Spitfire in Love

by Isabelle Ronin

  He’d be gone soon, and it would be like we’d never met. And the sorry thing was, I’d be left with all the memories.

  People always left me memories. As if I were a box where they could just dump whatever crap they no longer wanted.

  Just memories. Always memories.

  What the hell could I do with those? They wouldn’t put food on the table or pay the electricity or the number of bills piling up in the mailbox.

  And if I wanted to forget and get lost in the kisses of a man who was gorgeous as sin and for once be a memory to him, then by God, I had every right to!

  Feeling the threat of tears, I threw up my hands in frustration and started marching home. I could feel him following me.

  What did he want? Wasn’t freaking out on him enough to turn him away? What was wrong with this guy?

  I walked faster, hoping he’d just leave, but it had been a very long day and I was starting to feel it.

  The wind whistled loud and mean in the streets, blowing cold and strong. I sucked in my breath, trying to keep my hands to my sides so he wouldn’t know I was freezing my ass off.

  I heard him sigh loudly behind me before he started walking faster, until he was walking right in front of me.

  Did this guy have a death wish?

  The wind blew again, but this time the force of it didn’t blast my face and body. Instead, his body took it.

  He walked ahead of me because he wanted to block the wind from hitting me.

  Something warm was forming in my chest.

  It was just a reaction to his kindness. That was all. Nothing more.

  I watched his broad shoulders move as he walked, the fascinating muscle play on the back of his shirt, the dark, curly hair that flirted with his collar.

  He had the leather jacket folded and hanging over his left shoulder.

  He never said anything, never even turned around to look at me. I kept waiting for him to say something, grow impatient, or say Fuck this shit, I’m out. But he never did.

  We walked together like that until we reached the entrance to my family’s shop.

  The quiet between us was palpable, and it wasn’t comfortable. He stopped walking and stood beside the tandem truck that blocked the dirt road leading to my house.

  I could feel his massive body tense as I walked past him, could feel his eyes tracking me as I crossed toward my house. But like him, I kept walking and didn’t look back.

  The porch light came on as I stopped at my front door. The wind howled, and I wanted to look back so badly to see if he was still there.

  Forget about him. Eyes on the prize, girl.

  I grabbed the keys under the flowerpot, pushed the key in the lock, and opened the front door. I stepped inside, closing it quietly behind me so I wouldn’t wake up my dad.

  The house was asleep. The only sound I heard was my dad’s soft snoring and the white noise the electric fan made.

  I should go to bed, call it a day, but I leaned my forehead on the door instead. Something was screaming at me to do something. I wasn’t sure what.

  Damn it.

  I took a deep breath and opened the door. He was almost at the entrance of the shop. He must have heard me because he stopped, and slowly, he turned around. Looked at me for a moment.

  I couldn’t see his eyes because of the distance, but I knew they weren’t indifferent anymore. I wished I could see his eyes. I wished I knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling. I wished this day had never happened.

  And I wished he would never forget.

  Because as much as I wanted to, I knew I wouldn’t.

  Before I could decide what to do, he turned his back to me and walked away.

  Chapter 13

  Kara

  The next day, I felt like I had a hangover.

  The birds outside my bedroom window were competing for which of them could destroy their voice box first and, unsurprisingly, couldn’t give a rat’s ass if they woke me up from a dream I could barely remember now.

  I was contemplating throwing a pillow outside to shut them up and go back to sleep, but the knock on my door squashed that plan.

  “Kar?” It was Dylan. “Dad said it’s time for church. You’re not up yet, so I’m going to use the bathroom first, okay?”

  I heard the words, but they didn’t register in my brain. Everyone in my household knew my brain was in sleep mode until I had my coffee.

  I got up, groaning at the slight dizziness I felt. What the hell? I hadn’t even drunk alcohol last night, but I had a slight headache and my tongue felt furry and gross.

  Eyes closed, I grabbed my bath towel and walked to the door, squeaking when I stepped on an empty can of beer. Oh, will you look at that. I guess I drank last night after all.

  Funny how some things you just choose to forget, I thought as I made my way to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. Like last night. I almost didn’t remember what had happened last night.

  Almost.

  At the first sip, I felt like I was out of solitary. At half a cup, I had shed my jail clothes. At a full cup, I was out of prison. Perfect. Brain activated. I poured another cup.

  “Good morning, sweetheart.”

  I had just noticed my dad at the stove, cooking something that smelled like eggs. He and Dylan had taken over cooking duties in the kitchen since I tend to burn everything.

  “Morning, Dad. I’m going to shower.”

  “Dylan beat you to the bathroom.”

  “Nooo.” I sighed.

  It was going to be a steamy, wet bathroom. Dylan didn’t seem to get that he was supposed to shower in the confines of the tub with the shower curtain closed and not on the floor of the bathroom.

  “Want toast or cereal?” he asked as he turned around.

  He wore the apron I’d bought for him for Christmas. It had a picture of a naked bodybuilder’s physique with a glittering Christmas ball covering the dingdong.

