Here to Stay

by Adriana Herrera

  Well, that was different. “That’s awesome. Honestly, that’s part of why I love Sturm’s. It’s been nice to work for a nonprofit that really looks after the employees. They’re sort of militant about self-care.”

  We got into another one of the stare-offs that seemed to be our main form of communication. I wanted to ask him, just straight out, what was going through his head when he looked at me like that. It wasn’t even flirty or suggestive; he looked at me like I was code he just couldn’t crack.

  The feeling was mutual. And also not the smartest headspace to be in. He was hot, yes. The thought of getting to see that tattoo live and in person definitely made me salivate, but I was not going there.

  Resist. I had to resist. I gestured toward the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  He stopped short at my words and I realized they might’ve sounded a little more suggestive then I intended. What resulted was Rocco Quinn’s most lethal weapon yet: an unguarded smile. I wondered what it would be like to have that smile be only mine. That the ones everyone else got were just a shadow compared to with Rocco Quinn’s “Julia” smile.

  And why did I need to go there always? To the place where I fantasized about being someone’s one and only. That’s the bullshit that kept me tied to Matt for so long. I didn’t need some man’s besotted gaze to make me happy. I was the shit without all that.

  “How about that drink? What’s your poison?” Why the hell was I being so damn loud and talking like a character in a noir film?

  He must’ve seen something in my face that wiped the smile off his. I wasn’t going to feel bad. This was for the best.

  “Sure. If you’re buying.”

  Yeah, the lightness from before was gone. So I, of course, doubled down on acting like a lunatic.

  “Open bar is the best bar.” I was yelling now.

  Someone save my ass from myself.

  This time Rocco’s lips tipped up, and I couldn’t blame him. If I was him I’d be laughing at me too.

  I walked over to the bartender, who, judging from the way he was looking at me, also thought I was not right in the head. “Hook me up, dude,” I said, pointing at the knob with the beer I wanted.

  “Do I need to card you?”

  Oh? Was that a bit of flirting I detected from the bartender? Now that I looked closely, he was seriously hot.

  This was the distraction I needed. I wasn’t looking for a man, but I could certainly play a little. A bit of flirtatious banter with Mr. Hottie Mixologist would at least temporarily take my mind off Rocco. I propped myself on a stool, ready to engage. “If you insist.” I reached into my clutch to fish out my ID when Rocco came up beside me.

  “She’s of age.”

  Someone sounded cranky.

  “Chill out, Rocco, he was just playing.” He didn’t look angry, but he didn’t look happy either. For a moment he closed his eyes and took a deep breath and I saw the tension drain out of his body. An amateur wouldn’t have noticed. But someone had taught Rocco how to manage himself, and from the look of it, what he needed to manage was the bartender getting flirty with me.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I lifted my hand and squeezed his shoulder. He startled, but then he froze as if trying to keep me there.

  “No worries. Ever since I turned thirty last year, I love getting carded.”

  I winked at the bartender, who slid a pint of the cloudy cold beer toward me.

  But I kept my attention on Rocco, my hand still tightened around him. I wasn’t sure who was grounding who at the moment.

  “Don’t you want one?” I asked, holding up the frosty glass to him.

  He shook his head. “Nah, I’m driving. You can buy me an iced tea, unsweetened.” That last part was more for the bartender. Rocco had expressed on multiple occasions how much he hated sweet tea. The look on his face, like he was personally offended by the fact that people put sugar in their tea, cracked me up. I was still chuckling when he went in for another full attack on my senses. He leaned closer and ran a finger on the side of my frosty glass. “It looks good though.”

  Our arms didn’t actually touch, but the closeness of our bare arms sent tremors up and down my spine. I took a gulp of my beer, just to have something to do, and because I seemed hell-bent into turning this as awkward as possible. I offered him my glass. “It’s really cold. Here, have a sip.”

  Why was it so hard for me to keep things cordial with Rocco?

  “I could use a taste.”

  Wow, that sounded so filthy, and I took full responsibility for putting us on the path of filth.

  I swallowed hard and loosened my fingers to pass him the glass. His big hands gripped it, but his eyes were not on the beer. They were on me.

  As mine were on him.

  I felt a pulse in my nether regions that was entirely inappropriate for the time and the venue...and the man. I held my breath as he brought the glass to his lips and drank deeply, eyes closed. When he passed it back to me, he licked his lips and I swear I almost choked on my own tongue.

  “That’s good beer.”

  I made a sound that could’ve been a yes, but mostly I was trying hard to not let him see I was practically panting.

  For a second I panicked and thought we were putting on a show for the bartender, but he’d slipped away to put some more food on the table. Or maybe he was just giving us some space so we could eye-fuck each other in peace.

  Rocco leaned into me as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip and I could swear I felt it on my nipple.

  What was that sound? Oh, that was just me heavy breathing.

  I was going to kiss him. Screw this, I was a grown-ass woman and I did what I fucking wanted, and I just needed to know what those lips felt like. That’s right, it was just research. I would kiss him and then I’d know and I could move on from this fixation. It was worth a try. I leaned forward, my eyes zeroed in on those perfect lips.

