Izzy As Is

by Tracie Banister

  “Ow!” I smack my cheek when I feel a sting there. Damn these mosquitoes! Why don’t they pick on someone else?

  All right, so Zane is not at the butterfly garden. Where to next? I see a sign with an arrow pointing to the hummingbird garden, which is just around the corner, so I head in that direction.

  When I see that Z’s not hanging with the hummingbirds either, my shoulders sag with disappointment. As I trudge defeatedly around the perimeter of the Flamingo Café and contemplate going inside to grab a consolation cheeseburger (I know it’s too early for lunch—shut up!), I start to think that coming here might not have been my brightest idea. Maybe I should go home and forget this whole thing. I don’t even know how Z’s going to react when I tell him that I dumped Eduardo and want to be with him. He could say, “So what?” and reject me. Ha! Hilarious. Like any man’s ever rejected me. Still, telling a guy I have feelings for him is a new experience for me and it’s kind of scary, not to mention confusing as I have no clue how to go about this. I don’t want to be all sappy and gross like some chick in a rom com. That’s so not my style. ¡Ay, mierda! There he is!

  I stop dead in my tracks when I see Zane’s tall, lanky frame standing over by the wood railing that encloses the flamingo habitat. I should have known he’d be with the flamingos! He loves snapping shots of those pink, long-necked birds and of all the pictures he sold at that art gallery exhibit recently, he did make the most money off his one of the flamingo. (P.S. I was highly insulted by that!)

  Not giving myself a chance to wuss out, I march purposefully over to Zane, whose back is to me. “Ack!” I exclaim with irritation, smacking a hand against my chest as I’m divebombed by yet another mosquito. These mofos are relentless! But I will not be deterred. I keep moving forward until I’m right behind Z. He’s got his eye pressed up to the viewfinder of his Nikon and he’s clicking away, so he’s completely oblivious to my presence. I tug on his T-shirt (the one that says “Oh, Snap!” and has a picture of a camera on it) to get his attention.

  He glances back over his shoulder, and his eyes widen with surprise. “Izzy! What are you doing here? And why are you covered in blood?”

  I am? I look down and sure enough I do have streaks of blood all over my bare skin.

  Making a face, I say, “I’m not sure if that’s my blood or the mosquitoes’.” Seeing all the red bumps caused by those ravenous bugs makes me feel itchy again, so I start scratching my neck, then my arms. “They really seem to like me.”

  He smirks. “Because you smell so good. You know better than to slather on perfume and body lotion before coming to a place like this. You’re advertising an all-you-can-eat buffet for the bugs.” He bends down to get something from the camera bag at his feet.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know I’d be trekking through a steamy jungle when I left the house this morning. I went to the crap shack, looking for you, but you weren’t there, so I thought I’d check out this place since I know you like to come here on Sunday mornings.”

  Z’s got a bottle of water and one of the cloths he uses to clean the lens of his camera in his hands now. “And why were you so hot to hunt me down?” he wonders as he pours some of the water onto the cloth, then uses it to gently wipe away the blood on my neck and chest.

  “Ummmmmmmm . . .” It’s hard to think straight when he’s so close and he’s being so sweet. I want to reach out and brush his hair out of his eyes or kiss that sexy mouth of his. I never noticed before, but his upper lip is a little fuller than his bottom one, which gives him this cute, pouty look. Stop obsessing about his lips, Izzy! You came here to tell Z something, so get on with it! “I needed to talk to you.”

  Taking my wrist in his hand, he starts cleaning away the dried blood there, working his way up my arm. “You couldn’t have texted or called? Must be pretty important.”

  Oh God, he’s stroking the inside of my wrist with his thumb. Does he have any idea what that does to me? Last time he did it, I couldn’t resist the urge to jump his bones and if we weren’t in a public place right now, with small children nearby, I’d happily do it again.

  “It is,” I admit. “I, uh, I wanted to tell you that I decided to take your suggestion and start my own party planning business.” I hadn’t intended to lead off with this, but why not? It is news I wanted to share with him.

