Page 14 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

Alana fights the urge to laugh and leans over the table with him, lowering her voice to match his. “Don’t worry, Vaquero. You teach me that brisket recipe you mentioned and your secret is safe with me.” In a show of solidarity, she extends her hand. But rather than shake on it, Cyrus brings it forward, planting a kiss against the patch of vitiligo on her knuckles.

“Got yourself a deal there, sweetheart.”

Heat blooms beneath his kiss. It travels all the way up her chest and neck in a full-body flush that sparks like fire meeting dry foliage. Her mouth falls open, attempting to speak credible English, but the only thing she can do is stutter, “I—so it’s just your parents and brother out here now?” She retracts her hand to clear her throat into it. The sensation of his lips on her skin lingers, and she tries her best to ignore it.

Cyrus nods, the warmth in his expression dimming. “Just me and my brother, Tomás. Or Tommy, you might hear me call him. Our parents died about six years ago. Left the property to me, so I still stay there and run things.”

A tightness forms in Alana’s chest. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” He speaks about them like it’s something he’s at peace with, but losing a parent harbors an intense grief, let alone losing both at a young age. She can’t imagine.

At her apology, Cyrus shrugs. “Thank you, Miss Alana. I’m quite alright, it was a while ago. Life moves on.” He sits up, arms crossed over his chest again. Clearing his throat, his foot taps gently against hers. “What about you? I told you my life story. You next.”

Alana recognizes the attempt to shift the conversation elsewhere, so she doesn’t press. Instead, she fumbles with the paper napkin their waitress left behind. “Honestly, not much to tell. I’m kind of boring, I guess.” A quiet chuckle leaves as she folds her discarded napkin into smaller pieces. Talking about herself often proved a difficult task. She never quite knew the line between not sharing enough and babbling on about too much for too long, inevitably leaving people around her uninterested.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Cyrus muses. His foot knocks against hers again, a little harder this time, as if reprimanding the comment. “Pretty young to be running a successful business as well as you are. I wouldn’t call that boring.”

It’s a losing battle trying to fight the urge to smile. Yeah, okay. So maybe she’s being a little too humble. “I guess it is pretty cool, right?” Her bakery is her baby, her life’s biggest accomplishment. Any mention of it immediately pulls Alana out of her shell. If Cyrus had been trying to bait her, it’s working. “I went to school to become a librarian, actually.” A nostalgic sigh leaves her as she reminisces over the bright-eyed and bushy tailed version of herself, ready to take the world by storm. It’s a shame how little time it took for reality to hit. “I tried my best, but the time commitment was really hard. I ended up only getting my bachelor’s, which is basically just a framed reminder of unmet expectations at this point, to be honest.”

It sucked. But it also prompted her to reconsider her other passions. Baking being one of them. It was something she’d enjoyed since she was a kid, even though it was more of a hobby at the time. Watching her family’s eyes light up with each new experimental recipe? It filled her heart with so much pride and satisfaction that she could’ve burst. Looking back on it, it’s hard to believe she’d ever wanted anything else.

“I hear ya. Sometimes life takes us on a different path than what we anticipated. That don’t always mean failure, though. Especially not in your case.” Cyrus offers a reassuring look. He seems to favor having his foot against hers in some capacity, because she feels it press into her again. A quiet, grounding touch Alana finds herself getting used to.

“Thanks,” she chuckles. “After a good few years spent wallowing and feeling like the human embodiment of failure, I found the bakery. Or, my mom did. She’s a Realtor and came across it on a total whim. I worked two jobs just to secure the down payment, and my dad did most of the interior handiwork. The place isn’t perfect—but it’s mine. Bit by bit, I’ve been shaping it into something that I’m proud of.”

Cyrus raises his empty glass in cheers. “Hell, you should be proud. I’m sure your folks are too. I don’t know many people who can do all that.”

She returns the gesture, lifting her glass to his. “They are. Trust me, they’ll use any opportunity to say as much, even to strangers. They were a bit much sometimes, but they’re mine.”

As if signaled, the waitress returns with their second round of drinks. The extra surge of alcohol creates a pleasant buzz in the back of Alana’s mind, releasing any lingering tension. That is, until the conversation starts to veer into more professional matters.

“You mentioned you were new to this, right?” Cyrus pulls a folder from his jacket and slides it Alana’s way.

A contract, a surprisingly detailed one, at that. It goes over the basics: what the meeting entails, what the expectations are, and how this whole thing is supposed to work. There’s a section on safe words and consent, and how either party reserves the right to stop the session should they feel uncomfortable, no questions asked. Alana skims the next few pages with intrigue, pausing when she arrives at the section on testing and birth control. She blushes.

“I get tested every week,” Cyrus assures. “I’ve got records if you’d prefer to see them.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t worried about that. I mean, I was, but—” Alana titters. “I, uh, haven’t been tested before. But that’s because I’m not sexually active. I’m on the pill, though. Helps with my cycle.” That last bit is blurted out in a rush, but Cyrus doesn’t seem to mind.

“That’s not a problem. Has it been more than six months since you were?” His tone is nonjudgmental, but it doesn’t stop heat from creeping underneath Alana’s collar.

Try 27 years, man. “Uh, yeah. It’s been a while.”

Cyrus chuckles, and Alana’s ears grow red, her nose scrunching. “Don’t laugh at me!” She kicks his foot from under the table.

It only prompts another bout of laughter. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise! I’m just surprised, is all. A doll like you? Shoot, I’d think you’d have a line of folks outside your door at any given time.” He flashes Alana a grin that turns her insides to mush.

Oh, if only he knew how wildly inaccurate that was. She had men in her DMs, sure. A plethora of thirsty individuals who thought comments on her ass or invitations to “link up” were suitable ways to get a positive response from her. There’s no question she could find herself under a man at any given time, if she wanted. But she’s yet to meet one she wanted to so much as go out with, let alone have sex with.

“Anything specific you like or don’t like? Any hard nos or boundaries?”

Alana blinks. Slowly, stupidly. She supposes that’s an important aspect of this conversation, something she should have put a lot of thought into beforehand. She knows what she likes, but it’s hard to know what her boundaries are without testing them. “Um, no bondage or being tied? For now. I—I’d rather have range of motion,” she explains. He writes it down on the contract, and Alana clears her throat before adding, “And no, you know, um…” She looks around to make sure their waitress isn’t passing by. “Butt…stuff. Nothing in the back door.”

Cyrus’ lip twitches with a chuckle. He marks off anything related to anal. “No butt stuff. Got it. Condoms are required, by the way. Are you okay with that?”

Alana’s face warms, but she nods. They say if you’re not mature enough to talk about sex without being embarrassed, you probably shouldn’t be having it. But Alana can’t think of a single time she’s talked about sex this much in public. She prays that the act itself is far less daunting than the conversation leading up to it.

“I am curious about something, though,” Cyrus slides his wallet out from his back pocket as the waitress comes by to gather their empty glasses and drop off the check. “What brought you to me, anyway? I’ll be honest, I was just about as surprised to see you on my books.”

Alana fidgets with the discarded paper from their straws. She could be honest, lay all her cards on the table. How she’s about to turn twenty-eight and hasn’t had a sexual experience. How she’s sick of waiting, and this is a last-ditch effort. But things are going well so far, and there is no telling how the whole virginity thing would affect the mood. Having such limited experience at her age isn’t exactly common, and she can’t risk being seen as odd or like there’s something wrong with her. What if he pitied her? Or worse, a little bit too into it? While she teased the idea of selling herself off, she doesn’t feel up to being involved in some kind of virginity fetish.