Love in the Lineup

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  “My father doesn’t need your company.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s what friends do for each other.”

  “You are not his friend.”

  “How would you know? I doubt you’ve ever had a friend.”

  “I don’t need them.”

  “It wouldn’t be ladylike for me to tell you what you do need,” Roshawn said, taking a step closer to him as she threw up her hands. “But what the heck. You need to pull that stick out of your tight—”

  Israel cut her off in midsentence. “Enough. Both of you,” he said, his tone scolding.

  Angel looked toward his father, then returned his gaze to Roshawn. He didn’t say anything, his jaw locked tight with rage.

  Roshawn bristled with her own anger.

  “This is all your fault,” Angel suddenly hissed at her. “You have done this. You have made me crazy!” Spinning on his heels, Angel stormed out of the building, leaving Roshawn and Israel both standing with their mouths wide open.

  * * *

  Angel had tossed and turned most of the night, sleep eluding him. He had watched shadows dance against the ceiling and the walls, infrequent flickers of light and dark skating around the room. As a little boy he had been afraid of the dark, crying out for his father when he thought the scary shadows were close to catching him in his bed. Comfort had always been as close as he either wanted or needed it to be. Last night what he had wanted he couldn’t have. Frustration was walking a tightrope across his shoulders, his brow, and his chest, pulling tension through every nerve and tendon in his body.

  He had listened to his father lecture him for hours, the words running one into the other as he had tuned the discourse on his bad behavior out of his mind. The monologue had run in one ear and out the other, lost behind the hurt and anger that had consumed him wholeheartedly. And it was her fault. He had no one else to blame but Roshawn. Before she had come insinuating herself into their lives, all had been well. She’d been there barely a minute and suddenly he was completely out of control. Who else did he have to blame? What else could explain his predicament?

  Leaning up on his elbow he reached for his wristwatch on the nightstand. It was almost six-thirty and he needed to get ready for practice. He was grateful that there was no game. He couldn’t have endured another devastation like the one he’d experienced yesterday. No one could understand what losing that game had done to him. Angel Rios had never let his team down. Angel Rios had never before allowed anyone or anything to breach his concentration. He was the man they could always count on. Always delivering when he was needed the most. And yesterday, he had failed them. Failed them because he’d been thinking about her.

  He slammed a fist against the mattress, biting at his bottom lip. This had to end, he thought. He needed to get this settled once and for all. She needed to leave him and his father alone. That coy act of hers, like she didn’t know what she was doing or how her presence was affecting him, was starting to wear thin. And his father wasn’t helping the situation, the old man having fallen for her charms. But he knew better. He knew that if she stopped intruding, then he could go back to things being the way they had been. That would be the best thing for them all and he had every intentions of telling her so.

  * * *

  Roshawn was still lounging in her bed when the telephone rang. She reached for the receiver, her eyes still shut tight, avoiding the flood of light that was beginning to stream through her open windows. Heaving a deep sigh she pulled the instrument to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  Silence greeted her on the other end.

  “Hello?” she repeated, annoyance growing in her tone.

  When no one responded, Roshawn slammed the phone back down and rolled over on her side. It was way too early for people to be playing games, she thought to herself. At that hour of the morning someone could get cussed out. She reached for the sheet that she had kicked to the floor, pulling it back up over her body. She knew she needed to get up to get ready before Chen arrived with Ming, wanting her to go with them to pick out a new car for their daughter. But staying in her warm bed was too tempting and she intended to linger there for as long as she could.

  An image of Angel Rios flashed across her memory and her body quivered ever so slightly. The man had been furious at her and she hadn’t done anything to provoke him. Usually when a man was holding a grudge against her, Roshawn had some idea what for. Angel’s anger however was totally irrational. Not only was the man rude, Roshawn thought, but clearly the elevator in that head of his didn’t go all the way up to the top floor, stopping somewhere between crazy and crazier. She had attributed his behavior to plan old-fashioned immaturity, but was now thinking that the mere act of growing older might not do him any good at all. Medication or a sledgehammer to that thick skull of his might be his only recourse, she fathomed, an amused smile rising to her face. Taking a deep breath Roshawn stretched her body upward, lifting herself from the mattress and headed into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.

