by Moss, Brooke
Turns out, Demo was a giant softie. When he was fifteen, he rescued a neighborhood kid from drowning in the Spokane River, and then spent every day after school for the next two months reading to him until he could return to school. His nieces and nephews—all eighteen of them—called him “Uncle Bobo,” and he gave each and every one of them a crisp two dollar bill in their birthday cards every year.
But what was weird was the information Demo pulled out of me—and the fact that he still seemed to like me after I’d said it all. He was now the one person in the world who knew that I’d slept with one of my father’s dress shirts wrapped around my bed pillow for two years after he left, and still had it tucked underneath the corner of my mattress. And Demo didn’t bat an eye when I told him that I’d lost my virginity to a camp counselor my ninth grade year simply because I’d caught my mother flirting with him while I dropped my suitcases off in my cabin.
We talked like old friends as Demo’s tow truck rumbled down the hill into downtown, then crossed the Spokane River towards the north side of town, I looked around curiously. “Didn’t you want to stop?”
He gave me a sideways glance. “Nope.”
“But downtown’s where all the good restaurants are.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt stupid. Here I was, trying to show Demo how not snobby I was, and what I’d just said was, in fact, completely snobby. “What I meant is, I haven’t heard of any new places up here. Where are we going?”
“Who says we’re going to a restaurant?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. After a beat, I smiled sheepishly. “Touché.”
He grinned. “You’re not used to not being in control, are you?”
“How’d you guess?” I laughed as the tow truck took a turn towards the city courthouse. We’d left the cosmopolitan part of town, leaving behind the mirrored high-rise buildings and ornate brick structures overlooking the white waters of the Spokane River, and now we were idling through the rougher neighborhoods. Dilapidated brownstones with sagging front stoops lined the road on either side of the palatial courthouse, and tiny mom and pop café’s and greasy spoon diners filled the spaces between buildings. People were sitting on their stoops to beat the late spring heat, and a group of men outside a corner market with barred windows were sharing a forty ounce bottle of cheap beer. Their eyes locked on the tow truck as we idled by, narrowed and suspicious.
In the years I’d lived in Spokane, I’d only been in this neighborhood once or twice, to file for our small business licenses and stuff like that. And judging by the amount of broken down cars lining the sides of the road, and the presence of sweaty wife beater shirts, I could tell why. Had I been by myself, I’d have pressed the lock button inside my Beemer, and headed back to my gated neighborhood. But Demo seemed unaffected by the ghetto we were rolling through, a mild smile on his face, his elbow hanging out his open window in the sun.
“Okay, Princess, I want you to have an open mind, all right?” he asked as we pulled into a cracked parking lot outside a seedy looking bar. The lettering above the door said “Yokey’s Watering Hole,” but several of the letters were flickering, so that when the sun went down, it probably said “Yo terin Ho”.
“I…uh…” I swallowed. How to put this delicately and not come across as a class A bitch? Annoyance flushed my face. Had Demo told me we were hitting the local dive, I would’ve picked a more appropriate outfit. Jeans, a tee shirt, a visible thong to hang out of the back of my pants. Something more appropriate for this ‘hood, if you will. “I just… I think I’m overdressed.”
Demo surveyed my dress. “No matter. I’ll have the hottest date at the truck.”
Truck? I frowned at him. “Hottest date at the what?”
Demo jerked his head in the direction of the street. “Miguel’s. He comes to me for all his oil changes. His empanadas are out of this world. His paella is so good, Yiayia actually asked him for a recipe. He calls it Spanish-Latin American fusion, or some nonsense that would probably make sense to you.” He softened the words with a lopsided grin.
I followed his line of sight until I spotted the bright red and yellow food truck. There was a crowd of people standing around its window, and several little kids were dancing to the mariachi music being pumped from the rusted speakers on top of the roof.
“A food truck?” A tentative smile spread across my face. We weren’t going to the dive bar, after all. I could do this. Hell, my dress matched the truck.
