by Lee Taylor
Maligayang Pasko, Iha, do you still have Bing-Bing?
How could it be anyone but Papa? He wishes me a Merry Christmas and calls me Iha, daughter, then asks about Bing-Bing, the blue bear he gave me when I was born.
I call Owen and tell him about the text messages and YouTube comments. He promises to check on them but thinks they could be pranks from jealous exes, his favorite theory.
"But who knew about Bing-Bing?" My throat tightens. "Tito Louie pointed that out."
"Ah, yes. A clue." Owen adopts a superior detective voice. "However, as you mentioned, your uncle knew about Bing-Bing. I'm sure your mother does, too."
"So? They'd hardly play tricks like this on me. My mother doesn't want to think about my father, and my uncle's excited to find him."
Owen harumphs and snorts annoyingly. "I'll put on my private investigator hat and check on the origin of the messages. We'll install an IP address logger of people who hit your fan page. Why don't you respond to the messages and ask for comments?"
"Good idea, but I haven't been on there in ages. I don't know what to say." Life has been a real turmoil this past year and my fantasies of being a YouTube star are on the other side of unrealistic.
"How about taking suggestions of songs people want to hear?"
"Sounds good. Can you post for me?" I give him the password to my website. "I hurt Zach's feelings again."
"Do tell." I hear his feet thump on the desk and his chair creak.
"I don't understand him, that's all. He wants to take me to an electro dance club. Do you know how crowded those places are? I don't see how he'll manage with his prosthesis. I told him I'd rather order pizza and stay in, and that upset him."
"He wants to impress you, show you he's still got the mojo."
Owen's right. Zach's trying too hard. A lump forms in my throat. "I was being selfish, thinking about my problems."
"Oh, I don't know," Owen drawls. "If you don't want to go dancing with him, how about zydeco night at the Hoot? Best Cajun crawdads west of the Mississippi. I can show you a good time."
His antics bring a smile to my face. "You're sweet, but you and I have a working relationship."
"Well, hell-ya! Fire me." He whoops a rebel yell.
I'm laughing by now. "No way. Good lawyers are hard to find. Gotta go."
"Okay, give Zachy baby a kiss for me. I'll let you know as soon as I find out about the messages."
"Thanks, I totally appreciate it." I say goodbye and hang up.
Chapter 9
Because of the evening rush hour, it takes forty minutes of stop-and-go traffic to get to Zach's place. The entire way I debated whether to call or surprise him. I've ruined the date already, but maybe we can still do something fun after I apologize. I luck out with a parking spot and hurry toward Zach's unit.
A middle-aged woman hosing off her walkway nods at me. "He just got back from running. Such a nice young man. Helped me with my groceries."
"Thanks." I smile at her and knock on Zach's door. My stomach is in knots, and my heart has never beaten so erratically. Why do I care so much? It's not like I'm in love or anything. I just hate hurting him. And . . . it's hard to imagine not being at least friends, even without the benefits.
The door opens, and Zach stands there with a towel around his waist. His hair is damp, water drips down his chest, and he's leaning on a single crutch, not wearing his artificial leg. His lips cock to one side. "Couldn't stay away, could you?"
What's going on? Is he upset? Joking? Or back to his playboy self? Goosebumps form on his skin, and I quickly step in and shut the door.
"I came because I thought we could still go dancing."
"Too late. I took off my leg, the one you didn't want to be seen with." He points to his prosthesis standing by itself on a fake foot enclosed in a running shoe.
"That's not what I meant, I was worried, you know, whether you're ready."
Ugh, digging myself deeper.
His eyebrows draw into a frown. "Let me decide when I'm ready for an activity."
"I agree. It's just that I'm a nurse, and I think of all the things that could happen, and . . . sorry."
"It's all right." He opens his arms for a hug.
I fold my arms around his waist, relieved he's so forgiving. His damp skin feels velvety under my fingers and for a moment, I want nothing more than to bury my nose into his chest and kiss a trail down his sculpted abs. Swallowing my drool, I push away and stare at the patch of blond hair between his nipples. "What do you want to do now?"
