Say When

by Tara West

  I hurry past the rows of candy bars and snack shelves, some of which look ready to topple, as the flimsy particle board holding them together is buckled in several places. As I make my way toward the back, I wind up in the beer and wine section. For such a cramped and run-down looking shithole, their selection is pretty extensive. I turn a slow circle, feeling somehow like I’m going to suffocate within these walls of beer cases. The sad thing is I still haven’t purchased a beer with my real ID. My thirst for liquor has dried up. Luckily, nobody else is inside the store. I send a text to Grace to message me when she gets here. There’s no way I’m going back outside.

  “So it’s your birthday?”

  I gasp as I look up to see Andrés standing between two dilapidated candy shelves. How had I not noticed he’d come into the store? He walks forward, his boots clicking on the grimy tiles. He slants a smile at me as he joins me inside the beer fortress.

  “Yeah.” I shrug, feeling the blush creep into my cheeks and unable to do anything about it. Mechanic or not, the boy is smokin’ hot. Images of random stranger sex flash through my mind.

  “Happy birthday, Christina,” he says. I love the way my name rolls off his tongue and sends a ripple of heat across my skin, like pouring warm chocolate fudge over cool vanilla ice cream .

  “How’d you know my name?” I ask as my pulse quickens. I also love that he says my entire name and not some made-up shortcut. Christina. Not Teenie, Tina, or Christy, I think. The name on my birth certificate. The name I wish everyone would call me.

  His smile widens, revealing two perfectly white rows of teeth. “I heard your friend call you Christina. It’s a beautiful name.”

  “Thanks.” Even though I consider myself a relatively fun loving person, my smile feels contrived. That’s when I realize I’m in trouble. This guy unnerves me. I force myself to break eye contact, missing his warm chocolate gaze almost instantly. I focus on the first thing that catches my eye, his gleaming silver belt buckle.

  This is a very bad idea, because my gaze instinctively travels lower, and I notice the bulge beneath his zipper. Despite the fact that my back is chilled from the refrigerated wine section behind me, I feel a bead of sweat on my temple.

  “This isn’t the best side of town,” Andrés says to me, in a voice that carries a note of concern.

  I pull my gaze from his crotch and nod. My head bobbles maybe a bit too hard, and I feel like my brain is stuck in an earthquake. “I know.”

  “I’ll wait with you until your friend gets here.” He takes a seat on a beer display, never taking his gaze off me.

  The chill from the fridge causes me to shiver. My nipples feel so hard, they could probably cut glass. I resist the urge to look down and confirm it. I realize they’re probably already poking through my lacy bra and sheer dress fabric. Knowing Andrés is getting an eye-full mortifies and excites me at the same time. Still, modesty forces me to cross my arms over my chest.

  “She was at Dylan’s,” I say, trying to sound casual and not all hot and bothered, “so it shouldn’t take long.”

  “That’s where I was going,” he says as he motions toward his boots. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  Weird, how just a few moments ago, I didn’t feel like celebrating anymore. Now I’m thinking about dancing with Andrés at Dylan’s. I’m not a very skilled dancer, but I can follow someone else’s lead if I have a good enough partner. I wonder if Andrés is a good dancer. I wonder how it would feel to have his rough denim pressing against me.

  My knees wobble at the thought. I look down at my stupid stilettos and realize I’m not dressed for dancing.

  “I don’t have my boots,” I say as my lip turns down in a pout.

  “We’ll slow dance. Come on, Christina.” My name slides off his tongue in a sensual purr. “It’s your birthday.” He jumps down from the beer display and bridges the distance between us in a few easy strides.

  Having Andrés this near me sends a jolt straight up my spine. My flesh buzzes and I feel it all the way to the core of my body. He smells like leather and spice, and right now the only dancing I want to do with Andrés is between the sheets.

  I am not a whore. I do not have sex with random strangers, I say to myself, but my libido isn’t listening.

  There’s a sparkle in his eyes that makes him not only incredibly sexy, but irresistibly cute. “Have some fun,” he says as he leans forward, much too forward.

  He crosses the line into my personal space. I could easily lean up and kiss those full lips of his.

