Tinfoil Heart

by Daisy Prescott

  Boone slips his fingers between mine and I find myself returning his pressure.

  “Ready to be amazed?” he whispers close to my ear as we wait for the others ahead of us to leave.

  “As ever,” I put on my fake friendly voice. I kind of sound like an overly excited cartoon character. I may have overdone it.

  Like the elevator trip, what I see when I exit is not at all what I expect.

  Directly ahead of us is a snack bar with tables and chairs straight out of a 1960s sci-fi movie. Round kiosks with illuminated circular roofs look like spaceships. Vintage down to the plastic chairs and shiny stainless steel of the counter where you place your order.

  “What sort of trickery is this?” I ask, spinning around to take it all in. “Are we really underground?”

  The “walls” are smooth rock and I feel like I’ve been transported to an amusement ride at Disney World where nothing is real and all part of a giant fabrication for our entertainment.

  “Where are the Seven Dwarves? Is there a big theater with all the dead presidents around the corner? I’m so confused.” I stop spinning because it’s making me dizzy.

  A woman exits the restroom directly across from the elevators. “There are bathrooms? In a cave?”

  “You sound really excited about the bathroom.” His eyes crease in the corners as he laughs.

  “Be right back.” I race over to the entrance and wave at him before I check out the restroom.

  “I’m peeing underground,” I say out loud, thinking I’m alone in the stalls.

  “Me too,” a small voice shouts from my left, followed by giggles.

  Happy to share the moment with someone, I give the little girl a high five . . . after we thoroughly wash our hands.

  I spy Boone sitting at a table with his legs stretched out in front of him. When he sees me he stands. “Everything you dreamed?”

  “I’m not sure I’d survive living down here, but I’m feeling less panicked by the idea of being a few hundred feet underground than I thought I’d be.”

  “Who’s asking you to move into a cavern?” From the grin on his face, I clearly amuse him.

  “The whole place screams cold war bomb shelter of the future, only from seventy years ago.” I stare up at the dark rock of the natural ceiling overhead. “Or a super villain’s lair. This place has despicable Bond villain written all over it. Better yet, snack bar on the moon.”

  I finally end my rambling. I guess I’m still nervous.

  “Except for the gravity keeping us from floating away.” He smirks.

  “Buzzkill.” I pull the sleeves of my thin cotton shirt down over my fingers.

  “Cold?” he asks.

  “It’s not exactly cozy down here.”

  “That’s why I told you to dress warmly.” He brushes his hands up and down my arms to create heat.

  “I didn’t believe you.”

  He begins unbuttoning his chambray shirt. “It’s not a sweater, but another layer might help.”

  His nimble fingers slip the buttons out of their holes. The blue cotton falls open with his progress, revealing a white T-shirt underneath. Something about the faded denim and classic white tee make him fit in with the vintage decor. For a moment I can see him with his hair slicked back like one of the greasers in The Outsiders.

  “Here.” He hands me his shirt, which is still warm from his body heat.

  “I can’t. Won’t you be cold?” I’m already slipping the cloth over my shoulders, but it feels more polite to protest.

  “I’m always hot.”

  Understatement of the century. “Humble much?”

  He tugs his shirt closed across my chest, his fingers brushing a few inches above my breast. “Thanks for the compliment, but I meant temperature wise. I never get cold.”

  “Still braggy.” I roll the extra-long sleeves up to my wrists and button up. I’m not a thin, delicate boned woman, and still his shirt swallows me, hanging down to my mid-thigh.

  “And you’re adorable. Ready?” He gives me the softest peck, then rights himself and tucks his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans.

  I’m still leaning forward, waiting for more until I realize that’s all he’s going to give me. There must be a dark corner around here where we can make out. It’s a cave after all.

  “Bring on the stalactites. Or stalagmites.”

  He flashes me a sexy, slow smile. “I can promise you both.”

  With his hand resting on my shoulder, he steers me down a paved path toward a sign that reads, “Big Room.” A short walk down a dark tunnel brings us to the opening of a vast cavern, illuminated by white lights.