  Just as I was disbanding all my plans to not let this man disband my life, a slam of the door saved me from myself, and startled me so bad I fell off the stool.

  Rocco, bless him, did not laugh at me as he pulled me up. Thankfully my humiliation was obscured by José’s hollering.

  “We’re here! Dani’s the DD, so where’s the free liquor?”

  “Are you okay, Julia?” That was Salome, who sounded not so much concerned as trying hard not to laugh at me.

  I raised my hand in the air like a jackass. “I’m good.”

  The spell broke as the tension from the last few minutes fizzled out, and thank Desus & Mero that my face does not blush, because Rocco actually winked at me before his long limbs swallowed up the space from the bar to the door as he went to meet the rest of our friends.

  “Welcome, we were wondering what was taking you so long.”

  I knew I was reading too much into the last five minutes, but that “we” sounded like a thing. And no matter how much my treacherous privates were clamoring for “things,” I had to stay strong.

  I walked over to José, who was now cooing over the buffet table and taking photos with his phone. I pinched his shoulder and pointed at my cheek, asking for a kiss hello.

  “Y que, Nena? You didn’t fall on your cute ass fast enough for me not to see you were getting up close and personal with Mr. Quinn. Mmmm.” He literally moaned. “Not that I blame you. He looks good in a suit, but those jeans are something else.” He pointed a very not casual finger at Rocco—who was now in one of the dozen huge leather seats chatting with Dani and Salome.

  I lifted a shoulder and passed him a plate. Getting him distracted with free food was the only weapon I had. “Here. This looks good, right?”

  José started putting stuff on his plate. “Uh-huh, amazing, chicken wings and baby carrots,” he said distractedly, as he piled stuff on his plate and gestured in Rocco’s direction again. “What was happening
with you two when we walked in? It looked intense.” His stage whisper was not low at all, because why not have my life out for public consumption?

  I avoided looking at José and kept putting shit on my own plate as I compulsively looked over at the man in question. He seemed to be focused on whatever he was reading on his phone though.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Looking fine is what he is doing.”

  I ignored José and kept staring at him like a creep. After a moment, he put his phone down, and stretched to grab the bottle of water on the table in front of the huge leather recliners that overlooked the field. I could see the top of his tattoo peeking out from his tee and I legit shuddered.

  * * *

  “Damn, friend, now I really want to know what you two were up to. It may have been a while since the lure of the dick had me addled and confused, but I can still recognize the symptoms.”

  I rolled my eyes at José munching on a tortilla chip hard enough to dislocate something. “Nothing happened.”

  José’s mouth twisted to the side. He, of course, was not buying it. “Gurl, who are you trying to fool? But fine, suit yourself. I’m just going to say this—he’s been sending you the same looks you’re giving him. Neither of you are very good at being coy.”

  I laughed at that as we both grabbed our plates and headed to the bar. “Gee, thanks.” It occurred to me that Tariq was still not here, and he was supposed to arrive with José.

  “Where’s Tariq?” Just as I asked the question, the man himself came through the door.

  “Hey, guys.” I couldn’t blame José for looking a little peaked—that boy’s smile was a force of nature. He came in and kissed and hugged his way through the group and then zeroed in on his biggest fan. As per usual, José’s attention fell solely on the new arrival, and I was free from further interrogation. I was not the only one who was getting distracted with a fellow member of the GEC.

  As José helped Tariq get some food and drinks, I walked over to where Salome, Dani, and Rocco were sitting.

  Salome winked at me as Dani inspected my plate.

  “Looks like there’s stuff for me to eat. At least I won’t starve since José tricked me into being DD today.” I laughed at Dani’s aggravated tone and nodded.

  “Yeah, there are lots of veggie-friendly choices.”

  “I’ll go look too,” Salome piped in and soon those two were off, which left Rocco and me on our own again.

  Rocco leaned in to inspect my plate too and I got another whiff of him. He smelled earthy and little bit like an essential oil of some kind. I was not going to press my nose to his neck to figure it out though.

  “What’d you get?” Why did him asking me about ranch dressing and seven-layer dip sound pornographic?

  I was too flustered to respond with something appropriate, so I did what any sane person would do in an emergency situation. I stuffed my mouth with chicken and pressed a celery stick to his mouth.

  * * *

  The game was about halfway in and I’d finally managed to get my shit together after what had been a very close call. Rocco was sitting a couple of seats away and I was next to José and Salome, who were both intensely rehashing the ongoing season of Drag Race and not even trying to look like they were watching the game.

  I loved baseball and being in a fancy ballpark suite was sort of a wish come true, but I couldn’t focus. I kept looking over at Rocco, who was now turned to the side, so his back was to me and I could clearly see the edge of his tattoo. I wanted to see that tattoo bad. I wanted to touch him even worse.

  “Damn, you got it bad for that gringo, girl.” Salome’s amused whisper snapped me out of what was obviously not very discreet staring.

  “He’s only like two seats away. He can hear you.” She just shook her head and sipped from her glass of wine. “What’s going on with you anyways?” I needed a distraction and focusing on Salome was the way to go.