  “Maybe I’ll go,” I say, unable to resist Andrés’s boyish charm, or the heat radiating off his virile body. My phone buzzes, and I realize my ride is here. “There’s Grace.” I motion toward a nearby window. I can hear the distant melody of “Tornado” by Little Big Town, which has been Grace’s theme song for the past year, ever since she decided to ditch guys and, much to her parents’ dismay, exclusively date girls.

  “I’m gonna make sure your friend has a ride,” he says. “I’ll see you at Dylan’s.”

  Much to my relief, and disappointment, he turns and walks out the door.

  It takes all my willpower not to melt into a puddle of goo all over the floor. I stagger outside toward my ride, barely feeling my legs as they propel me forward. Shit. I haven’t even had a drink tonight, and I’m already drunk on lust.

  Chapter Four

  “Do you want to dance?”

  Oh, gawd, not him again. I roll my eyes as Little Big Hat Dude taps on my shoulder, vying for my attention. The guy’s been bugging me off and on for the past half hour. He’s at least five whiskeys past sober. With that gigantic hat weighing down his little head, I’m fairly certain I could kick him with my heel and watch him topple, hat first, over the rail and onto the dance floor.

  I square my shoulders and look directly into his beady, foggy eyes. “No.”

  “Why not?” he slurs.

  I heave a frustrated breath. “I’ve already told you ‘no’ three times.”

  A wide grin splits his narrow head in two, revealing a missing front tooth. Bar fight, no doubt. Somehow, I suspect Little Big Hat Dude was the instigator.

  “You know what they say, fourth time’s the charm.” He winks hard before grabbing my wrist.

  “That’s not how the saying goes.” I shake off his grip and reach for my beer bottle, preparing to smash it across his face and bust some more teeth.

  He shrugs, totally indifferent to the fact that I clearly don’t want him near me. “I can say it however I want.” Then he has the nerve to hold out his hand. “Do you want to dance, or what?”

  “Fifth time.” I groan. “No.”

  His lip turns up in a snarl, and I’m reminded of Grace’s vicious little Chihuahua who growls at me whenever I sit too close to her.

  “Stuck up bitch.” He storms away and goes on to the next girl, who doesn’t waste time in turning her back on him.

  I sip my beer and sigh into my drink. What am I thinking expecting Andrés to meet me here? Images of Karri offering him sex for service swirl through my head and almost blur my vision. If she fucks him, that is it. I will be through with her for good. Not just a few months like the last time she pissed me off. I absently check the time on my phone. Grace brought me here an hour ago. Yeah, Karri is fucking him. Damn.

  In vain, I scan the dance floor for Grace. After buying me two rounds of drinks and begging me to dance with her, she finally left me to sulk on my barstool and ran off with some rodeo chick. I haven’t seen a sign of her since.

  Another tap on my shoulder. I’m so aggravated by this point, I seriously prepare to unleash my fury on Little Big Hat Dude as I clutch my beer bottle and spin around. My breath stills, and then I breathe out his name. “Andrés.”

  The dim lights overhead do nothing to diminish his masculine beauty. He fills those tight jeans to perfection. The top button of his shirt is undone, revealing the slightest bit of chest hair. His cropped hair is now covered by a black Stetson, but even bene
ath the brim of his hat, I can see the sparkle in those dark eyes. I never thought a man could be so beautiful, but he’s like a Spanish Adonis.

  “Hey, birthday girl.” He flashes that devastating smile. “Sorry I’m late. It took a while to get your friend’s car out of there.”

  I swallow a knot which wedges itself in my throat, as I slowly lower the beer bottle. My hands are shaking. “You were really nice to help her,” I say, pretending as if I give a shit about Karri, which I still kind of do, even if I’m aggravated with her.

  I know while Andrés was helping her, Karri was probably flirting with him big time. She can’t help being a slut. It comes as naturally to her as breathing. Or doing drugs.

  “I couldn’t leave her stranded,” he says as he waves down a waitress. “That boyfriend of hers doesn’t have a clue.”

