Sugar and Spice by Kat Baxter

Chapter 3

Isabel

The next morning, I step out of the round-about door of the hotel to get in the town car Le CRV sent for my sightseeing adventure and find a familiar giant blond body leaning against it. My heart speeds up, which is damned annoying. Because he is NOT my weekend fling. Still, I’d be a damned liar if I didn’t admit that there’s part of me that’s very happy to see him.

As I approach, the driver hops out and rounds the car to open the door. He’s holding a placard with my name on it, in one hand. Since Sam isn’t moving, he just stands there looking from me to Sam and then back again. The guy is young and handsome, in a dorky, clean cut kind of way. Unfortunately, next to Sam he looks like a pip squeak.

He is obviously not going to come to my rescue and bounce Sam to the curb.

I turn my glare on Sam. “Seriously? What is your damage? Are you planning to follow me all over the city cock-blocking me? You’re worse than my brother.”

He lifts a boulder-sized shoulder. “You said you were going sightseeing. I’ve never been here either, so I figured we could go together.”

I put my hands on my hips and give him the once over, hoping that my expression conveys more annoyance and less pure lust. “You know that’s weird, right? To just highjack my sightseeing trip.”

“I’m not highjacking your trip. I’m just making sure you’re safe.” He shoots the driver a suspicious look. “After all, this guy could be anyone.”

“This guy isn’t anyone. He was hired by the magazine to drive me around the city.”

“He could be one of those guys who kidnaps women and sells them into the sex trade.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, then sigh, praying for patience. “Or he could be a perfectly nice young man, hired by the magazine.”

Sam shrugs again. “You need someone to look out for you while you’re in the city. Obviously it’s not going to be this guy.” He turns a narrowed gaze at the driver, before looking back at me. “So I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, my God! You are so much worse than my brother!” I turn and offer an apologetic smile to the driver. “I’m so sorry. I’m Isabel.”

I hold out my hand to the driver, who gives Sam a hesitant look before shaking my hand. “I’m Tanner. And I’m not a kidnapper. In case you were worried.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tanner. And I'm sorry my friend here is being a jerk.”

Tanner smiles. “It’s okay. Happens all the time.”

“Does it? Does it really?”

“No. Never happened before.” He shoots a nervous glance at Sam like he’s afraid Sam is going to bop him on the head like a whack-a-mole. “But it’s my first week on the job, so that’s probably why. I’m sure lots of guys don’t want their girlfriends riding around the city with a stranger.”

“I’m not his—”

But before I protest that I’m not Sam’s girlfriend, Sam opens the door and gestures me in. “Just get in the car, Cookie. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

Rolling my eyes, I follow his direction. Against my better judgement, I might add.

But it’s not like I actually thought I was going to pick up a guy mid-sightseeing and jump his bones in the bathroom or something. So having Sam here isn’t really cramping my style that much. It’s more the principle of the matter.

Sam slides into the town car next to me, and even though it’s got a spacious backseat, Sam takes up all the extra room. There’s a barrier between the front seat and the back.

I’m grateful it’s closed, because as soon as Tanner starts driving, Sam crosses his arms over his massive chest and mutters to me. “Tanner.” He makes grumbling noise of disapproval. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

“It’s a very popular name.”

I don’t know why I feel compelled to defend Tanner, but I do. Or maybe it’s just fun arguing with Sam. That’s a thought I don’t want to spend too much time considering, since he’s NOT my one and done.

“Tanner isn’t a name. It’s a profession. And this isn’t medieval Europe, so it’s not even a relevant profession.”

“And be nice or I’ll kick you out.”

Sam smirks. “I’d like to see you try.”

I have no response to that, because, obviously, he’s right.

So instead, I lean forward and open the barrier. “Hey, Tanner, what’s first on the agenda today?”

Glancing briefly in the rearview mirror as he drives, he says, “I was given the list of sites to bring you, but no particular order. One of them is The High Line park. It’s beautiful, but can get hot in the afternoon, I thought we’d go there first.” He shoots a glance at Sam. “If that’s okay with you, sir.”

Sam grunts.

“That would be great!” I say, trying to drive home the idea that I’m the one in charge.

Then I elbow Sam and mouth, “Be nice.”

He gives a shrug that implies he is being nice. I roll my eyes.

While he navigates the streets of New York, Tanner runs through the list of other places we’ll go after the park. The magazine must of selected our sites to correspond to our careers, because several of mine are foodie-centric. Score!

I practically squee with glee at the idea of hot chocolate flash frozen into ice cream with liquid nitrogen. Which makes Sam glare at Tanner and then stretch out so he’s taking up even more of the space.