  Minutes later the pounding against her front door pulled her out of the shower. After turning off the hot spray of water, she reached for the plush, terry bathrobe hanging on the bathroom door, wrapping it around her wet body. The banging continued, someone calling her name at the top of his lungs. As Roshawn headed down the hallway, the banging became more intense.

  He would not leave until she opened the door, Angel reasoned. Not until he told her exactly what he thought about her. The woman had infuriated him, her antics clouding his judgment and impacting his game. He was not having any more of it. She would not move him from the path he’d set for himself. He stepped back, calling her name loudly for the third or fourth time. “Open the door, Roshawn.”

  Pulling the structure open, she eyed him curiously. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  Angel brushed past her, pushing his way inside. Once inside the foyer, he spun back around to face her. The words caught in his throat and he felt himself gasp for air. He was taken aback by the sight of her seminakedness, her blush of black hair delightfully wet as rivulets of water ran from the the top of her head down the length of her body and fell in small puddles onto the hardwood floor. A light trickle of moisture ran down her cheek and along her neck. She was exquisite, her skin heated from the warm shower she’d just stepped out of.

  The bathrobe was barely tied, gaping open and exposing just enough skin to send a shiver through his groin. Her eyes were bright, curiosity flickering simultaneously with rising ire. Her hands flew to her hips, causing the robe to open just a touch wider and Angel appraised her brashly, his gaze racing up and down the length of her torso.

  “How dare you—” Roshawn started, but Angel cut off her words.

  Before Roshawn realized what was happening, Angel had pulled her to him, hard, dropping his mouth abruptly against hers. The kiss was demanding, his lips anxious for a response as he plied her mouth open with his tongue. He danced inside the warm cavity, his tongue tasting hers and pleasure swelled out of control throughout his body. Roshawn was suddenly just as insistent, her own hunger doing battle with his. Clasping her hands behind his head, she licked the line of his full lips, grazing against the sharp edges of each tooth as she fell headfirst into the heat of his touch.

  Angel’s hands snaked beneath her robe, falling hot against her back as he nestled himself against her, and her against the bright white wall. Lifting her from the floor he pressed her pelvis against the rise of flesh in his crotch as he wrapped the length of her legs around his backside. With the wall to help support what little weight she carried, he allowed one of his hands to sneak between them, his fingers pulling at a nipple that had risen hard and full beneath his touch. The other gripped the round of her buttocks, his palm teasing her flesh.

  Roshawn’s own hands had fallen to his belt buckle, pulling hurriedly at the leather accessory. Angel kissed her eyelids, her cheek and the tip of her nose as his lips painted a trail down to her neck. He pulled
back ever so slightly to stare into her eyes and Roshawn smiled, pulling his mouth back to her as she whispered his name, the lilt of it pleasing to his ear.

  As Roshawn struggled with the zipper of his pants to release him, the moment was suddenly interrupted when Chen and Ming pushed open the front door, stepping inside. Chen’s deep laugh stopped abruptly as the man stood staring. Ming’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth falling open as she peered past her father’s shoulder. Roshawn shook her head in disbelief, her forehead falling against Angel’s chest as the man eased her back to the floor and moved to shield her nudity from view. He pulled anxiously at her opened bathrobe, closing it around her body. Roshawn tied the garment tight against her waist as Angel zipped and buckled his pants.

  Ming eased herself past her father who still stood frozen in place. She giggled as she greeted them. “Hi, Mommy. Good morning, Angel. Daddy, would you please come help me with the coffeepot?” the young woman said, winking at her mother as she eased out of the room.

