The chef brought out the first course himself. He and Paulo laughed like old friends, slapping each other firmly on the back. Marina and I eased into conversation, with Marina showing me pictures of her sons and talking about the unpredictable weather here in Atlanta. I smiled and laughed, the nervousness eventually dissipating. I felt so much warmth from the Serranos. Porter looked at me, giving me a reassuring nudge. I smiled.
As they served the second course, the four of us eased into casual conversation. I could easily blame the different Serrano wines we had with each course, but Paulo and Marina were easy to talk to. They didn’t come across as stuffy, despite their net worth. The Serranos were charming, down-to-earth billionaires that seemed to enjoy having a great meal with regular folks.
“So, whose idea was the fan experience area? I loved it!” said Marina.
“Oh, it was Ari’s,” Porter said. “Ari’s design eye is exceptional. You know she lived in Florence for a while.” My chest bloomed at his words.
“And London,” I chimed in, the wine giving me a boost of confidence. “I thought about Wimbledon and the lawn. It is literally the best experience in sports I’ve ever had, and I thought I could bring that experience to the stadium. Combine it with the feel of your vineyards. I know you’re all about sustainability. So, no space wasted. And hopefully, built as green as possible.”
As Porter and I talked about the design of the stadium, we would finish each other’s sentences. Paulo smiled as Marina nodded, looking at her husband. Without thinking, Porter put his hand on the small of my back, making small circles. I wanted to melt just like the chocolate flan on the menu.
“She’s as smart as she’s sex—” stammered Porter. “I mean, self-confident.” I looked at Porter, admiring the profile of his face as he continued to speak. His face beamed with an incredible sense of pride.
There was my answer.
By the time the fourth and final course came, Porter and I had the Serranos eating out the palm of our hand. I talked more about my time in Florence, making them laugh at my stories of a supposed Medici “prince” who wanted to marry me. Porter and Paulo talked about their shared love of vinyl records, each of them comparing what they owned in their vast collections.
With the wine flowing, a cotton-candy-like softness swirled around me and the thought of someone slipping me out of this librarian skirt was becoming more appealing. It had been months since I’d had sex with anyone. No booty calls to my “stand-ins.” No trips around home base with Big Papi could satisfy what I wanted right now. And what I wanted right now, the touch and feel of the one man that, even though I knew it was wrong, could satisfy me.
After Paulo and Marina gave their kudos to the chef, we ended the night with hugs, more kisses on the cheek and an open invitation from the couple to come yachting in Marbella.
“You two are a great team. My secret weapon, no?” He enthusiastically patted Porter’s shoulder and kissed my cheeks fervently.
We waited outside for the car service. We were both full and extremely buzzed. Porter, just a few inches taller than me, had the perfect shoulder to rest my head. As I rested on his shoulder, I felt him lean down, his cheek resting against my temple.
“Private dining? Drinking $800 bottles of wine? I feel like Jay-Z and Beyoncé,” I whispered to Porter.
“You’re prettier,” Porter said, without a hint of sarcasm.
“Now, I know you’re lying.” Porter laughed and squeezed my hand.
“You were amazing back there. It was as if you dined with billionaires all the time,” Porter remarked, his nose grazing the side of my forehead. I heard him inhale deeply. The feeling, so small, so intimate, ignited tiny electric sparks against my skin.
“I could say the same for you,” I chided.
Porter laughed, a deep soulful rumble. “Well, a few. My grandfather and his pals shut down a place a time or two. But...that stuff doesn’t impress me. The way you treat people is what matters. You treat people like they matter, Ari. I love that about you.”
I shook my head, trying to fight off the heat that was quickening my pulse. “You’re right. People are people. And I love people. Besides, to quote Maya Angelou, I’m a sista who laughs like I have gold mines in my backyard.”
Porter took my face into his hands and looked into my eyes. “And you’re a phenomenal woman.”
I tried to hold in my snicker but failed, erupting in full-blown laughter. “That’s sweet. I appreciate the sentiment but that’s the wrong poem.”
Porter shrugged, sheepishly tucking his hands back into his pockets. “You know what I mean. I was never one for poetry, which is why I got a C in English Lit in college.”
I began laughing, then wrapped my arms around Porter’s neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. At first it was slow, as our tongues got reacquainted with each other, then sped up rapidly. His tongue met mine stroke for stroke. A tingle tickled the underside of my jawline as we kissed.
“What are you doing, Ari?” Porter whispered against my lips.
“It’s called kissing,” I replied. “I’m very good at it. Remember?”
Porter withdrew his warm, berry tasting lips. “I thought we both agreed to...”
I put a finger against his lips. “Shh. You talk too much, Harrison.” Then we found each other’s lips again.
We both pulled back from the scorching kiss just as the Escalade pulled up. The driver, an older blond gentleman, swiftly opened the door, and we both slid into the back seat.
Porter placed a hand on my thigh, the heat of his palm coursing through my skin. I could see the erection in his dress pants becoming increasingly uncomfortable. I buried my lips in the curve of Porter’s neck, kissing it softly. His moan quickly evolved into a low growl as my lips traced a pathway from his neck to his lips, and back again. Porter’s hands found their way under my shirt, feeling my nipples, stiff to the touch. It had been so long since someone touched me, my body responded hungrily. My panties dampened with each stroke of his thumb across my nipples. I moaned into Porter’s mouth, which encouraged his hands to dip from my nipples to the folds of my waist. I felt his fingers slip between the band of my skirt, inching closer to my pelvis. We were giving the driver a show, not bothering to care about the partition that was down. Between our kisses, the trippy jazz music the driver streamed were the only sounds we heard.
I pulled Porter’s hands out of my skirt. “Don’t go home, Porter.”
Surprised, Porter licked his lips slowly, as if to savor our moment. “Are you sure? Because it won’t upset me if you change your mind. I won’t do this...not if you’re not ready for this. I meant it when I said I would wait for you.”
Admittedly, all that tempranillo had made me bold as hell. “I want you to come home with me. Can you do that? Can we just focus on tonight and we think about the rest later?”
I gave the driver my address and watched as he input the information into his navigation system.
“With traffic, we will be there in twenty-five minutes, sir, ma’am,” he said with a slight grin as he finally rolled up the partition.
“Can you wait twenty-five minutes?” Porter asked, with a smile so sexy that I wanted to jump his bones immediately.