  He drops my arm and raises his golden-brown eyes to mine, with a smile. “No kidding? I think that’s great. If there’s anyone who was born to be a party planner, it’s you.” He picks up my other arm and starts swiping at the blood there.

  “It’s such an obvious career choice for me. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself. I guess I couldn’t see the beach for the palm trees. Thank you for giving me a push toward the water.”

  “You’re welcome.” He looks down at my arm and grimaces. “These bites must be itching like crazy. Why don’t we head back up to the gift shop and get you some calamine lotion?”

  “No!” I grab his hand with both of mine, and when he gives me a questioning look, I tell him, “There’s more I want to say.” My eyes dart around, taking note of how quickly the area’s filling with flamingo enthusiasts. “Could we go somewhere less crowded and noisy?” I can barely hear myself think over the sound of all these flamingos squawking.

  “Sure.” He reaches down for his camera bag and throws it over his shoulder. He probably wants his hand back, but too bad, I’m not letting it go now that I have it.

  He escorts me out of the flamingo area, past the café, across the tram path, then over to another walkway that snakes between a bunch of trees. “So, Eduardo gave you the money for your new business then?” he queries conversationally as we amble along.

  “In a way.”

  Zane frowns at me. “What’s that mean?”

  “My father gave me the start-up money for Parties With Izzy, or Izzybrations, I’m still on the fence about the name, but he told me I couldn’t expect to make a profit for a few years. So . . . I sold my engagement ring and got a great price for it—forty grand! That’ll give me something to live on while I’m getting the business off the ground.”

  He looks befuddled. “I know Eduardo isn’t that observant when it comes to you, but surely he’ll notice the big rock missing from your left hand.”

  Stopping next to a weathered white bench nestled amongst some greenery beneath a lichen-covered tree, I turn toward Zane. “He said I could do whatever I wanted to with the ring when I called off our engagement a few days ago.” I hold my breath in anticipation of his response.

  “Huh,” he says, his face registering no emotion.

  “Huh?” I spit out the word indignantly while tossing his hand away. “I tell you that I’ve broken up with the rich, gorgeous Latino who wanted to marry me and make it so that I never had to work another day in my life and ‘Huh’ is the best you can come up with?” Feeling an all too familiar burning sensation on my arm, I slap my hand against the flesh with a new ferocity because these mosquitoes (and Zane!) are really pissing me off!

  “Huh is the same thing you said the night I announced my engagement. So, apparently, you just don’t give a shit what I do! Argh!” I smack my neck when I’m bitten by yet another voracious insect.

  “You know that’s not true. Izzy—” He reaches for me, but I take a step back, eluding his grasp.

  “No, I don’t.” I claw at my neck, which only makes the itching worse, but I can’t seem to stop. “You make me second guess my decision to marry Eduardo, then you have sex with me, which ends up changing everything, but you won’t even talk to me about it because . . . Ow!” I smack my cheek. “Because you’re too busy cozying up to Posh Spice. Sonofa—” I flick away the mosquito that’s making a snack of my left forearm. My skin feels like it’s on fire all over now and I just want to make the itching stop, so I dig in with my nails and scratch like a woman possessed.

  “Stop! Izzy!” Zane grabs my hands, pinning them to my arms. “If you keep scratching, more histamines will be released, which w
ill make you feel even itchier. Let me put some bug spray on you before you hurt yourself.”

  I scowl at him. “You have bug spray? Why didn’t you say that before?”

  With a sigh, he drops down on one knee to unzip his camera bag. “I haven’t had a chance with you dropping bombshells on me left and right, then jumping on my case about everything. Here,” he rises to his feet, shaking a can of Off. “Close your eyes and hold out your arms,” he instructs, and I obey because I’d do almost anything right now, even roll around in a pile of flamingo poop, if it would keep these nasty mosquitoes away from me.

  I hear the “ssssssss” sound of the aerosol can and feel a cold mist blanket my skin, which is heaven (if heaven has a stinky chemical odor).