  I take back my comment about Boone’s “always hot” declaration being the understatement of the century.

  “This place is a cathedral.” Awe replaces my usual snark when we enter the enormous space lined with white limestone. “Only filled with penises of every length and girth imaginable.”

  Beside me, Boone chuckles.

  “Let’s pretend I kept the last part to myself and didn’t actually speak it out loud. Because that would be embarrassing, even for me.”

  I stand by the statement, though. Great white phalluses hang from the high, domed ceiling while others rise up from the cavern floor like stone erections. Pools of water reflect the illuminated sculptures.

  “This is the most bizarre place I’ve ever been,” I tell Boone, who I assume is behind me. He must not be paying attention, so I grab his hand.

  “Sure you don’t want to stay for the bats?” Boone appears on my other side.

  If he’s on my right, how am I holding his hand with my left? Slowly, I slide my eyes to the side and see a middle-aged man sporting a yellow golf shirt over his dad bod. Glancing down, I confirm our fingers are laced together.

  “Why are you holding hands with my husband?” a frazzled looking woman asks from beside the man.

  “Mistaken identity,” I apologize, releasing his hand and wiping mine on my jean-covered hip.

  Boone watches me, fighting laughter with a twist of his mouth.

  “Go on, let it out.” I give his arm a gentle shove.

  “I didn’t figure you for the cheating type, Lucy. And now that I know you’d rather hold a stranger’s hand than mine, my feelings are hurt.” He pushes out his bottom lip in a pout and gives me sad dog eyes.

  “I was talking to you and you weren’t answering me, so I grabbed your hand to get your attention. It wasn’t a romantic gesture.”

  “I hope not. That man’s wife seemed pretty pissed.” He snickers.

  “Har har.” I step around him to continue my exploration.

  He follows me for a few steps before slipping his hand around my wrist and then interlocking his fingers with mine.

  Afraid to ruin the moment, I don’t say anything. Neither does he. We stroll silently among the giant sculptures almost a thousand feet below the desert.

  This might not be my idea for a romantic date, and if this is romance to Boone, he’s truly weird, but either way, I’m happy.

  In this strange place, holding hands with him, I’m not thinking about the past or worried about the future. I’m content.

  Boone lures me outside to show me the natural cave opening. Families and couples are already claiming their bat viewing spots in the amphitheater carved into the hillside above the hole that leads to the bat cave.

  “This is more than adequate. Right here. Got the idea.” I dig in my heels and stop. “I can imagine the gaping maw spewing forth thousands of furry bloodsuckers.”

  A woman near me must overhear my description because her eyes bug out of her head and her mouth drops open. From her horrified expression, no one has explained the details of the event she’s attending. I feel sorry for her.

  “All good. Let’s go.” I use both the hand Boone is holding and my free one tugging on his arm to pull him away. “Sun’s getting low in the sky. Best be on the road soon.”

  I’m growing to like the way his eyes narrow
and his lips press together when I say or do something he finds funny in an odd, not ha-ha way. Like I’m a strange bird who suddenly appeared in his yard one day and he doesn’t know what to do with me.

  If he only knew how strange I am.

  He’d run for the hills. Or down into a cavern to live with his bat friends.

  For now, I amuse him. I’ll take this moment even if it’s all we get. There’s no promise of a future, not when he finds out my past.

  “I’ll make a deal with you.” He stands his ground. “If we leave now, we stop on the way home for the best chiles rellenos you’ll ever have.”

  “Feeling pretty confident about these chiles.” I scrunch up my face like I’m doubting him. I’m not. “What’s the other option?”

  “We stay for the bats.” He smirks at me. “Your choice.”

  He’s played me. So he thinks. Like going to dinner with him is a burden.

  “Twist my arm. Let’s go to dinner. Such a hardship.” I grin at him.

  We’re far down the road when the sun sets, but I swear I see a flock of bats in the dusky sky as we drive back toward Roswell. Or maybe they’re tiny black UFOs.

