyone did. She turned to leave, shooting me one last glance before walking out.
“Hmph. She like you,” Uncle Henry stated, loudly.
I straightened and wiped the hem of my shirt along my face.
“I doubt that, Amo.” I called him Uncle in my own way. Given that Uncle Henry was half Greek, half Lebanese, he appreciated the Arabic version of the title as much as any other.
Smugly, he leaned his hip against the counter. “Is true. Why you not give her your… uh, your number?”
Laughter rose, and I squashed it. Uncle Henry knew why. He knew I wanted Nikki.
Impatient, Uncle Henry asked again. “Why you not date someone else? If you not ask Nikki, you should ask someone.”
He huffed and waddled to the backroom, not waiting for an answer.
The door chimes rang again, and my neck snapped in response.
A dazed, beautiful woman walked in. Her wavy, caramel strands were pulled into a top-knot, soft golden tendrils floating around her hazel eyes. She wore a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a V-neck white tee.
She was a fantasy. Her smile liquefied my soul.
Her dreamy eyes found mine, and I knew.
She passed the bar.
A huff of laughter escaped her lips as she made her way to me.
Spreading my hands, I asked, “So? You passed?”
She stretched, plucked her apron from the hook on the wall and tugged it over her head. That dreamy look was still there. God, I wanted to capture that look. Paint it, sketch it. I wanted to keep it with me forever.
Tying her apron around her waist, she looked up at me, cheeks flushed, and nodded.
A laugh burst from me and an answering sound, a cross between a squeal and a shout, shot from Nikki. “You did it! Nikki, you did it. That’s amazing! You passed on your first try. No one does that.”
I stepped toward her, wrapped my arms around her waist and lifted her high. This was one of the few times I knew I could get away with doing something like this. My hands spanned her middle completely; it took almost no effort to lift her, so when her hands came to rest on my shoulders, I hoped it might’ve been because she wanted to touch me as much as I craved touching her.
She whooped in surprise as I brought her close, sliding her lithe curves against my chest, her scent of lime and coconut invading me. In my arms, looking up at me, her smile was just as wistful as when she first walked in, and every part of me tightened at the sight of it.
She whispered, “Can you believe it? I did it.”
Her voice rose, and with my arms still around her waist, she punched a fist into the air, kicking her opposite leg out like a superhero about to take flight.
“I fucking did it, Tristy!”
She threw back her head and let out a laugh so loud, half of our customers turned to watch her.
I recognized the moment was over, and grudgingly pulled my touch away. She jumped on the spot, throwing her hands into the air, and my eyes traced the lines of her as she moved. Joy. She was lit with it, and it was beautiful.
“Oh, I can’t wait to see the look on Mitch’s face next week,” she said, her tone shifting into something a little vicious.
“Mitch?” I asked, reaching for my own apron and pulling it over my head. “Was he the guy who said you couldn’t pass?”
“Yep, that’s the guy. I bet him that once I passed, he had to join another study group. I can finally get that arrogant face out of my life.”
My limbs hardened for a different reason altogether as I pictured Mitch. The last time he was in here, I remembered him muttering, “Know-it-all bitch,” behind Nikki’s back. My vision blurred, everything went red, and I would’ve throttled him if Uncle Henry didn’t get to him first.
I said, “I’m glad you won’t have to deal with him anymore,” and it came out harsher than I expected.
But my shift in mood didn’t affect hers. She turned and beamed at me, drifting closer for what I hoped was another hug. Uncle Henry stepped out from the backroom, ruining any chance of that.
“Nikki! Agapimou!” His greeting meant ‘my love’ in Greek, and Nikki ate it up like was a syrupy pastry. She ran into his arms and he gave her a fatherly embrace, cooing into her hair. “I knew you do it. You always so smart.”
“Theios,” Uncle, she started, “This is the best day of my life.”
He let her go and nodded to both of us. “Yes, we must celebrate. We must drink.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “But… not tonight. Harriet is… in hospital again. I must be there.”
Nikki’s energy faded, a slight crease appearing between her brows. “Lilly’s mother? Is she okay?”
The old man lifted a shoulder. “I not know. I… will keep Lilly for a while. Make sure my niece is okay.”
We both nodded, because what else could we do?
Uncle Henry straightened, said, “Here,” and disappeared into the backroom, coming back with his coat and a clear, unlabeled bottle as large as his forearm. “Is ouzo. You close shop for me and drink.”