Demo opened his door and took my hand. “You too upper crust for mobile tacos, Princess?”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I slid across the seat to exit on his side of the cab. “Don’t tick me off, Mr. Bipolar, or I might leave you for one of those guys sharing the forty over there.”
He laughed and helped me out of the tow truck, pulling me close against his chest. My heart stuttered inside my chest and I held my breath. Was he going to kiss me again? Good Lord, I hadn’t been this excited by mere kisses in nearly twenty years.
“You really do like slumming it, don’t you?” he so quietly only I could hear.
I looped my arms around Demo’s neck and dug my hands into his still damp hair. I could smell his shampoo, and so help me God, it was like an aphrodisiac. “Only with hot mechanics who comp my auto repairs.”
One of his dark eyebrows pricked upward. “Oh, so you’re using me now?”
“What do you mean now?” I laughed. “I’ve been using you the whole time.”
He didn’t need to know that my interest in him had evolved from pursuing his affection purely to prove that I could score his yiayia’s dolmades recipe. Besides, my physical magnetic pull towards Demo had been alive and well the whole time. The man was gorgeous. It wasn’t until recently I’d figured out that he was gorgeous on the inside, too.
Lucky me.
Demo’s kiss took my breath away. His lips on mine were just forceful enough to suck all of the air out of my lungs, but gentle enough to make my spine go weak. His arms held me against the length of his body as he coaxed my lips open and sent a shock of electricity whirling through my body to my toes. Having Demo’s mouth on mine was a thousand times better than any sexcapade I’d had over the past five years. Okay, ten.
When he pulled away, I nearly cried. “The owner of the food truck is laughing at us,” Demo whispered.
“Let him.” I tugged his face back to mine, but he ducked his head so that I missed. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Maybe. We’re in the right neighborhood for it.” He grinned, and wrinkles appeared on either side of his dark chocolate eyes.
“Shut up and buy me something horribly fattening.”
“Your wish is my command.” Demo took my hand and led me to the food truck. “Hey, Mike! Dos platos de nachos por favor.”
I elbowed him. “I can order for myself, Prince Charming.”
Demo snickered and rubbed his side. “Point taken.”
A Hispanic man in his late twenties or so leaned out the window with a smug grin. His dark hair was dampened around his neckline, but his wide, white smile was friendly and relaxed. Dimples played across his face, and, if I hadn’t been with Demo, I might have been tempted to have a go at him. He looked like a movie star in his white chef’s jacket.
I cast a sideways glance at Demo. Yeah, he eclipsed anyone, even Mr. Movie Star here. Apparently, I had it bad for Demo, if I couldn’t even find the will to flirt with someone as attractive as Mike.
“Never gonna figure out how to win over the ladies, are you Demo?” He winked at me. “Got yourself a charmer here.”
Demo grinned and shook Mike’s hand. “Mike, this is Marisol. Marisol, this is Mike. Or Miguel, if you want to get technical. No Janine?”
“She took the night off. On Food Truck Friday. Go figure.” Mike held out his hand to me. “Chef extraordinaire.”
I shook the chef’s hand. When I pulled away, my hand smelled like onions and cilantro. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Marisol is a chef, too.�
�� Demo explained, leaning against the truck and waving at a group of little girls giggling at him. “She runs a catering company.”
“Awesome.” Mike grinned. “Maybe we can trade recipes.”
“That would be something. I keep bugging Demo’s grandmother for her recipes.” I nudged my date, and he rolled his eyes. His arm was warm when it slipped around my shoulders. “But she’s a locked vault.”
“Yiayia?” Mike shook his head. “Man, I’ve been working on her for a few years now, and she won’t tell me anything, even when I offered to trade. She says I have to be part of the family.”
“That seems to be her prerequisite,” I agreed.
Mike winked at us. “Looks like you’re already halfway there, eh?”
Demo squeezed my arm. “Why don’t you let us get through our first date, would you?”
“First date?” Mike’s eyebrows rose on his forehead. “I think he’ll keep you around, Marisol. I’m definitely picking up a vibe from you two.”