  We paused, looked at each other for a beat, and started laughing.

  “You look so cute,” I chuckled. I sat on the island, sipped more coffee. “Can I have cereal, please?”

  “I didn’t hear you come in last night,” he said as he shook cornflakes into a bowl, poured almond milk, and placed it in front of me.

  I ate a spoonful before responding. “I got home late. You were asleep.”

  “What were you up to?”

  I took another bite, chewed slowly. “I had to talk to a…friend,” I said carefully.

  “Tala?”

  “Nope.”

  “You mean you have friends other than Tala?” He chuckled teasingly.

  I rolled my eyes at him and turned back to my cereal. I knew he was looking at me, waiting for me to elaborate. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “Tell me when you’re ready, Kara Koala.”

  I nodded, finished my breakfast as he turned to the dishes.

  I have other friends, I thought as I stepped into the shower. But I was the type of person who chose the people I spent time with very, very carefully. Because once I let them in, I got attached quickly.

  I had a strong preference for deep, long-lasting relationships. Relationships that meant more than let’s hang out. I only had so much time in a day, and I was very careful where I invested it. Once I committed to a relationship, I made sure to carve out time to nurture it. And so, I only had very few people in my life.

  That was one of the many reasons why I couldn’t let him in my life, I decided as I reached for my towel, dried off, and moisturized. I walked to my bedroom, reached for the hair dryer. He was going to be out of my life as soon as his motorcycle was done. So I really should stop thinking about him.

  Can’t stop thinking about you…

  He’d said that to me last night. Did he mean it?

  My f
ace was flushed, I realized as I looked in the mirror, getting ready to put on my makeup.

  Did he actually like me? Or was he the type of guy to blurt out anything to get laid?

  I felt that familiar uneasy flutter in my belly at the thought. He didn’t seem to be the type, but…how would I know what was real and what wasn’t?

  I just met him.

  Didn’t stop you from kissing him though, did it?

  No, I admitted, it didn’t. I touched my bottom lip, rubbing it. The memory of his tongue tasting my lips was so strong I felt it.

  Suddenly, my knees felt weak and I had to sit down on the floor.

  So that’s what a french kiss feels like.

  I’d always wondered about it, imagined it, dreamt about kissing the boy that I would fall in love with someday. But nothing had prepared me for the real thing.

  He was pure sex.

  At first, I had been nervous. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. I was as surprised as he was when I made the first move to touch him. But the way he’d looked at me, the way his sharp blue eyes watched me… He was irresistible. He made me feel craved.

  As if he hungered for me.

  There was no hesitation in him—just pure confidence. He knew what he wanted, knew how to get it, knew he’d show it to me. And he had.

  The way his lips had eagerly taken from me, the way his tongue had played inside my mouth, the way his fingers had stroked and squeezed. The way he’d moaned.

  He’d enjoyed it. Or at least he’d looked like he had.

  So I didn’t feel sorry or embarrassed for what I’d done because he made me feel his presence, that he was there with me. He made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. The urge to touch him had been unstoppable. I couldn’t have stopped myself even if I’d wanted to.

  Until he tried to unzip your pants, that is.

  Was that all he wanted from me?

  What else could he possibly want from you?

  I was scared he wanted something more from me, and I was scared that he didn’t.

  Something was stopping me from thinking there was more than that. My heart couldn’t afford to think there was more than that.

  Impossible.

  Because…what came next after that? I’d have to give up something. There was always something valuable taken away in exchange.

  And I wasn’t ready to change my life. I wasn’t ready to give up anything.

  And I was scared that this man would make me want to.

  A heaviness was forming in my chest. It wasn’t disappointment, I realized. It was…sadness. And resignation.

  * * *

  I usually enjoy and pay more attention during Sunday mass, but trying to get enough sleep, especially this week, was about as easy as finding Nemo.

  Not that I was complaining. I had set out down this road by my own choice, and even though my mind and body were screaming at me to slow down, it would be a sin for me to stop now. I was so close to saving enough money to buy off my uncle’s share of the shop.

  By the time the first reading was over, I was falling asleep on my feet. Dylan was beside me, and he would elbow my side or pull the hairs on my arm to wake me up, but nothing worked. The hymns they were singing felt like lullabies to my sleep-deprived body.

  “Kar!”

  I jolted and slapped Dylan’s cheek for waking me up. By the time I realized where I was, I noticed people were moving. Was mass over?

  Dylan drilled his finger into my forehead. “It’s time for communion, dummy,” he whispered, trying to suppress his laugh.

  My dad was sitting in front of us and, like a normal dad trying to keep his little kids from misbehaving, glared at us to be quiet. I winked at him and he sighed.

  My dad was a devout Catholic. Rain or shine, he took us to church every Sunday. When we were little kids who had too much energy, we’d run around the church like little shits. Until my dad learned to bribe us with McDonald’s if we behaved.

  People from the front pews were lining up in the middle and sides of the church to receive the hostia. I figured I had another thirty seconds to close my eyes before it was our turn. But just as I was closing my eyes, I froze.