"Pizza and streaming a movie sound great." Using a single crutch, he hops to the sofa and props his foot on the coffee table.
"No, seriously. That's boring." I pick up his artificial leg. It's lighter than I expected. "Is this a new one?"
"Yep, got it a few days ago. It's supposed to feel more natural than the starter one I had."
"It looks really high tech. What's it made of?"
He runs his finger over the dark metallic part where his tibia would have been. "The pylon is carbon fiber composite, and the inside of the foot is an elastic polymer that absorbs and releases energy."
"Pretty cool." I flex the foot and set it on the coffee table. "Is it comfortable?"
His eyes half-close, and he swallows. He looks at the artificial leg, blinking. Then his face tightens, clouding like a grey shield.
I'm so insensitive. Of course, it's not comfortable.
The last thing I want to do is hurt him so I rise to my feet. "I didn't mean anything. I should leave."
"No, don't." His voice catches. "It's all right."
Oh, Zach. He's more worried about how I feel. I put my arm around his shoulder to comfort him. "I know it's been hard for you. I can't even imagine what it's like."
"It's not so bad. I manage." He presses both hands over his nose and rubs downward.
"You can talk to me. I'll understand."
"I don't want your pity." He still hasn't met my eyes, keeping them pinned to the coffee table.
A lump rises from my chest to my throat. "I admire you. I . . . I think you're incredible . . . to deal with what you've been through."
He shakes out of my embrace. "I don't need comforting words. Treat me like you'd treat any other man."
"What other man? I haven't been with anyone since I met you."
"I . . . uh, what did you just say?"
My pulse skips a beat, and heat flows to my cheeks. The truth is I hadn't been interested in anyone else, but I don't want to give Zach the wrong impression.
"I meant, yes, I'll act as if you're like anyone else."
He tugs my arm, his expression suddenly serious. "Let's talk about our relationship."
My knees weaken and I sit back down on the couch, hardly able to believe his words. "Relationship" sounds so loaded, scary. The suffocating closeness, opening up emotionally and trusting, being helpless. I can't get sucked into this. Besides, he'll be devastated when he finds out how his mother died.
I try to lighten the mood. "I can't exactly talk while you're dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel. You're too distracting."
"I am, aren't I?" He wipes a hand over his wet hair. "You don't know how fast I jumped out of the shower when I heard the doorbell. I was hoping it was you."
The sincerity with which he says simple things like this spins my heart like a wobbly top. I'm used to guys who play power games and never admit they care.
"Do you want me to cook?" Food is always my peace offering and I want to make him happy.
"I promised you pizza and a date." He gives me a thumb's up and fumbles on the end table for his smartphone. After ordering the pizza, he grabs his crutch. "I got some of that calamansi juice you like in the fridge. Don't go anywhere, 'kay?"
"I'm good." I watch him hobble to his room, admiring his inner strength. He's so thoughtful to remember my favorite juice. We can at least stay friends, can't we?
After grabbing a can of juice, I turn on the TV to a news station. Despite the ima
ges of cars on fire and police in riot gear, I keep thinking about my father, picturing him in a cave overseas living off the land, maybe herding a few goats and trading milk and cheese with villagers for supplies. That is, if he's alive.
Zach returns wearing a pair of cargo shorts and an Ironman t-shirt from his last race. He's still too sexy even with clothes on. I swallow the rest of the juice and turn off the TV.
The doorbell rings, and Zach hobbles to the door. The delivery man looks him up and down and stammers, "Hey, how's it going."
He hurriedly places the pizza on the kitchen table and seems eager to leave.
Zach appears unconcerned. He's counting out the bills and smiling. "Here you go, buddy. Have a nice evening."
The pizza is piping hot, topped with pineapple, ham, scallions, and cheese. Zach offers me a piece first, and even though I have no appetite, I pick at it and make a show of eating while he gobbles up two slices and cracks jokes, his Aussie accent thickening at the punch line. "No worries, mate." "When in Oz, mate." Strange how the jokes make Australians look like drunks, idiots, and scumbags. Guess it's reverse national pride, opposite of Filipinos who are proud to be Pinoy.