  As if his daughter’s voice had willed his legs to move, Chen turned to close the door, then marched past them, his displeasure evident on his face. “Roshawn. Angel,” he said curtly, a quick nod his only other greeting.

  “Good morning, Chen,” she said, staring after him as he disappeared through the door. She turned back toward Angel who was blushing profusely, color flooding his rich complexion a deep shade of burgundy. She smiled and moved to kiss his mouth one more time, stretching up on the tips of her toes to reach his lips. He gave her a quick peck in return, easing two steps back from the rise of heat between them.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, throwing a cautious glance in the direction of the kitchen door.

  She shook her head. “It’s okay.”

  Angel waved his head back and forth. “No. I would never disrespect your family like that. I should have known better. It won’t happen again.”

  Roshawn’s gaze danced with his as she studied him, his disciplined demeanor resurfacing. “What? You won’t kiss me again, or you won’t kiss me in the doorway ever again?”

  Angel had no answer, knowing that if given the opportunity he would definitely kiss her again, no matter where she might be. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn’t what he had come here for, he thought to himself. In fact, this wasn’t at all what he’d intended to happen between them. Aloud, he said, “I must go.”

  Just as Roshawn opened her mouth to speak, Ming called to her from the other room. “Mom? Would you and Angel like a cup of coffee?”

  “Just a minute, Ming,” she answered as she turned toward the direction of her daughter’s voice and then back to Angel.

  “Why don’t you come—” she started to say, stopping as Angel turned abruptly and raced out her front door as she called after him. “Angel! Wait!” Throwing up her hands in frustration she turned and headed into the other room.

  Ming greeted her with a broad grin. “Cream in your coffee?” she asked smugly, laughter dancing in her eyes.

  “You’re not too grown to be smacked,” Roshawn responded, reaching for the cup of hot fluid the girl passed to her.

  “I wasn’t the one getting my freak on in the hallway.” Ming laughed as Roshawn swatted at her head.

  Chen’s booming voice interrupted them as he ordered Ming to her room so that he could speak with her mother in private. The smile faded from Ming’s face as she looked from one to the other. “Now,” Chen commanded in Cantonese, ordering her for a second time.

  Roshawn gestured for the girl to obey, nodding her head as she gave Ming a slight smile. When she heard the bedroom door closing behind her child she spun to stare at her ex-husband, shaking her index finger from side to side. “Don’t you dare, Chen,” she chastised. “Don’t you dare say one word.”

  The man sputtered, caught off guard by her outburst. Roshawn ranted. “How dare you come into this house without knocking first? I don’t care if you are the landlord, you have no right.”

  “I am Ming’s father!” Chen shouted back.

  “Yes, Ming’s father, not mine. And you are not my husband or my lover anymore. You have no right to interfere in or comment on my private life unless I ask you to. No right at all.”

  “You need me…”

  Roshawn interrupted him, her voice dropping back to a normal tone. “All I need, Chen, is for you to be here for our daughter. And I need you to be happy for me when I move on with my life. You have Allison now and I don’t want to waste any more of my time being alone. I just need you to understand that and be happy for me, no matter who I choose to be with. And I need you to respect my privacy.”

  Chen took a deep breath, a swift inhale of oxygen surging through his lungs. Moisture glistened in the narrowed lines of his gaze. Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out a key ring of assorted keys. Sifting through them, he pulled at one in particular, twisting it off the loop. Roshawn’s gaze never left his as he extended his hand in her direction, holding the key out to her. As her hand met his, the key dropping into her palm, Chen clasped her fingers beneath his, holding tightly to her.

  “I am happy for you, Roshawn. But I don’t want you to be hurt.” He smiled, pausing briefly before continuing. “And, our daughter has a lot of you in her. She will do things she sees you doing. I don’t want you putting any crazy ideas into her head. I don’t think my heart could handle it.”

  Roshawn smiled back. “I’ll try to behave myself,” she said softly.

  Chen laughed. “That’s like asking you not to breathe,” he responded.

