by Webster, K.
“I don’t think it’s Eduardo you have to convince. It’s not his hotel.” I stiffen just thinking about Camilo’s stern mother. “But Rosita totally should take you up on it. I’ve never seen your show before, but anything would be an upgrade around here.”
“I would paint it yellow,” Estefania tells me. “With big, red flowers.”
“No, flower child,” Damian huffs. “Too busy for this small space. I could do yellow, though. More of a muted yellow than a buttery one. Changing the light fixtures will help brighten it up so the color doesn’t need to do it for us.” He grabs the edge of the sink and wobbles it. “I’d put in something small but ornate here. In this tiny space, you need the room.”
“Well, don’t stop here. What would you do about that horrible office?” I ask, feeling bolder with the tequila running through my veins.
“Burn it?” Estefania offers.
We all laugh.
“I’d definitely have those muscular boys out there empty it for me. Half of those things are from the seventies and that era died when their style did. Most of those things need to go, starting with that horrible desk.”
“You should redo this whole restaurant,” I tell him. “Do it for your boat show.”
His lip curls up. “It’s not a boat show. It’s a—”
“Freak show?” I offer with a laugh.
He shoves me playfully and I land in Estefania’s lap. She hugs me. Maybe this bestie thing isn’t so bad after all.
“Yachts, my love. I rehab yachts.” He shakes his head in exasperation. “Understand?”
“But you could do a restaurant,” I tell him with confidence, “you could do anything.”
His lashes beat against his pink cheeks several times and his eyes water. Oh, shit. What did I say? Guilt swims up inside me. I’m not good at this whole friendship thing.
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Damian chokes out, fanning his face with his hand. “Come here. Get in the Damian Dungeon.”
The Damian what—
I’m jerked out of Estefania’s lap and into his arms where he hugs me tight. It’s not a terrible place to be. The Damian Dungeon smells like cotton candy and tequila. I might just stay awhile. I’m just hugging him back when someone beats on the door.
“If you’re done insulting my darling Eduardo’s bathroom, perhaps you could let some of us others use it.”
Damian and I jerk apart, both of us wearing matching stares of horror. It’s Camilo’s mom, Rosita. Crap.
“Um, sorry, ma’am,” Damian chirps in his friendliest voice as he opens the door. “Bad habit of my job. I see the potential in everything and want to make it as wonderful as it can be.”
It would be a nice save if it weren’t for her glaring holes into us. Feeling shamed, Estefania and I loop our arms together and try to escape unscathed. And then I hear it.
“Bitch.”
All the fun and playfulness bleeds away as the tequila straps on war boots.
“Excuse me?” My voice is quiet as I tug my arm free of Estefania’s. “Were you talking to us?”
“Not her,” Rosita says, her eyes narrowing as she waves at Estefania.
The barb stings, but it’s one I hear often, even at my own company. I am a bitch. This isn’t news. I’d kind of forgotten I was one while in Mexico. All it takes is hearing the nasty word to light a fire inside me.
Before I can tell this woman off, she storms inside the bathroom and slams the door. So much for hotel hospitality. She can guarantee I’m going to write up a terrible review once I have Internet access again.
“Just ignore her,” Damian urges. “Come on. You two beautiful babes owe me a drink.” The lights flicker again. “Two!”
I’m so warm.
Too warm.
So warm, I’m seconds from pulling off this dumb sweater and hanging out in my black bra. That would get his attention. Camilo. I ignore the fiery jealousy raging through me as he talks to the pretty brunette again. I have no right. We kissed. It was nice. But he is not mine.
I have David.
That bathroom kiss was a silly mistake.
What feels like a mistake, though, is watching Camilo laugh with the brunette and his cousin Araceli who joins them. Araceli is clearly uncomfortable, being hugely pregnant and all, but she cracks up at everything he says as she devours orange slices.
“Where’s her man?” I ask Mateo, also Camilo’s cousin.