Zach's so easy to hang around with and tonight, he seems determined to show me how comfortable and upbeat he is. But the more he jokes, the more I wonder about a relationship with him, especially one that is exclusive. Even though I hate to admit it, I grew up watching Disney princess movies, and before my father died, I used to wish upon a star for my very own . . . never mind.
"Sure you don't want more?" Zach pushes another slice my direction.
"I'm good." I look at my cell for the time.
"Anywhere you have to be?"
"No, just checking messages." I slip the phone into my purse. "I'm all yours this evening."
A grin develops slowly, and he looks genuinely happy. "Let's not waste any time."
Taking a remote, he dims the lights and powers on the stereo. The dulcet tones of 98 Degrees' "I Do (Cherish You)" fills the living room. He stands and holds out his hand. "Will you dance with me?"
The music is so romantic. I feel my cheeks lifting with a smile as I take his hand and he wraps me in a smooth embrace. We're barely swaying to the balmy, slow rhythm. He holds me close and I snuggle into his chest, feeling protected and safe. My body softens against his, and I try not to think where this will lead. He's here, I'm here, and I think we like each other . . . for now.
The song lyrics caress my heart and bathe me with hope. I do cherish Zach, so much.
Where did that come from?
I hold him tighter, wanting to disappear in his arms. It's hard to explain, but I feel closer dancing without steps, hearing his heart beat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, his soft breath on my hair, more intimate than . . . I blush, thinking of the ways we've used each other before.
When the song ends, Zach kisses the top of my head. "Bet that's the first time you've danced with a one-legged man. If you can call it dancing."
"I loved it," I murmur. "It's Zen-like, minimized movement, more in the present."
"Nice spin." He lowers the volume on the stereo and pulls me down to the sofa. He tries to sit on my left, so his complete leg is next to me, but I get up and move to his left. He raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything.
The lyrics of the song we danced to run through my mind and I'm nervous. Did he mean to put that song on, or was it just the next one on his playlist? I'm overthinking this again.
"That was lovely, the dance." My voice trails. You . . .
"You're what's lovely," he says, in a voice guaranteed to melt my heart and make me yearn. "The more I know about you, the more I like you."
I can't get over how much he's changed. I was immune to his put-on charm, his star athlete's persona, but this? If this is the real Zach . . . I'm toast. I won't ever want to let this gem go.
The moment gets awkward since I haven't responded. Zach moves my hand to his knee, the one that ends with the stump. "Does this bother you?"
"Of course not." I see the doubt in his expression. "I wish it didn't happen to you. It makes me sad, but from now on, I'll treat you like any other man. No telling you what you can or can't do, no cutting you any slack and no more nursing, okay?"
"That's what I want." A sexy smile slides over his face. "But you can play nurse anytime."
I wet my lips and shift uncomfortably. Is he going to make out with me or are we still talking? If he'll quit looking at me like he wants to devour a particularly delectable morsel, maybe I can actually think.
"So, what do we do now?" I wish I didn't sound so suggestive. His closeness is tempting, but we're redefining our relationship.
He tilts my face toward him. "I want you to consider being more than friends with me."
How can I agree when things are so unsettled?
"Depends on what it means." My heart's doing jumping jacks urging me to accept. I press a hand on his chest. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I can't sleep with you anymore. I thought about what you said, about how empty it is. I'm going away soon. At least when the agency places me."
"Right by me. Let's enjoy the time we have. I already know you're dynamite in bed. We Aussies do everything upside down and backwards, anyway." He tickles the side of my temple. "Now I want to know what's in that head of yours."
A strange sensation of elation and dread mix in my chest. I feel like I'm a tiny girl hiding in the corner and a spotlight is shining on me. I swallow, unable to bear the earnest gaze of his starry blue eyes. "I don't even know myself sometimes. I'm really not that interesting."