  “Better?” Zane queries.

  I open my eyes and quickly scan my arms. “I don’t feel like I’m being chomped on anymore.”

  “Good. Let’s sit.” Zane takes my hand and tries to pull me down onto the bench alongside him, but I hesitate because I’m still miffed about the whole “huh” thing and now that the feelings conversation is upon us, I’m not really sure I want to go through with it.

  What if Z says we could never work as a couple and he thinks we should just stay friends? I can’t do that, not now that I know how good we are together. All this time I thought that friendship and passion were mutually exclusive, but our night together proved otherwise. And I want more of that. More of him. I wish I had some idea of how he felt before going any farther down this road . . . ugh! If all this uncertainty and angst is love, then I’m going on record to say that it sucks burro balls and I’m glad I avoided it up ‘til now.

  CHAPTER 39

  “Sit,” Z repeats the command in a firm voice.

  “Fine.” I join him on the bench, letting him keep my hand, but looking straight ahead rather than making eye contact.

  “Don’t let my muted reaction to the news about you calling off your engagement fool you,” he says. “On the inside, I was whooping it up like I won the Powerball. It’s just that I’ve been conditioned over the years to hide my real feelings from you.”

  This revelation is enough to make me swivel my head to the side and lock eyes with him. “And what feelings are those exactly?”

  Zane’s gaze drops to my hand, and he starts playing with the stacked ring set Topaz gave me as an early birthday gift. “Remember how you told me not to fall in love with you the first night we hung out together?”

  He glances up to gauge my response, which is a nod.

  “Well . . .” The corner of his mouth curves up into a sheepish half-smile. “I didn’t listen. I knew it was hopeless, but I couldn’t help myself. And the more time I spent with you, the harder I fell because you’re you, which is this amazing and irresistible combination of brains, beauty, and sass. Of course, I couldn’t share any of that with you because you were always so vocal about being averse to emotional attachments and monogamous relationships, so I repressed all my sappy, romantic feelings and told myself I was happy just being your friend, and to some extent that was true because I got a lot more of your time and affection than any of the guys you had flings with ever did. But then you flipped the script on me and got involved with Eduardo in what looked to be an actual relationship. And two seconds later, you were engaged, which I stupidly didn’t see coming. When you flashed that diamond ring in my face at Lique and announced you were marrying him, it was such a shock and so damn painful I completely shut down and that’s why I said, “Huh,” and acted like it didn’t bother me.”

  “I was so mad at you for not having a reaction,” I recall. “Then, I was mad at myself for caring what you thought. I wish you’d told me then how you felt.”

  He raises a dark eyebrow. “Would it have mattered? You were giddy with what I thought were your feelings for Eduardo, and you were already planning your glamorous, perks-filled life with him. I think a declaration of love from me at that point would have just freaked you out and made you distance yourself from me.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I admit, even though I’m not proud of it. “I was so intent on becoming Señora Sandoval back then, there’s nothing you could have said or done to dissuade me. It took a few months of living with the reality of what being a trophy wife meant before I started to doubt that I was cut out for that role. And you drove that point home the night of the storm when you called me out on how superficial and ultimately, unsatisfying, my relationship with Eduardo was.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I was getting through to you at all, but I felt like I had to try.”

  “And I fought you on it, even though I knew everything you were saying was true. I can be stubborn like that.”

  “You? Stubborn? Nah.” He chuckles and so do I.

  “You know,” I slide right up next to him so that our thighs are touching, “you could have just skipped all the talking and gone right to the sex since that was what convinced me you and I belong together. You made me feel something I never had before and that was an emotional connection to go along with the physical one.”

  Zane grins. “And they say Latin men are the best lovers. Score one for skinny, white guys.”

  “You’re not skinny. You’re lean.” I trail my fingers up his arm, then wrap them around his bicep, “with muscles in all the right places,” and give it a squeeze. “Eres el hombre más sexy que conozco,” I murmur the words just a hair’s breadth away from his lips.