“Who says I’ll keep him around?” I joked, pretending that my stomach didn’t squeeze when he’d said that.
Demo’s fingers started tracing circles on the side of my shoulder. “You will if you want those recipes.”
I shuddered happily. I wasn’t sure if I cared about the damned recipes anymore. I mean, sure. The upcoming Greek wedding was Eats & Treat’s biggest event of the year, and we stood to make twice as much as we’d made on all of last year’s weddings. But now that I was finding myself fantasizing about Demo and me sitting on a porch, swinging while a bunch of Latino-Greek hybrid children rolled around in the grass at our feet… my focus had shifted
I was going soft. And I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry about it.
Demo nudged me. “What are you hungry for tonight, Marisol?”
Besides you? I cleared my throat. “Um, I think I’ll try the tilapia tacos with cilantro.”
“Wise choice.” Demo pulled out his wallet. “You won’t be disappointed. Try not to screw up the fish, I’m trying to impress the lady.”
Mike switched the mariachi music to some fifties tunes, and set off to make our food. “You got it, chief.” As he dropped the fish into the fryer, his voice was strong and deep as he sang along to an old Elvis love song
The food was incredible, to say the least. Meat so tender it melted in my mouth, and vegetables so fresh I could still taste the sunshine that grew them. If I’d not been sitting on the hood of the Triple D’s tow truck while eating it, I’d not have believed it’d been prepared in a truck. Now all I needed was to get Miguel’s to park outside Eats & Treats at lunchtime once or twice a week.
And to think, I’d refused to eat out of a food truck until then. Oh, the food I’d been missing out on…
“Okay…” I wiped my mouth and hands on a paper napkin after polishing off my second—yes, I made Demo go buy me a second—taco. “Now that my belly is full, and I’m too fat for this dress, what are you going to do with me?”
Surely the date wasn’t over yet? The sun was just starting to set beyond the spires of the courthouse, and the streetlights were blinking on. I wasn’t ready for the evening to end. Especially now that I was chalk full of finger-licking good Latin food. I felt like salsa dancing. Or attacking Demo in the cab of his truck. Probably both.
“I’ve got big plans.” He slid off of the truck, and gathering up our trash. “Time to show you what a good time looks like, Princess.”
Ooooh, maybe we were going salsa dancing. I hopped off of the hood and started to reapply my lipstick in the side view mirror. “Dancing? The new martini bar downtown?” I asked excitedly. “Or maybe a show? I heard the touring company of Wicked is in town.”
Demo stared at me, deadpanned. “Do I look like a guy who wants to see a musical?”
“Maybe not.” Giggling, I opened my door. “Hey, I know where we’re going. That cigar bar in the Audubon Park area. I’ve heard good things.”
He just shook his head. “Not even close. Hey, stop that. Wait for me.” Charging around the side of the truck, Demo tugged the door handle away from me. “There you go.”
“Well, thank you.” I said, climbing in. “You know, I like this nice guy routine you’re pulling. You should consider being friendly all the time.”
“What? No way.” Demo crossed around the front of the truck and climbed behind the wheel. “That would ruin my bad boy image.”
“Almost as much as taking me to the theater would.”
“Exactly.” He put the truck into gear and waved at Mike. “Besides, as much as I want to impress you—”
“Whatever.” I snorted and shifted uncomfortably in my dress. I really should’ve worn a more forgiving fabric. “You’re not interested in impressing me, are you? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who sets out to impress anybody.”
Demo looked at me, and for the first time since I’d met him, his eyes were wide and vulnerable. “I’ve wanted to impress you since the day I met you. I guess that’s why I came across as such a jerk.”
I almost laughed. “That’s not a quick way to sweep a woman off of her feet.”
“I know.” He hung his head, and fingered the steering wheel. “You just seemed so… so…”
“Bitchy?” I offered.
He brought his eyes back to mine. “Out of my league.”