"You'd be surprised." He takes my hand. "Want to go out tonight?"
"Sure, er . . . I need to freshen up." I grab my purse and step toward his bathroom, needing to escape the frightening closeness. Zach smirks right before I close the door. I have no idea what he's up to or where he wants to go, but I'll let him take the lead.
My stomach's getting those jumpy butterflies again, as if I were crushing on him. What if we fall in love? Can I let it happen? I'm definitely getting ahead of myself, so I stuff my lipstick and mascara into my purse and check my cell phone. No messages, neither from Owen or the placement services.
When I exit the bathroom, Zach is in the living room clad in tight jeans and a pair of hand-tooled cowboy boots. A black t-shirt clings to his muscular chest. He walks toward me, as lithe and natural as a sleek jaguar. His eyes prowl up and down my body, and a crooked grin brightens his face.
My fingers tingle and desire tugs at my lower abdomen, reminding me how absolutely frickin' hard it's going to be to walk away from this magnificent man.
Zach opens his arms and wraps me in a bear hug and before I can breathe, he twirls me around. I hang onto his shoulders as he backs me onto the kitchen counter, my feet still off the ground. He places his hands on both sides of my hips and stares into my eyes. "Let's pretend this is our first date. What's your name, beautiful?"
I know I'm blushing and my pale skin doesn't hide it. "I'm Vera, and you?"
"Zach. What are you doing in my apartment?" He winks. "I don't remember inviting you in. I don't even know you."
"I was . . . ah, looking for a friend. I think I knocked on the wrong door."
He kisses my hand. "I'm glad you knocked on my door, and I'd love to be your friend."
I'm afraid I'm out of words. He's pouring on the charm, but I have to get control of myself. After what my father did, I don't deserve any happiness from Zach.
"Friends it is." I hop off the counter before my breathing gets too raspy and I feel too hot and tingly for my own good. Sex is off the table and that's fine, really. I'm not sure I want to risk those bonding chemicals with my new awareness of how lovable Zach is and end up hoping for something more permanent.
Taking my hand, Zach leads me to a black Audi Spyder convertible and opens the door with a flourish. I feel like a fairy tale princess in a magic carriage until he lowers the top and takes the turns like a slalom skie
r.
I'm feeling woozy, but the cool wind alleviates some of the nausea. The torture ride is over when he parks in front of a Chuck E. Cheese's. Seriously? We just had pizza.
After the top resets, Zach comes around the car and opens my door. "You might want to leave your purse in the boot, er, trunk."
"Why?"
"I don't think they have lockers in there, and we're going to get hot and sweaty."
At a pizza arcade? With excited children milling around? Okay . . .
I give him my purse, and he locks it up. We walk around the back of Chuck E. Cheese's to the entrance of a metallic building made to look like the skin of a spaceship. Neon lights spelling "Titanic Laser Tag" flash across the marquee.
"Have you played before?" Zach grins as we get out of the car.
I swallow a gulp, wondering how Zach's brand new prosthetic leg will fare. "No, I get dizzy in first person shooter games."
"You'll be fine here, because you're in the game."
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of. Will we be on the same team?" I bat my eyelashes, knowing that I'm flirting.
"You bet." He opens the door for me.
The entrance foyer resembles a futuristic movie theater with a center console where tickets are sold. Since I've never played before, they send us to the briefing room where I learn about the targets, how to operate the laser gun, and safety rules.
We put on our vests and tighten the straps. Zach adjusts mine so the shoulder targets are vertical, explaining it creates less of a target. "It's a maze in there, so stick to the walls. Try to keep your shoulders and gun below the wall until you're about to shoot. You're lucky because you're short."
I give him a playful push. I hate short jokes. "And what's your tactic?"
"I was on a championship team a few years back. You have to keep your torso and shoulders moving so you're not such a steady target. If you walk straight, zap! You're tagged and deactivated." He twists his body and shoulders, crouching and turning to demonstrate.
"Okay, got it." I stifle my worry that he might damage his leg. Zach's obviously showing off.