His knee brushes mine and I know a flush is spreading on my cheeks and chest. Sometimes being a light-skinned Hispanic is annoying, like when I know I’m blushing.

Tanner, apparently eager to prove he’s not part of a kidnapping ring that lures in women with frozen treats, launches into a description of his qualification and training that takes up the remainder of the drive.

Twenty minutes later, Tanner is circling in traffic, while Sam and I walk along The High Line park.

The High Line used to be an elevated spur of the railroad. It’s been transformed into a mile and a half long park on the west side of Manhattan with graffiti art, pop-up stalls, food trucks, and an impressive “wild space” garden that is gorgeous and manages to look completely untouched by humans. Which is quite the feat since we’re still in the middle of the city.

“So how was your big photo shoot?” he asks while we walk.

Several people openly stare at him—both men and women. I get it, he’s a big, big guy. And also really attractive. Part of me wishes I was walking behind him rather than next to him so I could stare at that bubble butt of his I saw when we got out of the car. It is like the most perfect butt I’ve ever seen on a guy. And I once saw a leaked picture of Michael B. Jordan’s booty.

“It was really fun. But harder than I thought. I mean I never really stopped and considered what it takes to create magazine covers, but I figured because models are just naturally beautiful, they just take a lot of pictures and call it a day. It’s a little more complicated than that. Made me feel kinda bad for judging models.”

We stop and look at one of the little pop-up shops and I take in all the handmade jewelry.

“It’s just kinda weird, I guess. I mean, I just live in my little house alone and make my chocolates. I’ve worked hard to get myself where I am and I’m getting close to making some deals with some specialty food boutiques, but it’s not like I’m saving the world.”

“Entertainment and pleasure have value,” he says. “My job doesn’t matter either, if we’re talking about stuff like curing cancer or digging clean-water wells in third world countries. But I provide entertainment for the people who do do those things. And I try to make sure I donate a chunk of my income to support those causes. You make chocolates and everyone knows that chocolate releases endorphins. So that doctor who has had a really rough day can take a break with some of your candy and get enough happy hormones to get up and go save a life. What you do has merit. Don’t sell yourself short.”

I have to look away from him because his kind words have brought tears to my eyes. I wipe them quickly away, then look around for the best place to take my photo. I find a mural of a funky, abstract Lady Liberty and decide to take my pictures there. After all, when you’re plus-sized, it never hurts to stand beside a painted woman who is fifteen feet tall.

Unfortunately, because she’s fifteen feet tall, it’s also impossible to get a decent selfie.

“Just let me take your damn picture. There’s no reason why you have to do selfies when I’m perfectly capable of helping,” he says, his voice grumpy.

“You know there’s no reason why you should be annoyed to be here when you’re the one who invited yourself on this outing. I was perfectly capable of doing all of this myself.”

He crowds into me. “Never said I was annoyed.”

Now I’m annoyed that his nearness and the deep timbre of his voice has tightened my nipples. He leans closer and I hold my breath unsure of what he’s going to do. Until he swipes my phone from my hands and steps back.

“Smile, Cookie.”

I stick out my tongue at him and then smirk.

“Like you’re actually having fun,” he barks.

I roll my eyes.

There’s an older couple walking hand-in-hand and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. The woman stops next to Sam and touches his arm.

“Would you like me to take a picture of you with your lady?” she asks.

I’m about to correct her when Sam gives the woman a smile and hands her my phone. Then he bounds over to me and slings an arm around me. God, he smells good. Like fresh laundry that’s been dried in the sun all mixed with his natural sexy man smell. I’m doomed.

I cannot get a crush on this man.

His hand slides down to my waist and he squeezes me. “Put your arm around me too and pretend you like me.”

I roll my eyes again. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Humor me.”

We smile at the camera and she hands it back to us. “You two make such a cute couple,” she says.

“Thank you,” Sam says, again before I can correct her. “How long have you two been married?”

“Fifty-five years,” the man says. “She’s still as pretty as the day we met.”

Sam smiles and nods, and I’m admittedly kinda shocked. When we’re once again alone, I turn to him. “You’re a romantic.”

He shrugs. “Never said I wasn’t.” He nods to my hand. “Gimme your phone.”

I place it in his bear-paw sized palm. “Why?”

“Wanna see the pictures.”

My phone looks like a toy in his hand, but he scrolls through, then opens my Instagram app. He taps and types out a message, then hands it back to me. He posted our picture, used the appropriate hashtags and tagged himself.

I slide my phone back into my pocket and head for one of the food trucks that looked intriguing on my first pass through the park. We didn’t stop there because I wanted to make sure at least one of my pictures didn’t feature food splattered on my top.

We haven’t even reached the food truck, when my phone immediately starts buzzing. And buzzing. One after another.