He put the bottle in my hands, gave me a wink, slung his coat over his shoulders, and ambled out from behind the counter, yelling, “I go now. I see you Monday.”
And with a tinkle of the door chimes, he was gone.
Nikki looked from the bottle to me, a cheeky, sexy grin spreading on her face. “It’s closing time now, isn’t it?”
It was. She took the bottle from me and set it down as we started stacking chairs, wrapping food behind the counter, readying the broom. Customers took the hint, lifted their belongings from our cherry-red booths, and muttered warm goodbyes as they left.
When the last customer was gone, my stomach swooped. We were alone.
I was alone often enough with her. Our job demanded it sometimes. But it never failed to turn me into a silo of exploding nerves. She finished sweeping the floor as I put the coffee machine through its paces, readying it for the next time we opened. Done, she put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room, before her glance came to rest on mine, and an irresistible smile curved her lips.
Damn. Those lips. I spent so many hours sketching the curve of them, trying to match the magic of those lines. Impossible. I might as well have been trying to immortalize heat itself.
“Ready?” she asked, already reaching for the bottle of ouzo.
I hesitated as Nikki unscrewed the cap. “Careful, Nik. That’s strong stuff. Uncle Henry mixes it in his sink.”
“Oh, I know. This is going to be so good. Ohhhh, you know what would be even better?”
I chose two glasses from a shelf and propped them in front of her on the wooden counter. “A couple of Nikki Specials?”
She laughed, and I was weighed down by it, rooted to the spot as she lit, ignited. My Nikki. My beautiful Nikki. The urge to touch her was so strong, I clutched the wood until my knuckles turned white.
“No, that’s for tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll need those sandwiches for our hangovers. I think we should make pizza.”
The excited, breathless tilt to her voice was enticing. I couldn’t say no.
“I’ve got some dough in the back. What toppings did you want?”
She poured two shots of ouzo, larger than the recommended serve, and I sucked my breath through my teeth. She ignored me and said, “Cheese, mushroom, a bit of the mince we use in our sausage rolls, and… do we have marinara sauce?”
She picked up her drink, gulped it, and made a face. “Uuugghh, I need something to chase this with.”
I laughed. “I’ll get you some soda.”
As I turned to check the backroom, she called out, “Wait. Do we have the sauce?”
I frowned. “Marinara? Nikki, that’s not a pizza base. We should use tomato.”
Clucking her tongue, she rolled her eyes, a habit she picked up from her older sister. “Trust me, Tristy, marinara sauce is so much better.”
I tilted my chin, giving her a look. She huffed out a laugh and said, “It is! Try it. I promise you’ll like it.”
I shook my head. “Okay, fine. You were right about your weird waffle bacon sandwich, maybe you’re right about this.”
Another laugh filtered out of her, and my heart wanted to chase it as it disappeared into air.
Sometimes, I wished being with her didn’t feel this good. Sometimes I wished she’d do or say something to make this feeling end. This obsession, this need. It was too much. I was an addict craving my hit, never getting relief. I spent waking moments thinking of her, sketching her, trying to get her out of my head and onto paper, hoping it’d be enough. But her hold on me was never-ending.
One day, I’d tell her how I felt. When she wasn’t so focused on her goal of becoming a lawyer. When she admitted she was ready for a relationship. Maybe then, I could–
Oh, the dough.
“Found it.”
Nikki sidled up behind me, holding out a drink as I turned. “Here, I’ve had two of these already and you haven’t started yet.”
I swapped her, handing over the dough as I took a drink.
“Yep,” I said, grimacing. “This needs a chaser.”
I found the soda, sauce and toppings, and fired up the small oven in the studio apartment connected to Henry’s.
The studio had a small bathroom, a working stove, space for a fridge and a small counter with four cupboards. Right now, Uncle Henry was using it for additional storage, but he let Nikki and I set up a flat-screen in there.
Sometimes, after work, we would sit on the floor, our backs to a shelf. I laid down a carpet and usually stole the couch cushions from the sofa in our backroom, so it wasn’t too bad. It was cozy enough. We watched movies when we didn’t want to go straight home after a shift. Usually, I just watched Nikki’s face as she reacted to whatever was unfolding on the screen.
“Oh, gosh, why is this so sticky?” Nikki asked, pulling my focus back, the edges of her words blurred. Her fingers were suspended, dough stretching from her slim fingers. I laughed, reached from behind her, and plucked the doughy strings.