  Today’s one of those days when anything feels possible.

  ARTESIA SITS ABOUT halfway between the caverns and home. After turning off the highway and driving us away from the main drag, Boone parks the truck in front of a long, metal industrial building.

  “Is this the part where the news channel reports the last place I was seen?” I joke as we walk to the front door. At least I assume it’s the front door because there’s a faded banner hanging next to it. The name Las Chicas is barely visible on the sun-bleached vinyl.

  “You’ve got to learn to trust me.” He rests his hand on my lower back.

  If only he knew how impossible that request is for me.

  I should have “trust no one” tattooed on my forehead. A warning to others as well as a reminder to myself.

  Inside, Boone greets the woman at the hostess stand in rapid Spanish. I only pick up a few words, but smile and nod when he points to me. Colorful paper flowers and pompoms decorate the tables and walls in contrast to the nondescript exterior. Star-shaped lanterns hanging from the metal ceiling create a soft, dappled light in the large room. Most of the tables are filled with families and couples, who also greet Boone in Spanish.

  I doubt many tourists would make it past the door to this place, so I’m guessing they’re all locals.

  In fact, I spot Tony sitting at a large round table in the back. I wave when he sees me, not thinking of the company I’m with. He nods and grins, then not subtly at all, gives me a big thumbs-up.

  Work should be interesting next week.

  Lupe, as she introduced herself to me in English, brings over a plate of warm sopapillas and a squeezy bear of honey. The triangles of quick fry bread are my new favorite thing since moving to New Mexico.

  After saying thank you, I drizzle a piece with honey and take an enormous bite. Mumbling with my mouth full, I declare, “So much better than bats.”

  A sticky dollop of honey slides off the end of the triangle, landing on my wrist.

  Before I can reach for a napkin, Boone lifts my arm to his mouth. My eyelids peel back and my mouth hangs open when he gently sucks the honey from my skin with a soft, open mouth.

  When he looks up at me, lips still pressed to my wrist, his eyes are dilated with intensity.

  If lust has a look, Boone is mastering it right now.

  “Do they have food to go?” I ask, my voice husky and my pulse racing beneath Boone’s mouth. He must feel the rapid beat of my blood. All his talk of loving bats and caves and . . .”Wait, you’re not a vampire are you?”

  He lifts his head and stares. “Excuse me?”

  “You love bats and took me to a cave on our first official date,” I blurt out. Evidently all filters and rational thought have left my brain.

  “You’ve seen me eat food and be in full sunlight.” He doesn’t fight his laughter, letting his head fall back. “You’re not serious. Are you?”

  “You’re impossibly handsome and you were just kissing my wrist and giving me a look like you wanted to eat me.” My defense sounds crazy even to my own ears.

  “Lucy, what am I going to do with you?” He picks up a sopapilla and bites it with his average-sized canines.

  “Take me back to your bat lair and ravish me?” I suggest the classic end of a vampire’s seduction.

  “Once again, I’m failing at doing this dating thing in proper order. I took you to the bat lair after ravishing you in public, and in broad daylight, in case you forgot.” He stares at me like he could undress me solely with the power of his vision.

  I’m sure I’m blushing from the memory and can’t meet his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  Like I’ll ever not remember.

  “Me neither,” he whispers so low I barely hear him. “This is a proper date, in case you missed the clues. We’re going to have dinner first.”

  First.

  My heart stalls for a beat before a thrill flutters through my body, settling between my thighs.

  I am so doomed.

  I’m thinking about my underwear as we drive back to Roswell.

  Boone’s holding my hand and I’m trying to remember if I’m wearing cute panties.

  Off in the distance a storm illuminates a thundercloud with lightning. Above us stars sparkle.

  “I love how wide the sky is in New Mexico,” I say, distracting myself from trying to covertly check what’s going on in my pants.

  “Isn’t the sky the same everywhere? Same atmosphere, same planet?” he asks, glancing over at me. The dashboard lights cast him in a soft glow, which highlights the sharp angles of his face and the strong line of his jaw. He looks otherworldly.