  She’d shorn off most of her hair last week and just left a mop of curls on top, which were swept to one side. With her tattoos and light hazel eyes, she looked striking. She was tall and very slim, and if she hadn’t gone the academic route, she could’ve been a runway model.

  I looked over at Rocco, who was still watching the game and chatting with Tariq and Dani, and turned to Salome. “Seriously, girl, how’s work?”

  José perked up then. I’d heard him giving her some advice earlier about handling her coworkers. She lifted a shoulder and put down her glass.

  “Eh, que te digo? My department is all older white dudes and me. They’re nice, don’t get me wrong, but they’re clueless and it’s annoying.” Her tone was neutral but her expression serious, and I wondered what she was putting up with. “Well, they’re not all nice, but most are. It’s just hard.” She waved her hand then, as if conceding a point. “Not that I didn’t know that would happen. Applied economics is a man’s world, and honestly landing a tenure-track position that was willing to sponsor my work visa is nothing to be mad about.”

  I nodded, remembering all her family was still in the DR. I wondered how that was for her. To me the island had always been a little mysterious. We’d gone to visit my mother’s family often enough, especially before my grandmother made the permanent move to the States. It was wild that Salome had actually grown up there.

  “Are you going back to the DR for the holidays?”

  She nodded and a reluctant smile spread across her lips. “Yes, I’m going for Christmas, but my mom and sister are flying to LA for Thanksgiving. I’m meeting them there. The LACMA has this big exhibit on Latinx Queer History I’ve been wanting to go to and they’re going to come with me.”

  It always made me smile when Salome talked about how great and accepting her fam was. “That sounds fun! How about you, José?”

  José’s eyes went a little cloudy and I remembered talking about home was still hard for him.

  “I’m going to Santa Fe with my in-laws for Thanksgiving. They’re retired now, and moved to Phoenix a couple of years ago. So I’m flying there and then we’ll drive together to New Mexico.”

  He was still very much in the grieving process. I tended to get all “therapist-like” on the people I cared about, as Alba liked to point out, so I tried to keep it casual now and not get into José’s business.

  “It’s nice that you’re so close to them. Are you seeing them for Christmas too?” He shook his head and a small hopeful smile appeared on his face. “No. Tariq invited me to spend it with his family. They’re coming here to escape the cold—well, at least the ‘colder.’ Apparently, there will be Honduran tamales and sopa de caracol. Not missing that!”

  I moaned at the mention of the delish seafood soup. “Oh man, that sounds yum.” I turned around to where Tariq, Dani, and Rocco were sitting, and before I gave it too much thought I was asking for information I was better off not having. “How about you guys? Any plans for Thanksgiving? Also, Tariq, I want some tamales.”

  I got a thumbs-up from the Honduran hottie since he had his mouth full of wings. Dani smiled wide, his booming voice filling up the room. “Going to see my folks in NYC. I also have some gigs for appearances at clubs.” He grinned and rubbed his thumbs and index fingers together. “Gotta make that schmoney.”

  We all laughed at that. Dani was always making money moves.

  Tariq spoke next after getting down the impressive amount of chicken he’d stuffed in his mouth. “Going to Houston. One of my aunties settled there, so Moms and I are going down to see her.” Tariq was such a family guy, and the way José looked at him every time he mentioned his “Moms,” it was only a matter of time before those two got up to something.

  Rocco, on the other hand, was not forthcoming with an answer and I noticed he seemed embarrassed. His face had that same shuttered expression he’d worn at the bar that first night. I was about to rescue him, feeling guilty for whatever u
npleasant situation I brought up for him, but—before I dove into the deep end of the dysfunctional waters I so loved to tread in—he spoke up.

  “I’m staying in town. I usually chill on Thanksgiving, get a bunch of food the day before, go to the gym, and just watch football.” He smiled wide, like that was the best plan ever, but I could see the bleakness in his eyes, and goddammit, this was not my problem.

  And yet once again, the word vomit happened.

  “I’ll be in town too. It’s too much to go home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, so I’ll be around if you want to hang out.”

  Oh my God. What the fuck?

  “I mean, not that you have to. I’m not really into football so—”

  Help me. Someone please, save me from myself.

  Someone up there must’ve been in the mood to do me a solid. Because just as I was tripping all over my word mess, and had all the exiles looking at me like I’d lost it, the door slammed open and a whirlwind of primary colors and very expensive perfume broke into the suite.

  “Rocco, darling.”

  Two women who looked to be in their fifties barreled into the room and took turns giving Rocco—who stood up as soon as he saw them—double kisses. It took me a moment to realize they were “the Twins,” Mitzy and Muffy Sturm.

  Those two were something else. I’d only met them once before when I presented the new program to the executive board, and there was nowhere near this level of closeness. The two were fans of Rocco’s, that was for sure. After a long round of air kisses and hugs, they finally looked around the room. Between them they were wearing a dozen shades of red.

  “Mitzy, look who’s here!” They were very hard to tell apart, but thankfully they had different hairstyles. Muffy, the one who was headed our way, had her silver hair very short, almost a crew cut. That, paired with burgundy skinny jeans and a fire-engine-red linen shirt she’d French-tucked to show off a rose-gold Hermes belt, was a whole fucking look.