Mateo and Nicolás joined our table a while ago and are actually quite funny. They’re both giants and brutish, but they joke around a lot, though I don’t understand a word they are saying when they do it in Spanish.
“Marco?” Mateo asks with a snort. “He works in the next town over. My sister can do better than that pendejo.”
I’ve learned more about the people who live and work at this hotel in the past two hours than I have in the past two days.
“What about that one?” My tone is light and casual, but Damian doesn’t miss it.
“Yeah, big boys, what about the floozy? Is she gonna try and steal my girl’s man or what?” Damian arches his eyebrow up. “Give us the dirt on the skank in the tight red dress.”
Marco and Nicolás howl in laughter, earning the stares of everyone over at Camilo’s table. I can tell Camilo is curious about what we’re talking about and only half listening to what the skank is saying.
“Ramona is in love,” Mateo mocks. “She loves everyone—”
“Especially their cocks!” Nicolás finishes. “Right, Toro?”
The damn stinky dog barks on command. Okay, so maybe I do like that beast a little.
“She thinks she’s going to be the one to catch la estrella and keep him.” Mateo shrugs. “Her best friend is our sister, though we don’t know why. Araceli is a bitch to everyone, including Ramona.”
“Doesn’t seem to be too bitchy to Camilo,” I muse.
Mateo snorts. “That’s because she wants something. You’ll see.”
We all watch as Araceli finishes the oranges in her bowl and then gives Camilo a sweet smile. He rises and absently takes the bowl from her. As soon as he’s gone, her smile falls and she starts bitching out Ramona. I’m no longer interested in them, though. My gaze follows Camilo as he walks over to the fruit bowl on the table and grabs another orange. His head is bowed as he peels it effortlessly.
Would he be that way for his pregnant wife one day?
The thought warms me in places I didn’t even know were cold. I hate the fluttery feeling in my stomach. One day, I’ll be married to David and he’ll do sweet things like peel me oranges when I’m big and pregnant.
I sigh.
If I could erase Camilo from my mind, I’d like to think about the image of David doing just that. Only I can’t even remember what David looks like right now. All I can do is appreciate the view in front of me.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Scruffy jaw.
Beautifully sculpted biceps.
I sigh because he’s too damn pretty to look at.
Maybe I need a little fling to get these crazy thoughts out of my system. A little vacation fucking with an incredibly cocky, yet super sexy pilot. That would definitely help me prepare to settle down with David.
What could go wrong?
I’m used to evaluating risks and analyzing the best way to move forward. It’s what I’m good at. Yet, right now, I can’t make my brain work. The only thing that works is my body and it’s on fire.
The lights flicker, go out for a couple of seconds, and then come back on.
All heat is chased away as cold dread settles in my bones.
If this hurricane is a bad one, I may not be around to even have a vacation fling or a future with David.
I wish Daddy were here.
Camilo
The moment the electricity comes back on, everyone is back to laughing and talking, but not Sheridan. Terror still swims in her pretty brown eyes. I drain my Corralejo and set my glass do
wn, relishing in the burn down my throat. My stomach swims with heat from the liquor. We’re trapped in Eddie’s, so there’s not much to do but drink, talk, and eat.
“Want to go find someplace quiet?” Ramona asks, clutching my arm. “I’ve missed you.”
I gently pluck my arm from her grip. “It was good catching up, but we’re done with all that.”
Her nostrils flare as heat burns her cheeks bright red. “All that? CZ, I gave you years of my life. I don’t deserve to be lumped into an ‘all that’ category.”
Guilt punches me in the gut and Carter shakes his head at me. I’m being a dick. Fuck. I scrub my palm over my face and sigh. “Sorry, Ramona. You’re right. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not interested in more. It’s not fair to you to come seek you out whenever I’m in town. You deserve someone who will be there all the time for you. Someone who can commit. I’m just not that guy.”
