At first, she’s caught off guard. Stiff as a wax museum exhibit. Within seconds, I feel Kitty surrender and relax in my embrace. Her lips part, allowing my tongue to rush in, search freely.
Old times.
I sigh into her mouth. Knowing how to love her comes back so quickly. Her hair is softer than I remembered. My favorite lavender scent washes over me.
She clutches the front sides of my leather jacket, pulling me closer. Releasing my grip on her waist, I reach up for my phone and turn off the light, in case there are cracks.
The utility room door slams open. We pull apart just as the overhead light explodes on, showering numerous slim luminous parcels through slats in the old wood. Kitty’s fingers tremble. Her heartbeat is loud enough for me to hear.
Distract her again. I can't have her breaking down. Our kiss might have ended, but my mouth jumps back into action by raining smaller ones along her jaw and down the side of her neck. That used to drive her wild.
It works.
Gaining momentum, I demand her full attention. Changing direction, I backtrack and trace the shape of her face before racing to her ear. Another slight gasp escapes her, and she shudders in my arms. “This building was once a party hall. These spaces were created during Prohibition,” I whisper hoarsely. “To hide illegal hooch.”
“Clear!” One of the Clings yells.
Her hands remain clutching my jacket. “Still a history buff, Dev?” She whispers back. “I always said you were an old soul in a young body. Old buildings, antique cars. Frank Sinatra and Clark Kent movies. Nerd.”
“Clark Gable, the actor. Not the superhero.”
We play a dangerous game. She’s aware of her effect on me. I know how wet my kisses make her. Kitty and I had our problems, none when it came to our chemistry and pleasing one another. We were always content to communicate with our bodies.
She tries to take a step back, but I refuse to let go. Tucking her head into the crook of my neck, I say, “Let's wait awhile.” The loud sirens mean the cops are outside.
Kitty sags against me, quiet, her wild heartbeat settling. Unlike my body. It's entirely on fire. She shifts, hugging my waist. The movement drags her chest against mine, where my jacket opens. I feel her hardened nipples through my shirt. I gulp.
“When we get out of here, want to go for coffee?” Say yes. I miss you, Kitty.
“Police! Anyone in here? Anyone hurt?” A man yells from a distance.
I kiss her forehead. “Cops are here.” I quickly open the door, and we climb out, blinking at the brightness. We're disheveled. Dust and shredded cobweb pieces have settled on our clothes. Kitty carries her things as we enter the room at the same time an officer puts on the light.
“You two okay?” Concerned eyes take us in.
I nod. “Yes, sir. We hid when the shooting began.” Kitty steps up beside me. I note the way she trembles. So does the officer.
“Looks like a drug deal gone sour. Mind giving us a report, and then you can be on your way?” he asks.
Do I want to get involved? Give names? Like my dad, I don't want to be known as a snitch. “I didn't see anyone. I was here to pick up someone, who had already left. Ms. Garcia is an instructor.”
She nods. Her lipstick is smeared. The cop observes her face and then mine. His gaze lingers on the side of my mouth. “You two know each other?”
“Yes, sir,” Kitty answers. “We dated in high school.”
The cop smirks. “You might want to wipe the lipstick off your face before you leave, son.”
Kitty blushes, reaching over to brush a spot on my cheek.
“My partner will take your information before you leave.” He motions downstairs. “Have a good night.”
We soon follow. Kitty turns out the light. The cop makes his way around the rest of the second floor. After we give our names and contact information to Officer Arroyo, we enter the lobby. The row of lights from the two police cars out front paint disjointed lines through the glass windows. I pause to swipe dust off Kitty’s head and cardigan. Then I loosen her grasp on the coat, take it, and like a parent with a child, I slip it on her. One arm at a time.
Her shoulders now stoop, giving her a defeated look. After she yanks the Santa hat off and goes to jam it inside her tote, I stop her and replace it. “Don't let this get you down. We live in the city. Sometimes things happen.”
I button her up. She watches me with a strange, detached look on her face. “Did I tell you you’re beautiful whenever we went out, Kitty? I hope I did. It’s true. Bus or car?"