  “Karri has lousy taste in guys,” I say, heaving a sigh. The sigh is meant to show my exasperation with my friend, but really, I’m trying to release some nervous energy, even as the smell of his spicy cologne snakes around my senses and threatens to turn me into a limp puddle of goo. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”

  He arches a brow. Just one. It dips beneath the shadow of his Stetson, and I think it’s the sexiest look ever. “She been your friend for long?”

  “Ever since we were kids,” I say. “We took different paths after high school, and we’re two totally different people now.” I try to make that point clear to him. I’m not like Karri. I don’t want him to think I’m stupid enough to never change the oil in my car. More than anything, I want Andrés to respect me. I don’t want him to treat me the way Jackson treats me, the way my dad treated me.

  A tall blonde waitress walks up to him. She’s got a tray full of Coronas with lime wedges attached to their tops. My mouth waters.

  “She’s lucky to have you as a friend,” Andrés says as he hands the waitress a twenty and takes two beers off the tray.

  He reaches across me, and the feel of his large, warm body so near me sends my senses reeling. He sets down a beer and then hands my old bottle to the waitress.

  “So how old are you today, mija?” He asks as he takes a swig from his bottle.

  A blush creeps into my cheeks. I’ve heard Spanish speakers use “mija” as a term of endearment. I regain my composure long enough to answer. “Twenty-one.”

  His eyes widen. “Wow. Special night. How come you’re sitting here with me?”

  I laugh. Sexy and funny. Jackson would have never made such a joke. He always pretends I should be flattered he picked me out of his throng of money-grubbing admirers.

  “I just broke it off with my fiancé,” I say, while trying to shake off dark memories of fart breath, sex and puking. I am so ready to move past Jackson. So ready. I realize the only reason I’ve clung to this failing relationship so long is because of my mother. But too bad. I take a long drink of beer, before swiping my hand across my lips. It’s my life. Time to live it how I want. Or so I keep telling myself. I only hope my resolve will still be strong tomorrow after the beer buzz has worn off.

  Andrés is looking at me. I read the uncertainty in his gaze as he holds himself ramrod straight. “Why’d you break up?”

  “He treats me like shit,” I say. Then I avert my gaze, realizing I’ve said too much. I don’t want Andrés knowing I allowed a guy to treat me like a door mat. If he thinks I’m strong, maybe he’ll know better than to treat me like shit, too. Maybe he won’t be like other guys. “I don’t want to talk about him,” I say as I look at Andrés. I tilt my chin and do my best to put on a brave face.

  Andrés takes a step back, smiles, and holds out his hand. “You want to dance?”

  I can’t help but smile. “Yes, but I’ve had a few drinks and I’m a bit wobbly.” I point down at my heels, which have become the bane of my existence. I make a mental note to throw them in a dumpster as soon as I get my hands on a decent pair of shoes.

  “It’s a slow song,” he says and nods toward the dance floor.

  I follow his gaze, to the couples clutching each other tightly while slowly moving to the rhythm. I hadn’t noticed the music changed. It’s an old song by Rascal Flats, something sappy that always makes me want to pull my hair out by the roots. Maybe it’s because it’s hard to identify with a song that talks about romance and forever, but I think I can enjoy this song with Andrés.

  I tentatively give him my hand, and he pulls me to the floor. He wraps his arms around me as if holding me is second nature. I let out a slow breath as I force my stupid nerves to calm down. I’ve always hated being short. With these heels, I’m barely five foot six, but as I lean into his hard chest, pressing my head against his shoulder, I think we fit perfectly together.

  Another slow song, by Carrie Underwood, follows. I wind my arms around Andrés’s waist, relishing the feel of him.

  He leans down, his breath a hot whisper in my ear. “Christina, I’m usually not this open, but when I met you at that gas station, I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”

  My heart soars as my brain seizes on that thought. Okay, he obviously likes me. Awesome!

  “I’m not usually this open, either, but…” I pause as I bite my lip, silently cursing myself for being so stupid. I’m about to say too much. I’m about to make Andrés think I’m a total slut. And I’m not. In fact, Jackson is the only guy I’ve ever been with. Well, the only guy I’ve ever offered myself to willingly.

  “But what?” he asks me.