  There was a tall guy sitting four pews to my left in front of us. His hair was black and curly, his shoulders wide, and his back looked very, very familiar.

  Suddenly, I was on full alert, my heart beating like a drum in my chest. It was his pew’s turn to line up for communion. My eyes focused on him like a laser, but when he turned, I realized he wasn’t who I thought he was.

  The guy caught me looking at him, and he looked back at me curiously. I looked away, breathing a sigh of relief. I wasn’t sure if I could deal with my blackmailer’s potent magnetism today.

  “Let’s go, Kar. I have a lot of sins to atone for,” Dylan muttered under his breath.

  We made our way to the line and the choir started singing “Hosea,” my favorite church song, when my phone started vibrating.

  My heart skipped a beat. Was it him? I wondered if God would forgive me if I quickly checked my phone.

  What am I doing? What’s happening to me?

  It felt like there was no hour that I didn’t think of him. That needed to stop—stat. I grabbed my phone, gave it to Dylan, and told him to turn it off.

  “You have one missed call.”

  “Just turn it the hell off.”

  He looked at me curiously but didn’t comment. At least it woke me up, I thought as Dylan, my dad, and I made our way to the exit when mass ended. My dad was stopped by a few people, inviting him for birthdays, asking him advice about their cars. Dylan and I hung back, waiting for him to finish. I knew I should’ve brought my own car, but my shift at the coffee shop didn’t start until after lunch today.

  “Kara!”

  “Tita Didi, how are you?”

  Everyone called her Tita Didi at church. An active volunteer, she mainly organized events and was a loyal customer to our shop.

  “I’m good! Oh, your makeup is so pretty. You have to meet my nephew. He’s pogi and single too. He’s an engineer. Good, right? I’ll set up a date between you two. You want?”

  She also loved setting me up on blind dates with her nephews or cousins or coworkers. She thought being single was a disease and her mission in life was to cure the world of it. I was fond of her though.

  “No, Tita. I’m still trying to get over my dead boyfriend, remember?” I deadpanned.

  I’m lying in church. God would understand. Right?

  She was always after me on this boyfriend crap, so I had to come up with creative ways to discourage her.

  “I’m good, really. I have to go to work. See you next week!” I waved and hightailed my ass out of there. I’d wait in the car for my dad and Dylan.

  * * *

  In the afternoon it rained a little as I drove to the coffee shop. Free car wash, I thought. It wasn’t until I was on my break when I checked my phone again. It was my supervisor at the nursing home. Shit. I phoned her back right away and was happy when she told me the shift was still available.

  It was a four-hour constant care. The patient needed one-on-one care because she was confused and at risk for falling, but my supervisor reassured me that she was an easy patient.

  Some voice inside me told me I should just go home, but I felt bad turning down an easy shift.

  A female’s intuition was really powerful, and I should’ve listened to it.

  My constant-care patient ended up being very restless. And because I had overdosed on coffee all week to keep myself up, my brain and body were starting to shut down. I was changing my patient’s diaper when she started feeling very agitated. She was trying to stop me from closing the diaper around her hips. I should’ve seen the signs, really.

  “It’s the last one, Mrs. Gonzalez. I promise.”<
br />
  And because I was distracted, I didn’t see the fist coming at my face until it was too late.

  After my supervisor asked me to write a report and suggested I go to the emergency room so they could check my bruise, I gathered my things and drove home on autopilot.

  I could feel hot tears trying to worm their way out, but I held them off. Tears were useless to me. But I knew my emotions were brewing very close to the surface. I knew I was close to the breaking point. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep doing this. I didn’t even know what was holding me together anymore.

  “Steel, baby. You are made of steel.”

  But it didn’t feel like that when, physically and emotionally spent, I crawled into bed and fell asleep.

  I woke up in the middle of the night hungry as hell. I felt for my phone and looked at the time. When I saw a text message from an unknown number, my heart skipped a beat.

  Sitting up, I typed in my passcode. My lips parted, and a quick, soft breath came out as I read the message.

  8 a.m. tomorrow. My place.

  Chapter 14

  Kara

  The sky was as bleak and dark as my day promised to be. I shouldn’t even be able to function right now—exhausted as I felt—but my body was keyed up for some reason.

  I slid into my car with sluggish movements, flicked back my hood that was wet with rain. There had been a deluge late last night, and the forecast today stated that it was going to rain all day. Perfect day for a murder, wouldn’t you say?

  The rain would erase most of the evidence.

  I threw my backpack on the passenger seat, yawned, and fitted my coffee cup in the holder. The mud on my boots stained the plastic mat on the floor of my car. It looked like smeared shit.

  The dials on my ancient stereo system were worn, the color faded. There was a coffee stain on the passenger seat the size of Texas, and the smell inside my car didn’t scream Yo, I clean this once a week. It smelled more like Yo, I clean this once a month…or year. Maybe.

  I should’ve taken Ekon’s offer to detail my car the other day. I turned on the ignition and the windshield wiper blades, blasted the heat, and leaned back against the seat.