She moistens her lips, and I watch for too long. I don't want to leave. “My car is parked by the reservoir.”
Jutting out my bent arm, I wait for her to slip hers in before we head up W. 231st Street. Night dyes the urban landscape in a deep blue. Christmas lights blink from some windows as we walk in silence. Kitty used to live down this street, right on Sedgwick Avenue. After her parents died, she moved in with her grandmother who lived in Riverdale. I haven’t seen her since I left.
Being beside her stirs up old feelings, and I realize that when I'm with her, the hole I carry around inside feels filled. But she can do better than me. I know that.
Our shoes smack down on the cement sidewalk. I keep my eyes open. A handful of people hurry on their way. Across the street at a corner park, the few streetlights there illuminate the space. The cold air keeps many inside their homes.
We cross, and she steers me to the right of the intersection, towards Reservoir Avenue and Washington's Walk. Beside a scuffed up white Kia, she stops and digs inside her bag for keys. She finds them, and before she can press the fob to open the doors, they fall. Her hands shake.
“Kitty, let me drive you home. Or we can go for coffee. You're still scared,” I say softly.
The look she lobs my way glues my broken heart back together. Something I might mistake for affection clouds those beautiful eyes of hers. “Thanks. You know my Abuela will insist you stay for dinner.”
“I can deal with that.” I open her passenger door. Once she’s situated, I settle behind the wheel and start the engine. Heat soon soars through the vents.
Kitty takes my hand. “I know what you did back there—the kiss and everything else—it was to distract me. It worked. Thank you.” Her tone is soft but carries an edge.
“No biggie,” I say, playing along. She releases me. “I help out my friends. Ready?”
“Yeah. I'm just letting you know it won't happen again.” Her tone chills the air.
What do I respond to that?
Remembering her grandmother’s address, I click on the signal and check the area before making a U-turn onto Sedgwick Avenue. The kiss might not have meant anything to her. It did to me. Still, I hurt her, and don't need to make her miserable or dredge up the past. I earned that smackdown.
My brain thinks correctly, and yet, my stupid heart yells, insistent that the woman she’s become is worth fighting for, is worth showing her that I have changed.
First, I need her forgiveness.
If I have any chance with her, this dinner will tell me. Despite the frigid temps, sweat forms along the back of my neck. Her family never liked me. A prayer leaves my lips; let me make it out of Abuela’s house in one piece.
2
Catalina
My cousin Dulce rushes into the dining room, late as usual. I’ve already set the table and brought out the platters of food. Abuela is used to family dropping by unannounced and always prepares extra. Dulce takes her usual place across from me and puts her phone down beside her before adjusting a napkin across her lap. Her brown curls bounce as she glances at Abuela. Then her eyes backpedal and land on the person seated to my right.
I almost choke on my laugh. Dulce’s mouth drops open. That sums up my reaction when I saw him today.
Devlin Fitzgerald is back. Not only did he enter my life again, but he also had to act like a knight in shining armor who comes to the aid of a desperate damsel. How? With a kiss that made me change
my panties as soon as I got home. Mierda.
Dinner becomes a tennis match and I’m a spectator. Dulce’s perfectly shaped brows dip as she first studies our guest and me. Back and forth. Back and forth. Her gaze volleys between us as she waits for an explanation or reason why my ex-boyfriend has joined us for dinner.
My lips are sealed. Thinking about lips brings back…
That kiss.
Tan caliente, not that now is the time to talk about anything hot.
There were freaking gunshots being fired, and when his mouth claimed mine….
Let’s say my lips haven’t recovered yet.
Adjusting my utensils, I sneak a peek across the table. Now her eyebrows wiggle like one of the Marx Brothers. Papi loved to watch their silly movies. So many unspoken words are conveyed with every rise and fall of her brows. She moved back in earlier this month to focus on her upcoming New Year’s Eve wedding. Her own family’s house is overflowing with people. Here, it’s peaceful with just me and my grandmother.