  “It’s so hot when you speak Spanish,” he says, the gold in his eyes glinting like embers in a fire as he cups the side of my face in his hand and runs his thumb across my lips.

  He’s just about to kiss me when I realize there’s one thing we still haven’t cleared up and I pull back. “Why did you go out with that Orla chick?”

  Zane sighs and drags his hand through his hair. “You looked totally panicked the morning after we had sex and I didn’t want to make you regret it by putting demands on you, so I let you go, thinking if it was meant to be, you’d come back to me. It was a risk and I really had no way of knowing if it was going to work out the way I wanted it to, but I waited and I hoped. When you texted to see if I wanted to grab a froyo like our night together had never happened and it was just friendship as usual, I just . . . I don’t know, I thought, Screw this! I can’t spend the rest of my life pining over a woman who loves another guy’s money more than me. I met Orla at the Fall Fashion Fest that night. She was smart and pretty and she was into me—”

  “Hashtag hot photographer.” I stick my finger down my throat and pretend to gag.

  Zane chortles. “You stalked her Instagram account?”

  “I had to see who my competition was! And there you were, with your arm around her, looking like you were having the time of your life at that damn fashion show. I wanted to punch the two of you in your perfect, pale faces.”

  “Aw,” he smiles as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, “you were jealous.”

  “Yeah, and it wasn’t fun. I’ve never cared enough about a guy to feel possessive or territorial before. I had trouble sleeping the last few nights because every time I closed my eyes, I’d see you with British Barbie and she had her hands and lips all over you.” I shudder with revulsion as those images pop back into my head.

  “My date with Orla was more G-rated than a Disney movie. In fact, I spent most of the evening talking about you. Finally, Orla said, ‘Blimey, mate, what are you doing here with me when you’re clearly arse over tits in love with this Izzy girl? Stop being a wanker and go snog her face off!’”

  I guffaw. “That is the worst British accent ever! I do like the part about you snogging my face off, though.” I lean into him, moving my mouth ever so slowly toward his. I can feel his warm breath tickling my lips as my eyes drift shut and—

  There’s a ghastly screech that makes us both flinch.

  “Not you again.” I twist my head to the side and glower at the peacock standing a few feet away. “Can’t you see you’re interrupting a private moment?”<
br />
  Z’s brow furrows. “You know this bird?”

  I shrug. “We ran into each other earlier. I thought I ditched him, but he must have followed me.”

  My feathered friend unleashes another ear-piercing shriek.

  “Dude, what is your problem? You’re really ruining the mood here.”

  The bird’s tail feathers suddenly spread out behind him like a brightly-colored fan.

  Z busts out laughing. “Oh my gosh, this is too much. You’re being wooed by a peacock. First, the mating call, now the plumage display.”

  “What? Why? I’m not a bird. I am . . . a . . . human,” I tell the daft peacock, thumping myself on the chest when I say the last word.

  “Yeah, I think what you’re wearing,” his eyes drop to the ruffle-trimmed, cleavage-baring neckline of my silk mini, “has confused him. You do look like you could be a really hot peahen in that dress.”

  I glance down. Oh, crap, he’s right. The floral print of this dress is peacock-colored, with lots of vibrant blues and greens offset by swirls of black and white.

  “This bird really is gorgeous. I need to get some pictures while he’s focused on you.” Z lifts up the camera that’s still hanging around his neck, preparing to snap some shots, but I smack his hand.

  “You can’t take pictures! This bird is trying to steal your woman. Do something!”

  “What do you want me to do? Challenge him to a tail feather-off? In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have any of those.”

  The peacock stares at me with his beady, black eyes.

  “Use your camera flash on him.”

  “That’ll just scare him,” Z says as he unhooks the camera from its strap and sets it down beside him on the bench. “If I’m remembering this correctly, it’s up to the peahen to select her mate, so if you want to get rid of your avian admirer, you have to let him know you’ve picked someone else.”