Araceli glowers at me, but I ignore my moody cousin as I stand and head over to where Sheridan is sitting. My dumbass cousins have taken up residence beside her and have been chatting her ear off all night. I hate that she smiles easier for them than me. I’m going to blame the copious amounts of tequila she’s been consuming on her smiles for them.
She’s not smiling now, though.
Her lips are pressed together as she nervously eyes the door that whines against the high winds. Eduardo has a radio on his and Mamá’s table and they’ve been giving us updates on Rodrigo’s path. We’re right in the direct line of it.
Lawton and Damian are arguing at the jukebox. They end up in the girliest shoving match that ends up making Lawton fall on his ass. He yanks off the covering of the old piano, in an effort to break his fall, sending dust flying up in a cloud. Damian apologizes and pulls him up. They hug and all is well in their world again before they finally select a song. As soon as the familiar beat starts playing, I know just the way to loosen Sheridan up.
I saunter over to her, giving her my best playboy smile, moving my hips to the song. Her nerves are chased off when she rolls her eyes. She’s fighting a smile as Van Morrison starts singing “Brown Eyed Girl.” I sing along with Morrison and take her hands, pulling her up. Damian squeals in delight, making everyone laugh.
My hands find her sexy hips and she wraps her arms around my neck. She’s loose from the liquor and I love it. Our hips move in tandem with the song. Fuck, she’s hot as hell. The smile on her pouty lips will be my undoing. I slide my hands to her ass, pulling her close to me. We dance a little too dirtily considering the old folks are watching, but we don’t care. I love that she’s not so stiff. That she’s forgetting about the hurricane and letting me have my wicked way with her.
“How are you still single?” I ask. “Were all the Los Angeles dudes beating down your door so you had to make your great escape?”
She rolls her eyes at my teasing. “I told you I had to go to a wedding. And my man is there.”
I’d be jealous if I believed her, but I don’t.
“Your man, huh? Is this why your heart is unavailable?”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “His name is David. He’s my dad’s best friend. We’re practically a thing.”
Practically.
“Define practically,” I say slowly.
“We’ve gone on a few dates and kissed.” Her lips turn into a frown. “And done other things. I thought we could spend the week of the wedding growing closer. So he’d realize we need to be official.”
“So you’re telling me you have to convince this guy to be with you?” What a douchebag.
“You make it sound terrible,” she grumbles. “He’s a busy man.”
And fucking stupid to make this brilliant, feisty, hot-ass woman chase him. If he’s her father’s best friend, he’s probably old. He doesn’t deserve someone like Sher.
“You’re a good dancer,” I observe, leaning in so I can smell the tequila on her sweet lips. I’m all too happy to change the subject from that worthless asshole.
“I’m good at a lot of things. You just haven’t known me long enough to see them all.”
Cocky, this woman.
I fucking love it.
“What kinds of things?” I purr, brushing my lips against hers. “We’ve already established you’re a great kisser, though I’d be fine with you reminding me just how good you are at it.”
She laughs, the sound going straight to my cock that’s pressed against her tight body. “Just fine with it, huh?”
“Take it or leave it,” I lie.
“You’re such an asshole,” she says with a grin before pressing her lips to mine.
I groan against her mouth, happy as hell to kiss her again. I’m just squeezing her nice ass when the electricity goes out again. She stiffens, her body seeming to deflate along with the music. We break our kiss and she clings to me. A tremble rattles through her.
“Hey,” I murmur, rubbing circles on her back. “It’s just the power. Everything’s fine.”
“Are we going to die?” Her voice is small and fucking terrified.
“No, little bee, we’re not going to die.”
“How can you be so sure?” she demands.
“I can’t be,” I admit. “But I do know we’ve weathered a ton of hurricanes and Hotel Zaragoza is still standing. Rodrigo is just another asshole passing through.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll keep you safe.”
She relaxes in my arms and it does something to me. It makes me want to try really damn hard to prove to her that I can save her. That I can do a lot of things. For her. It’s weird as fuck not only being instantly attracted to someone, who is in every sense my opposite, but also wanting to protect her like she’s mine.