  Roshawn shook her head. “Fix me another cup of coffee, please, while I go get dressed,” she said, heading back toward the bedroom. “Your daughter said something about you buying her a Mustang convertible.”

  * * *

  Israel met his son at the door. “Hijo, what is going on? The woman from the travel agency called to say you could pick up your plane tickets at the counter. Where are you going?”

  “Home, Papí. I need to go home.”

  “But you have work.”

  Angel shook his head. “We have a few days off. I will be back on Wednesday. The coach has given his blessing.”

  Israel nodded. “What has happened, Angel?”

  The man turned to stare at his father. “I need to think, Papí. I can’t think here. I just need some space.”

  Israel nodded as Angel moved toward his bedroom. He stood in the doorway as his son tossed clothes into a small suitcase. The old man was moved to tears as he sensed the weight on his child’s shoulders, stress creasing the lines in the young man’s forehead. He eased through the doorway and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Angel stopped his packing and took a seat beside the old man, waiting patiently as Israel searched his thoughts for what he wanted to say. The comments came quickly.

  “It is okay to love her, hijo. It is okay to open your heart and let her in. You know you want to. You know she is already there.”

  Angel shook his head. “Perhaps, Papí. But if I cannot have love like you and my mother, I don’t want it at all.”

  Israel smiled. “Stop fighting this. She will make you a very happy man if you let her.” Rising from his seat, Israel eased his way back out the door. Before he made his exit, he spun back around one last time. “Love her. Let her love you and you will have as much as your mother and I had, and more.”

  As Angel stood staring after the man it suddenly dawned on him. His father had never once called Roshawn by name. But Roshawn’s had been the only name he heard.

  Chapter 15

  The morning couldn’t have gone by any slower. Roshawn had stood back as Chen had settled on a 2006 Toyota RAV4 for Ming’s eighteenth birthday present. Much to their daughter’s liking, the salsa red vehicle came fully equipped with all the amenities and her very own Texaco gas card. The morning had ended after the trio had picked up Allison for a late lunch at Pizzeria Blanco.

  Roshawn was barely inside her front door before she reached for the telephone and dialed the n
umber for the Doubletree. The call was answered quickly and immediately connected to room 167. Israel answered on the second ring. “Hola!”

  “Israel, hello. It’s Roshawn. How are you?”

  “I am well. But how are you doing?”

  Roshawn smiled into the receiver. “I’m not sure. Is Angel there, please?”

  The man shook his head as if she could see him. “He left for Santo Domingo an hour ago.”

  “Santo Domingo?”

  “Yes. He said he needed time away to go think. So he went home.”

  A brief silence wafted between them before Roshawn spoke again. “When will he be back?” she asked.

  “Wednesday.”

  They both fell silent for a second time. “You know, Roshawn,” Israel said matter-of-factly, “we have a beautiful home in Santo Domingo. And it is very nice there this time of year.”

  Roshawn chuckled. “No, Israel. I will speak with Angel when he gets back.”

  The man laughed heartily. “As you wish. But if you should change your mind, just let me know.”

  Frustration flooded over her as she said her goodbye and hung up the telephone. Pulling the receiver back into her hand, she dialed again, this time dialing her best friends in Seattle.

  * * *

  The afternoon sun was well on its way to settling down for the night. The outside air had shifted from excessively hot to unbearably warm. The central air-conditioning had been running nonstop for most of the day and didn’t seem anywhere near stopping. Roshawn sat on the hardwood floor in the entrance of her home, staring at that spot on the wall where Angel had held her hostage in a moment of outright lust. Her skin still burned hot where he had touched her, teasing and tempting her out of every ounce of her sensibility. Whether she said it aloud or not, her wanting had been as intense as his had, maybe more so. Strangely though, it had been about something more than just reveling in the intoxication of his touch. At one point he had looked at her, his gaze so penetrating it had seared straight through every fiber of her being. She had gotten lost in it, the beauty of its magnitude washing like the spray of a waterfall over her.