I get a private message from Laurel.

Laurel: OMG! WHO is that sexy giant with you?

Me: Um … don't you have better things to do than stalking my insta?

Laurel: Not when your insta has a smokin’ hot guy in it, I don’t.

Laurel: I need details!

Me: His name is Sam.

Before Laurel can torture me for more information, I noticed that, in addition to messages from my sister-in-law, I’m also getting a bazillion new followers. And comments on the picture. All about the mystery girl with “the Viking.”

I turn to face my companion and narrow my eyes at him. “Who are you?”

His brows raise. “We’ve already done introductions, Cookie. Did you forget my name?”

I put my phone up to his face. “No, WHO are you? Who is “the Viking?”

Another DM comes in. This time from my brother.

Alex: How do you know “The Viking?”

I hold my phone up to Sam again. “See, even my brother knows who you are.”

He lifts a massive shoulder. “I play football.”

“So not hockey or rugby?” I ask, my heart thundering in my ears. “Football like the NFL?”

“Yeah.” It’s his turn to narrow his gaze at me. “Do you not watch football? You seemed to know lots of the other athletes last night.”

“I’m Hispanic, Sam. My grandfather is from Mexico, the only football we watch is the one you play with your feet.”

“Ah, futbal.”

“Exactly. Well, shit.” This definitely explains why he’s so big. And here I thought he was just a titan from Greek mythology who played a sport that only a handful of people follow.

“Does it matter?” he asks.

“Well, no, but I’m getting all these new followers and people are commenting.”

He shrugs. “People will think what they want.”

“You knew this would happen though, when you tagged yourself in my picture.”

“It’s not a big deal, Isabel.”

“Um, yeah, because people are assuming that I’m your girlfriend and this is our announcement.” I stare at him waiting for any hint in his facial expression, but he gives me nothing, but that damn grumpy scowl.

“It that such a bad thing? Most women would think I’m a catch.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just don’t know what to think. Never mind.” I stuff my phone back in my purse because I can’t handle all the comments and private messages.

I knew he was a professional athlete—I mean that was obvious from the party last night—but I didn’t realize he was that recognizable. Why is he so cool with the entire social media world believing we’re a couple?

“Ready to go the next spot?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

When we get in the car, he slides closer to me, manspreading and taking up a ton of room. Granted, he’s a big guy. But still, his nearness is noticeable. Meaning my body is noticing that there’s a sexy man nearby. My body is dumb because this is not who we’re here to have adult time with. Of course he’s got a million followers that think I’m his girlfriend.

I do not even know what to think about this.

In the end, I stop worrying about it and enjoy the day. After all, I have a Cronut in my near future, followed by lunch at “the best Greek place in New York,” and frozen hot chocolate.

On any other day, any one of those would be the highlight of my day. I am determined to enjoy them. Even if I have to share my Cronut with The Viking.

“I know it’s a cliche, but it is truly romantic up here.” I look out at the city of lights below us. Getting to the top of the Empire State Building required a lot of lines and elevators, but thankfully fewer stairs than I feared. It’s totally worth it!

Given how much amazing food I’ve eaten today, maybe I should have taken the stairs. But I regret nothing.

“Only a cliche because it’s true,” Sam murmurs from beside me. For once he doesn’t sound grumpy. More wistful.

“So how’d you get to be such a romantic?”

“My parents. They’ve been married forever. High school sweethearts and still nuts about each other. It’s nice.”

I smile at him. “My parents, too.”

We get quiet as we look out at the view from the top of the famed Empire State Building.

“I always wanted to have a kiss up here,” I muse. A series of kissing scenes from different movies flit through my mind.

Sam turns me to face him, then his hands cradle my face and he lowers his lips to mine.

I’m expecting it to be a sweet, platonic peck. But the minute our lips touch, something shifts. He growls against my mouth, then we simultaneously slant and open. Tongues tangle and my arms loop around his neck. We’re drastically different heights, but he manages to meet me where I’m at and nothing about this kiss is awkward.

My boobs are pressed to his impossibly hard and broad chest and one of his hands has left my face to slide down my back and grip my ass. My panties are on fire and I can feel the hard length of his arousal against my belly.

He ends the kiss, pressing his forehead against mine. Our breathing is labored and I’m so turned on, it’s ridiculous.

“We should probably go,” I say.

He adjusts his pants and nods, then he grabs my hand and threads our fingers together.

I’m not really sure what’s happening, but I’m not questioning it. We’ve had a good time today. He’s fun and funny and thoughtful. And part of me wishes my life were different because I could totally fall in love with a man like Sam. Nope, not a man like him, actually him.

But I had my chance, I found my true love and I lost him. Just luck of the draw.