She’s not mine.
But she could be.
I’m so startled by that thought, I let her pull away from me. It’s dark, but people are quickly lighting candles, illuminating the restaurant. When I find her among the people, she’s standing in front of the piano. She sits down at it, her body visibly trembling.
“Go, sexy Mexi,” Damian hisses, handing me a candle.
I roll my eyes at him, but make my way over to her. Once I set the candle on top of the piano, I sit beside her.
“My mom loved playing piano,” she reveals, her voice a whisper. “She taught me to play. Made me promise to play after she died.”
“Did you?” My fingers stroke up her spine. The urge to offer her comfort is overwhelming.
“I did.” She presses down on the keys softly. “I miss her.”
The pain in her voice is familiar. I recognize that same pain when I think about my dad stuck in a nursing home, a shell of the strong man he once was. I’m still thinking about his mischievous grin when I start to recognize the beginning of a familiar song.
She plays the intro to “Rocket Man” by Elton John damn near flawlessly. I’m not surprised considering she’s an apparent perfectionist in everything she does. But this…this isn’t mastery of a skill, it’s emotions and feeling bleeding into the music she’s playing. As soon as the others recognize it, they start singing along. But it’s Estefania’s voice that carries above the rest. Damn that girl can sing.
Frowning, Sheridan stops to look at me in shock, as though she’s just realizing not only does she has an audience, but they’re participating as well.
“Don’t stop, Sherrie,” Carter calls out. “You were just getting to the good part.”
She laughs—oh, such a sweet sound—and then bangs down harder on the keys as she launches into the chorus of the song. I sing along with my family and friends—new and old. There’s a hurricane on top of us, and we’re in our little world.
Here.
Right here.
Not up there.
For once, I’m glad to be here at home rather than coasting along the skies. I feel tethered in a strange way.
She plays several more Elton John songs, much to my abuela’s glee. When I can tell she’s done being the center of attention, I bring my mouth to her ear.<
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“Want to take a walk?”
She laughs. “There’s a hurricane outside.”
“Guess we’ll have to take a walk inside then.”
“It won’t be a very fun walk because it’s so short,” she sasses.
I nip at her earlobe. “The destination is all that matters. And I can assure you, Sher, there is nothing short about it when we get there.”
“Oh, you dog,” she breathes.
“And look at you pretending to be scandalized, pretty girl. Let’s get out of here.”
Damian has Estefania singing some of her songs now. Sheridan tries to stay, but I tug her along while we have the distraction. The hallway is dark without the glow of the candles and I have to blindly make my way toward Eduardo’s office. I pull Sheridan into the room and shut the door.
“This has been a long time coming,” I murmur before capturing her mouth with mine.
She moans as she kisses me back, her fingers grabbing blindly at my shirt. “A long time, huh? All forty-eight hours give or take?”
“Every single long one of them.” I pull her sweater up over her head. “This has to go. Fuck, I wish I could see you right now.”
“If you borrowed some of Damian’s dick glitter, maybe we’d have a magical moment in the dark here.”
I growl as I fumble for her bra. She squeals when I tug it away and then moans when my mouth finds her neck. I caress her perfect tits, thumbing the pert nipples, as I suck a mark on her pretty neck. “Feels pretty magical already without stupid glitter shit.”
She laughs. “It’d feel really magical if your shirt were gone.”
“Your wish is my command,” I tease, reaching behind me at my neck to pull my shirt off my head. It gets tossed away and then I press my naked chest against hers as we kiss.
It would be great to have privacy and a bed right about now.
I could spend hours worshiping this woman.
I don’t have hours, though, I have right now.
We pull apart, both eager for this moment, as we start yanking off our jeans. Sure, the tequila has helped get us here, but we’re both incredibly aware of how good this is going to feel.
“I need you,” she whimpers once we’re both naked and my dick is rubbing against her stomach.