Mi abuela wipes her hands across her apron and sits down at the head of the table. Her eyes soften when she regards the empty chair at the other end. Abuelo sat there. It’s time for her nightly ritual. The shot glass at his place setting is already filled with Palo Viejo, his favorite white rum from Puerto Rico. Now she grasps the bottle and fills her own glass.
The aroma of the food tantalizes. Dev shifts, patiently waiting to eat.
Damn him! Did he forget how he broke my heart and stomped it into dust? He never even apologized for standing me up on prom night, or for disappearing off the face of the earth. The hours I cried, worried he was dead somewhere. No one knew where he was. He didn't show up at school. Never replied to my texts or returned my calls. His family supposedly hadn't seen him. Soon after I lost my parents and moved in here. Those months were my darkest times.
“Te extraño, mi amor,” Abuela says before she downs her shot. It's my turn. I take his glass, salute his memory, and force the liquid down. It burns. The heat causes me to tear up.
I never heard from Dev. My boyfriend. He tossed everyone aside like basura. What we had wasn’t worthless garbage. The hours we spent together meant something to me. A true love. Something like what my parents shared. Something special.
“Hola. Welcome back, Devlin Fitzgerald. Thank you for bringing Catalina home safe.” She puts down her glass and lobs one of her significant soul-searching looks at him—the kind where the one on the receiving end feels her intelligent brown eyes pierce their own, soaring deep down into their soul. Then she peers at me.
Me? ¿Porqué? I don't need her to analyze me. She only relents after I lazily raise my left eyebrow at her.
The women in mi familia think they’re all mind readers.
The corner of Abuela’s mouth quirks up before her gaze settles back on Devlin.
Dinner and stress. A great combo, especially after the excitement at the center. I swear something passes between them. The pinky finger of his left hand, the one closest to me, jerks a couple of times before he tucks it under his palm.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Ramos. I didn’t want her driving home alone.” His firm voice is reverential. Family was important to both of us.
Why had he disappeared?
With my family to lean on and in time, the pain became bearable. I carried on and tried to forget him. I told myself he didn’t matter.
Until today. When he walked into my classroom. Then I saw that hair. Those eyes. Heard his voice. Witnessed the boy of my dreams come to pick up someone and not say a word about where he’d been.
Damn him.
Dulce purses her lips, sliding her view in my direction before she picks up the bowl of yellow rice and gandules to serve herself. Abuela must’ve warned her not to bring up the shooting. Good. I don’t want to rehash that.
Abuela hands Dev the platter of fried chicken. Once my plate has a little of everything, I strip the skin off the thigh. My mouth waters at the memory of the crunchy texture and pockets of flavor. All excess calories my hips don’t need.
Devlin catches my scrutiny of the fowl and frowns, but says nothing.
Ha! Now he’s quiet. Once he acted like he cared. Said the right things. Acted the part. Was it all a lie? How I’d like to reach over and shake a few answers from that mouth.
There I go thinking about his mouth. On mine. No matter how good looking he is or how he makes my girly parts melt, I am not letting him back into my life. Never again.
My cousin promptly reaches over and grabs my discarded skin. She pops the entire piece into her mouth and slowly chews. Skinny since birth, she’s never had to deal with rude remarks, constant scale watching or wear a girdle, or. “Show-off.” I roll my eyes.
She smiles. Forever cute as a pixie, she knows it.
“Ay Dios, Dulce,” Abuela says, sipping her glass of Malta. “How are the plans for the shower going? Finished?"
Nodding, Dulce scoops up a spoonful of black beans. “Um, no.” Swallowing, she dabs a napkin across her glossy lips. “We have a huge problem and we need to take care of it. Now.”
All eyes peer at her as we hang in suspended animation like a bad meme.
She cocks her head. “The solution to the problem involves you, Fitz.”
Devlin reaches for his water goblet; his fingers freeze mid-air. “Me?”
“Mija, spit it out already,” Abuela snaps.
Impatience tempers my voice. “C’mon, Dulce, tell us what’s going on.”
Loving her moment as the center of our attention, she sits back and steeples her silver acrylic nails adorned with Christmas trees. “Since they’ve called hospice in, Sal’s staying with his mom in Georgia indefinitely. He told me Devlin would help us out.”