A weight pressed against my chest, so I reached out and took Demo’s hand. “That’s probably my fault. I…” I took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. This whole honesty thing was new to me. I preferred keeping men under the guise that I was unnaturally perfect, and most likely an alien. “I wanted you to want me. I set out to make you desire me.”
He thought about that for a minute, the wrinkles on the sides of his eyes returning. “Well, you did a hell of a job.”
Pride spread through me like warm sunshine. “But you don’t have to impress me, Demo. I mean, you may have a week ago, but now? I don’t know. Things are different. I think I’ve changed.” I blinked at him, surprised by my own statement. “There’s something about seeing everyone you love find their other half. It makes you want things that are out of your norm.”
He nodded, and stared at the road. “Agreed.”
“So don’t try to impress me.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “I don’t need to be impressed anymore.”
Demo waved a hand. “Of course you do. You’re a woman.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off. “But not with extravagant restaurants and the hottest clubs. You’ve already seen all that. Been there, done that. Am I right?”
I nodded. “Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far.” When Demo raised one eyebrow at me, I sighed. “All right, fine. You’re right.”
Demo turned the tow truck into a crowded neighborhood with a thin, car-lined street. “I want to impress you with things you’ve never seen before. Show you how the other half lives.” He winked at me, and my stomach twirled. “I want to teach you how to eat in hole in the wall diners, score free orchestra concerts in the local parks, and go camping in the woods.”
A year ago, or maybe even a few months ago, and I would’ve scoffed at the notion of such things. But now? Maybe cuddling in a sleeping bag under the stars with Demo wrapped around me and risking tetanus to eat some local greasy burger joint was better than meaningless sex with some noncommittal CEO in town for the weekend. Hell, simply holding Demo’s hand felt better than waking up with someone I couldn’t remember the name of the next morning.
I gave him a sly look. “Is this you asking me to go camping?”
“Maybe.” Demo grinned as we rounded a corner and pulled up next to a park filled with huge maple trees and apple trees covered in pink blossoms. “This is Audubon Park. Have you been here before?”
I shook my head. “I’ve only ever driven past it.”
“Snob.” He turned off the truck, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
Smiling, I enjoyed the tickle of excitement his fingers created on the cuff of my ear. “Shu
t up.”
“My family lives nearby,” Demo told me. “My house is only a few blocks north. We spend a lot of time in the park.”
I looked around. So this was Demo’s hood? That made sense. The craftsman houses were all older, decades older than my own, and most of them had wide porches on the front with pitched roofs. Mature trees hung lazily over the streets, where kids were chasing each other with popsicles in the twilight. Wives sat on their front steps watching the kids, while their husbands bent under the hoods of their beat up trucks, wielding a wrench while sweat soaked the underarms on their shirts.
This was definitely Demo’s type of neighborhood. It was like a picture out of a modern-day Norman Rockwell painting—if Norman Rockwell paintings had featured kids on rollerblades with iPod buds in their ears.
A crowd had gathered around a cement stage just beyond the playground. “What’s happening there?”
Demo reached up and plucked a bright orange flyer from behind his visor. “Shakespeare festival. Spokane Youth Theater. My niece, Eleni, is playing Helena in A Mid… summer… something or another.”
I looked at the flyer. “A Mid Summer Night’s Dream, oh cultured one. Candace made me see this play in college. She was always dragging Brian, and Lexie, and me to these types of things. Your niece is one of the leads? How old is she?”
“She’s fifteen.” Demo turned off the truck.
“Wow. When I was fifteen, I was too obsessed with designer handbags and sucking face with boys to focus on Shakespeare.”
He looked at me through the corner of his eye. “Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to have to kick a teenager’s ass today.”
Snickering, I went to open my door. “So you brought me to see your niece in a play?”
“Yup. Hey, wait. Lemme get that.” He got out and crossed around the front of the truck to open my door. Holding his hand out to take mine, Demo explained, “My family is a huge part of my life. Almost everything I do is centered around my family. Always has been.”
A pang of jealousy tightened my chest. “That’s the exact opposite of my family. Almost everything I do has absolutely nothing to do with either of my parents at all. It’s always been that way.”