She leaned into me with a sigh as I said, “We need flour to stop it from sticking while we roll.”
“Oh. Well, how am I supposed to know that?” she asked, turning and nuzzling her nose against my throat. “Mmm, you smell good. Why do you smell so good?”
I went stiff, swallowing, feeling my throat work as I re-rolled Nikki’s dough. “I’ve been around pastries and coffee all day. You’re probably just hungry.”
As if in answer, her stomach growled and she groaned. I sagged in relief as she straightened and took herself from me.
Nikki wasn’t flirting. She never flirted. What you saw was what you got with her. Nikki was brutally honest, and if she wanted me, she’d come right out and say it. I took her touches and comments with a grain of salt, knowing there was nothing implied, even if my body didn’t.
Searching the shelves of our backroom, I found flour, then joined her in the studio. We drank, we rolled dough. Drank some more, laughed and uncapped the sauce. Drank even more, and stumbled as we opened a bag of shredded cheese.
“This is gonna be soooo good,” Nikki slurred, spreading saucy hands over her circle of dough. “Just watch, Tristy. It’s… it’s gonna be the best thing you ever tasted.”
I laughed, but it turned into a hiccup. “If you say so.”
“Oh!” She spun and tilted to one side. I reached out in time to steady her. Ignoring the sauce on her bare, olive-toned arm, she said, “We should watch a movie.”
I agreed, and wiped my hands on a tea towel before putting both pizzas in the oven to cook. Nikki stood and wavered on the spot as I flicked on the TV and set up the couch cushions on the carpet. When she didn’t move, I had to guide her to them and sit her down carefully.
I chose something funny, hoping it’d help cut the tension thrumming through me. Even alcohol couldn’t erase the pure want I had for her. Instead, it made me reckless. I needed a distraction.
As the movie played and our pizzas baked, Nikki sat on the cushions and leaned against the shelf, content despite her sauce-covered fingers.
“I can’t believe I passed,” she whispered as I sat next to her.
“Well, believe it,” I said, trying to sound more sober than I was. “You’re amazing, Nikki. Everyone knows that.”
She snorted. “No. Everyone thinks I’m a bitch.”
I clucked my tongue and shifted, staring at her until I had her attention. “Anyone who thinks that is just jealous. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not a bitch.”
Her brows softened, and she looked so sad, so uncharacteristically miserable, that I had to put my arms around her. “Hey, you’re not. Forget about Mitch.”
“It’s not just him, Tristy. Everyone in my study group looks at me like I have a stick up my ass.”
I bit my bottom lip, fighting a smile. Warmth churned through me, a mixture of ouzo and love. “If you ever want to prove otherwise, I could be your witness.”
Misery erased, she laughed and I could almost see the glow shimmering around her. Maybe I was drunker than I thought.
“I’d have to show you my ass though. You don’t want to see that.”
She hiccupped, and it was so adorable I wanted to bottle it, drink it down, have it mingle with my blood. Instead, I settled for a small smile.
“Nikki, I would love to see your ass.” She laughed again as I prayed I sounded as smooth as I thought.
“No really, if I’m not a bitch, what am I?” she asked, changing the subject.
Feeling a slight sting of rejection, I shrugged and answered, “You’re funny, smart–”
She shoved my chest playfully. “Those are stock… answers? Responses? Yeah, that. Those are stock responses, Tristy. Give me something real.”
I sighed, scraping my addled brain for something that wouldn’t give me completely away. “You’re fearless. Remember that time there was a giant spider crawling on the top shelf?”
Her smile grew. “And I climbed up and trapped it in a jar while you and Uncle Henry screamed like toddlers?”
I laughed. “Yep. That’s a small thing, isn’t it? But it shows how… fearless you are. You go after what you want, you throw yourself into it completely. A lot of people are afraid of doing that.”
She frowned, her eyes searching me. “Like… you?”
I made an uncomfortable noise that sounded like, “Uhh,” and shifted away from her.
“I mean, you never show me your paintings. I want to see them, Tristy. When are you going to show them to me?”
I swallowed and rubbed the back of my neck. “Soon. They’re not… ready yet.”
In truth, they were done. They just… a lot of them were of her. Her leaning on a door frame, eyes glimmering with laughter. Her bending by a customer’s table, carefully asserting why her recommendations would blow their mind. Her looking right at me, right into my soul, with bright hazel eyes, softened with love.