Abuela crosses herself. “Ay Dios, I'll light a candle for Mrs. Ramirez tomorrow at mass. Pobrecita. Cancer doesn't care who it ruins.”
Rice and beans suddenly get stuck on their way down my throat. How could I forget? Sal’s the best man. I’m maid of honor. This sudden change means….
Oh, hell no. I chug my water. My cousin won’t do it.
Mierda. Unfortunately, Dulce is not only a master at reading my face, she's fast on the uptake. She extends a hand across the table as if pleading with Devlin to join hands in some dramatic help-me-I’m-drowning-save-me ploy, while she utilizes her triple threat arsenal: the doe-eyes, complete with threatening tears; mouth in an exaggerated pout; and her saddest-sounding voice. “Devlin, you can fill in for Sal, right? I mean, at this late date, how can we ever find someone else to take his place?”
She’s good.
We witness the internal battle going on inside Devlin's head. His eyes widen and his mouth opens to suck in air, while his hands roll up like the Wicked Witch of the East's legs did after she lost her ruby slippers. I loved those shoes.
Then Dulce goes in for the final hit. Using her breathless speed-talk so many Latina women love to use whenever and on whomever, she launches with, "I mean, you won't leave us hanging, will you? We can't change anything now. My baby Dwight only has three week's leave. I've jammed everything we need to do in that time frame. Shower, wedding, honeymoon, and moving. Besides, you and Sal are pretty much the same size. He's paid for his tux. You already know Catie. She’s my maid of honor. Would you mind working with Catie to finalize the plans for our couple's shower? Just a few more things to do. That's all. Please, Dev…."
Crickets.
Everyone stares at him. No pressure. His throat wobbles like a bobber when the fishing line gets a nibble. All he needs to do is say “yes.” He hesitates.
My heart wants me to reassure him everything will work out. Since that beating organ in my chest is fully healed, it forgets the days I spent on the sofa with my best friends, Pepsi and Pringles, and the nights I wasted tossing in bed, afraid I’d never see him again.
I. Will. Not. He didn't care. I must remain unrelenting and utilize my superhero strength not to give in to the temptation beside me.
De
v shifts in my direction, eyebrows furrowed. Is he asking my opinion or for my permission?
When I glance over at Dulce, the Avengers-created wall I'd been erecting around me sways. She has a point. With her fiancé in the Navy, they're stuck with a tight timeframe to do everything they want to. Who am I to toss any wrench into the fray? Besides, she’s family.
My parents didn’t raise me that way. I nod, then quickly shrug it off.
A small smile spreads across his face, displaying a hint of his dimples. “Sure.” He resumes eating.
Abuela claps her hands. My cousin beams, sitting back. “Okay! The shower is this weekend. The wedding is New Year's Eve. Sal said he'd text you the info.” With that, she proceeds to stuff her face. I'm the overweight one, and she eats double my portion. That's so unfair.
Devlin begins to cough but sounds stuffed up. When I check, his cheeks are bright red. Dios, is he choking? “Did an olive get stuck or some pigeon peas?” Without thinking, I jump up and whack him on the back. Once. Twice. And again.
I’ll be honest, pounding him feels good. A new way to burn calories.
As I’m going for the fifth time, Abuela yells out, “Catalina! !Détente! He’s okay.”
Always respectful of this wise elder, I stop. Her words are the pin in my balloon. All the air fizzles out, and I drop down into my seat. When I reach for my fork, my hand trembles. I hide it on my lap and grab my water goblet with my left. I feel him watching me. I also know my cheeks are flaming pink. I feel their heat.
If I were a balloon, I'd look for the nearest open window to fly away.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “For still caring.”
Something below (cough*girly parts*cough) stirs. I slam my thighs together.
Thankfully, Dulce busies herself by slicing her chicken, and Abuela chooses some fried plantains from a platter. In a few minutes, my racing heart returns to the stable after the sprint where I lost my cool by beating on my ex. I pick at my plate. My appetite has gone on vacation.
Covet the Curves: a Romance Collections Anthology Page 30