  I close my eyes and try to channel the Christina from earlier this evening. The Christina who speaks up for herself and tells people exactly how she feels. Even though what I want right now is very, very bad, that voice inside me is telling me to take it. I open my eyes and I can see the lust in his dark gaze reflecting back at me. I know he’s feeling exactly how I feel. I steel my resolve and summon the courage to speak. “I want to go home with you.”

  * * *

  We start taking off each other’s clothes before we even make it inside his apartment. I’m pretty sure my underwear has sprung a leak. There is no way I could possibly be this wet over a guy. As soon as he closes the door behind us, he lifts my skirt and strokes me with the smooth pad of his finger. I want to melt all over him.

  Somehow, we find our way to his bed and tumble onto the mattress in a tangled heap. My dress is gone. My bra has been undone. I gasp as his hands knead my breasts before he gently pinches each nipple. He wets one finger, then another, and then rubs his saliva into my hardened tips. I gasp again, and more moisture saturates my underwear. Then his hands move down, across my abdomen and then lower still.

  Thank God I waxed this morning.

  He tugs on the thin fabric of my panties, so I lift up my bottom and let him remove them. The curly hairs of his chest gently chafe my hardened nipples as I press into him. I relish the feel of it, a real man grinding against me. But I want to feel more than just Andrés’s chest hair. I want to feel all of him, especially that one thing, inside of me.

  I reach for his pants zipper and growl. It’s already been undone, and his hard length throbs beneath my touch as I wrap my hand around it.

  “You’re big,” I moan into his mouth.

  He chuckles against my lips but doesn’t say a word as he strokes my sensitive cleft, coaxing more moisture out of me and causing me to swell to the point of agonizingly painful pleasure. At some point he pulls back, and I hear him pulling off his jeans and ripping open a wrapper. I wait for him to slip on the condom. He’s back on top of me, lifting my legs over his shoulders.

  As the head of his penis circles the edge of my clit, I read the hunger in his eyes, the desperation. I feel it, too. I spread my legs wide, wanting so badly for him to be inside me.

  He closes his eyes, the muscles in his powerful neck and shoulders flexing as he slowly slides inside. It’s exquisite torture. I want him to stop. I want him to go on. He fills me completely, sliding all the way in until the head rests against the depths of my swollen
channel. I’m already on the verge of a powerful climax.

  This, I think to myself, is exactly how sex should feel. This is what I’ve been missing. Those are the only coherent thoughts I can muster before Andrés slowly pulls out of me.

  I cry out, digging my nails into his tight ass. “Don’t stop!” I beg.

  He holds steady and then kisses me, his tongue moving across mine with long, languid strokes. Then he pulls away and trails kisses down my neck and between my breasts, stopping to flick his tongue across one nipple, then the other.

  I moan and run my fingers up his back and through his thick hair, cursing, as he slides farther out of me. I grab his ass again, digging into his flesh. He responds with a low chuckle, and then thrusts forward, hard and deep. He picks up tempo, sliding out and thrusting in. I scream as the first climax grips me, seizing my womb like a vise.

  But Andrés doesn’t stop battering my swollen channel, causing wave upon wave of euphoric pleasure to pulsate through me. I hear him groan and then he stills. His hips spasm as I feel him throbbing inside me.

  He collapses beside me and then pulls me into his embrace, kissing my face and neck and whispering sensual words. I recognize a few like “mija” and “amor,” and I berate myself for taking American Sign Language instead of Spanish. I relish the feel of his warm, strong arms, of the heady thrumming in the core of my body as it spreads outward, all the way down to the tips of my toes. I sigh against his chest as my arms and legs go limp. I am more content and more satisfied than I’ve ever been in my life.

  I wonder, as I close my eyes and nestle against him, is this what random sex with strangers is supposed to feel like, or do Andrés and I share a special connection? If so, I never want it to end.

  Chapter Five

  No nightmares. For the first time in over a year, Andrés doesn’t have a single bad dream. Maybe he was too exhausted after making love to Christina. Maybe he had a bad dream and doesn’t remember. Or maybe, he is finally ready to start living again. Either way, of one thing he is certain: last night was the best night of his life. Christina was amazingly responsive to every touch and kiss and she sensually arched her back and moaned whenever he took her full breasts into his mouth.