Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
There were three Florentines left, and when I added them to our order, he straightened up and patted his pockets. After a moment, he exclaimed, “I don’t have any money! I forgot that I didn’t bring my wallet to the wedding.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
I gave the cashier a few bills and told her to keep the change, and Armando said, “I’ll pay you back when we get to the hotel.”
“That’s not necessary.”
When he looked up at me with those big, wide doe eyes of his, I was struck by how attractive he was. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re a very nice person.”
“I assure you I’m not. Far from it.”
“Well, you’re nice to me.”
“You’re the exception.”
“Why?”
That was a good question. Instead of answering, I handed him his coffee and the bag of cookies and said, “Let’s go see if we can find a cab.”
It took some time, but eventually I got lucky and managed to flag down a taxi. On our way back to the hotel, Armando finished his coffee and leaned against me. Instead of eating the cookies, he hugged the small bag to his chest, like it was a stuffed animal. That tugged at my heartstrings far more than it should have.
After a while, he murmured, “I like your accent.” I hadn’t said anything for the past few minutes, so that thought must have been bouncing around in his head for a while. “It’s very subtle, but sexy. I can’t quite place it, though. It’s like, Italian with a touch of British.”
“That’s exactly right, actually. I grew up in Italy and spent the last few years in London.”
“That sounds exciting. I’ve never been out of the country. Actually, that’s not true. I’ve been to Tijuana several times, but that’s less than twenty miles from my apartment, so it’s not exactly some big adventure. I’m Mexican American, so it’s kind of sad that that’s all I’ve seen of Mexico.” He then went off on a long tangent about how he’d always wanted to take his son to meet their relatives in Oaxaca but had failed to make that happen. I tried to tell him there was still time, but he seemed determined to beat himself up about it.
He left his shoe behind when we reached the hotel, so I picked it up and brought it with me after I paid our driver. Armando swayed a little as he pulled his phone from his pocket and read a text. “Shit,” he muttered. “Daddy Warbucks is hosting an after-party in his suite, and I’m a mess. Will you please help me put myself back together? I don’t want to embarrass my son in front of his rich in-laws.”
I thought he looked adorable, though admittedly he was a bit disheveled. “Put this on,” I said, as I handed him the shoe, “and come with me to my room. Five minutes and I’ll have you right as rain.”
He chuckled at that and grabbed my arm to steady himself as he put on his loafer. “That expression is the kind of thing my regulars at the diner would say. Most of them are in their seventies and eighties.” He had a point. I rarely spent time with anyone my own age, and it showed.
Once we reached my room, he announced that he needed to pee and wandered to the bathroom. Meanwhile, I finished my coffee and found my lint roller. When I heard the toilet flush, I joined him and waited while he washed his hands. Then he turned to me and said, “Okay. Fix me.”
After I gave him a once-over with the roller, I re-tied his lopsided bowtie and instructed him to button his jacket. He randomly swiped at his hair when I handed him a comb, so I took over and combed it back neatly. Finally, I dampened a corner of a washcloth and tilted his chin up with my fingertips, so I could wipe away a smudge on his cheek.
While I was finishing up, he leaned into me and murmured, “I really want you to kiss me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re drunk.”
“I probably should have found out if you like men before I brought up kissing.”
“I do, as it turns out.” I stepped back to take a look at him and changed the subject. “You’re all set. How do you feel?”
“Nauseous, but I don’t think I’m going to throw up.”
“That’s probably the best we can hope for.”
He followed me into the bedroom and said, “You promised me a dance.”
“Yes. I believe I did.”
“We need music.”
After a quick scroll through my phone, I settled on Sam Cooke’s “What a Wonderful World,” and Armando slipped his arms around me. As we swayed to the music, he whispered, “I’ve never danced with a man before. It feels incredible.” I couldn’t recall ever actually slow dancing with anyone.