  And I might be wearing regular, old Saturday underwear.

  “You haven’t been to upstate New York. If there’s a thunderstorm, the whole sky is gray. Not like here where there’s room for stars and storms simultaneously. I love driving and seeing the line of rain off in the distance.”

  “Do you miss home?” he asks

  Such a loaded question. “I miss my family.”

  The full truth, but not the whole story.

  “But not where you grew up?”

  “No. Too much snow and not enough excitement. My life felt like living in an old dream that belonged to someone else.”

  Taking his eyes off the road, he studies me for a minute. “That’s an interesting way to describe your childhood.”

  “How would you describe yours?” Defensive Arts 101: Ask the questions, don’t answer them.

  “Normal enough.” He laughs. “I wasn’t super popular. Wasn’t an outcast. Was in band. Played baseball had no illusions of going pro. Smart enough to go to college.”

  “Wow. You’re really boring,” I tease him because his description is almost as vague as mine. “You’re so Archie.”

  “Is that good or bad?” he asks, completely missing my reference.

  “Good guy. Almost too good.”

  “Hmm.” He rubs his knuckles along his jaw. “Don’t most women want the bad boy?”

  “We want the bad boy who’s good to us, which I think makes him the good guy in the end. I’m not really an expert.”

  We’re passing the South Park cemetery and I get distracted by the lights glowing among the grave sites.

  “Is it weird to love a graveyard?” I inquire, leaning forward to see around him.

  He doesn’t hesitate answering me. “Yes. Very.”

  “I love all the cheerful lights and the colorful, plastic flowers. Makes death feel less depressing. Too bad it’s closed for visitors at night.”

  “You know this how?” he asks, eyes wide.

  “I tried to go one evening at dusk. Got shooed away by some old guy locking the gates.”

  “You’re a little obsessed with the dead, you know?” He twists to press a quick kiss on my cheek because I’m basically leani
ng over his lap at this point. Seatbelt be damned.

  If anything, I’m obsessed with the undead or possibly dead, but I keep this to myself. I’ve shared enough weird for the day.

  “How so?” I sit back in my proper seat.

  “The whole vampire conversation earlier?”

  “More like the undead, if that’s your argument.” I tip my head because it’s the truth.

  “Touché.”

  We arrive at my little apartment complex and I show him where to park in the back in my never used guest spot. Wanda might recognize his truck if she’s peering through her kitchen curtains, but I’m hoping she’s out or asleep.

  “You want to come in?” I ask, realizing I assumed he would. Hence the underwear thoughts earlier.

  “Are you inviting me to your lair?” He leans close enough I feel his breath against my lips.

  Instead of answering him with words, I kiss him.

  He unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts closer to me, sliding his arm between me and the seat to pull me against him. All the while, sweeping his tongue against mine and dominating my mouth with his. His large hand cups my cheek, angling my head to his liking.

  The ghosts of my teenage hormones flair back to life and I try to curl around him, needing friction, more kissing, and less air between us. I attempt this while still strapped into my seat.

  Breathless, frustrated, and trapped, I pause mid kiss. “Not to be too forward, but I have an apartment right over there that’s slightly larger than this truck.”

  He clicks the button to release me from my bondage. “I can’t promise to behave outside of the confines of this cab.”

  I have my door open and I’m outside before he decides to be a gentleman. “I want the thunderstorm Boone, not a version who gives me a peck on the cheek at my door.”

  He follows me to my door and I’m so nervous I forget how to unlock it. I press my key fob at the handle and click.

  “Here, let me.” He inserts the key in the lock and twists to open the door.

  “Right. Tab A goes inside Slot B. Got it.” It’s been so long since I’ve had sex, I needed a basic reminder.

  Boone looks like a giant inside of the small space. My cool antique love seat looks like a couch for little kids next to him. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back. Read a book. Or grab a drink. Glasses in the cupboard. Beverages in the fridge. There’s water in the faucet.”