I couldn’t show her any of that. Right now, I was working on some other pieces. Paintings that weren’t really of anyone in particular. When I felt ready, I could show her those.
She gripped the neckline of my shirt and tugged, bringing my face down to hers. Sweet alcohol permeated her breath, warm on my cheek as she asked, “Promise?”
Unable to resist the pull of her lips, I stared at them as I nodded. “You’ll be the first to see them. Promise.”
Satisfied, she let me go and we watched the movie, our attention spans made shorter in our inebriation.
It wasn’t long before her head rolled, and a soft snore drifted from her. I sighed, residual regret rippling through my chest. Tonight wasn’t the night. Nothing was going to happen between us.
I knew it wouldn’t. There was no way I’d take advantage of Nikki while she was drunk, if she actually came onto me for once. Still, that didn’t stop the disappointment from spreading.
Gently lifting her, I laid her on the cushions until she was comfortable, more snores wandering from her like a symphony. Turning off the TV and oven, I pulled out our pizzas and left them to rest on the bench. They’d taste just as good in the morning. Pizza always did. At the very least, the smell of it flooded the room, and I hoped it would soak into the bones of this place. God knows the world needed more of Nikki Gataki and her weird, wonderful food concoctions.
I came back and laid on my side in front of her. The solid wooden floor was cushioned by the rug. It wasn’t totally uncomfortable, and I was too drunk to care. Staring down at her, I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and watched her sleep.
Grunting was the next thing I heard. A few soft moans. My body was being shaken. Something weighed down my leg.
I opened a gummy eye, rubbed them with grubby fingers. Everything was blurry.
I fell asleep. And Nikki was shaking me awake.
“Nikki?” My voice was hoarse, like I’d smoked a packet of cigarettes, the aftertaste of ouzo burnt into my dry throat.
She wasn’t lying on the cushions anymore. I shifted my head, trying to make sense of what was happening.
And there she was, on top of me, rolling her hips against the seam of her shorts, against my thigh.
“What…” I cut off and let myself take it in.
Nikki’s slender arms were held out in front of her, and above my head, they were splayed against the yellow wall. Incredibly, I blearily acknowledged she was going to leave a red imprint after this.
The sound of her humming, her soft moans, they dragged my attention back, and I noticed, maybe for the first time, what she was actually doing.
Nikki was dry-humping my thigh. And enjoying it. She might actually… finish. She might come. On me.
It was unjustified, ridiculous, completely comedic, how turned on I was. My cock hardened in my jeans, digging into my fly, as Nikki rode me. Her head was thrown back, whimpers escaping her lips as her hips rolled faster, her rhythm matching the soft bounce of her breasts.
It was incredible. She was incredible, and I was numb with awe. Watching her face unfurl with desperate pleasure was something I never thought I’d get to see. I’d replay this moment, that look on her face, the way she moved, for years after this.
I would’ve given anything to reach up, shift onto my back, and have her ride me. Right then and there, saucy fingers trailing down my skin and all. But… I was still drunk. I could feel it. And if I was drunk, so was she. She probably wasn’t aware of what she was doing. She might not remember this tomorrow.
She cried out, wordless as her orgasm built, and before I could make a decision–stop her, let her keep going, make sure she was actually awake–she moaned, low and deep, trembling as she came.
Her breathing was hard as her body shook, her thighs gripping my leg tight as she rode out tremor after tremor, and I greedily stared, watching her, imagining the soft, sleek contours of her body as she did this exact same thing on me, naked. My cock would be inside her, and she’d ride it until pleasure overtook everything else. She’d grip my hair, run her nails down my back, bite my shoulder–
Nikki rolled off me and landed on the floor with a thud.
Sitting up, I checked on her. She was breathing, eyes shut, hands splayed out, dyed red, like she’d been squishing tomatoes all day.
Sighing, I settled back onto the ground, palming my cock through my jeans and adjusting it so the throbbing wouldn’t hurt as much. I could still feel the heat of her on my thigh, radiating through the coarse fabric, and squeezed my eyes shut, frantically cataloging the feel while trying to push it away.
There was no chance she’d remember this tomorrow. And if I told her, she’d only be embarrassed by it. Not for the first time tonight, regret hooked it’s claws and dragged at me. This wasn’t the… opening I was looking for.
If anything, this was just a tease of what I hoped would come. When Nikki finally became a lawyer, and could make room for more in her life, then, maybe, something would finally happen between us.
Until then, at the very least, I had a few more details to add to my fantasies of her.
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