I lean over and kiss his chest. But that’s not enough, so we begin all over again.
Chapter 9: Ryan
“Ry, where’s that wrench?”
“Huh?”
Jude slides out from under his Audi and stares up at me. Pliers, wrenches, and rags litter the floor around him.
“That’s like the third time I’ve asked for it. What the fuck is wrong with you today?”
An innocent visit to pick up mail at the house turned into bonding time, also known as Jude needed help fixing his car. But I can’t help anyone with anything today. My roof was blown off by Hurricane Eva last night.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Well?”
“Sorry. Had a l-long night. And morning.” My hands are starting to sweat just thinking about it.
“What’s with the shakes? You hungover?” He gets up, wipes off his hands, and heads to the mini fridge, which is nestled against gleaming, spotless tool boxes. The rest of the wall is filled with peg board, where Jude has labeled every tool or implement so he knows where to put it back. He pulls out two bottled waters, which are lined up in the fridge like soldiers.
“No. Umm . . . I was with. Yeah.” For some reason I’m pointing out the window, like Eva’s standing out there.
Jude hands me a bottle. “So a woman, then. You look like she rode you hard and put you away wet.”
Standing feels difficult. Standing is overrated. So I plunk onto the floor and Jude joins me. “You could say that.”
“Who is she? You gonna see her again?”
“I think? I hope so? It’s c-complicated. She didn’t say anything when she left this m-morning, so I’m not sure.”
“What’s she like?”
A force to be reckoned with. Tough. Smart. Sexy as hell, beautiful, graceful. “She’s pretty amazing.”
And in bed—well, I didn’t have a clue. That a woman could be so completely focused, and in charge, and enthusiastic and, Jesus, her stamina. And the way she clung to my body like she needed me in order to breathe.
“Ry, you’re breaking into a sweat again, man,” Jude says, tapping me on the knee to get my attention.
I thunk my head against a cabinet. “I think she b-broke something.”
Jude finds amusement in my pain, as always. “You’re gonna have to talk to your doctor about that.”
“I meant in my b-brain. I don’t know what to say to her next time I see her. It was s-sort of sudden.”
Jude takes another sip of his water and puts the cap on. “Act natural. Don’t make a thing out of it.”
With that, he slides back under the car.
Easy for him to say. What if Eva wants a relationship? What if she doesn’t? Does she want a repeat? Hate my guts? Wish I would move? She slipped out early this morning, just as I was waking up, and I didn’t say a word. I wanted to call out to her when she reached the door, but it seemed uncool somehow. Too needy.
“You mean act like you?” I ask Jude.
He leans out to grab the wrench. “Exactly.” He winks one blue eye and goes back to his Audi.
* * *
So, I kept a few things about Eva from Jude. Like everything. It feels like I lied by omission, but there’s at least one or two things about Eva that would give Jude a heart attack. That seems unnecessary and premature, since I’m not sure Eva ever wants to see me again.
Except I do want to keep seeing her. That’s probably crazy—maybe even stupid. But as long as it’s my crazy stupid, I’ll own it because I feel something when I’m with her.
By that evening, I’m chomping at the bit. When I tap on her back door with my knuckles it sounds too loud, especially when she doesn’t answer. I know she’s around; it’s Saturday and her car’s in the driveway. Who does she think she’s fooling?
I use my whole hand to knock this time, until I hear her footsteps and the rattle of the knob.
The somber face that peeks through the crack in the door tells me everything I need to know. It displays a fair amount of guilt, mixed with a hint of embarrassment.
“Seriously, Eva?”
She opens the door wide.
Her family room looks like Santa’s sack exploded. There are half-formed Lego sets on the floor, Batman figures scattered on the coffee table, and kids’ books fanning the couch. She clears some space so we can sit.
Her knee is resting on the couch cushion between us, meaning her bare foot is within reach. I want to grab hold of it, but her posture couldn’t read more hands off if there were a sign hanging from her neck.
She opens her mouth and closes it; she must be out of practice blowing guys off. Sadly, I’m quite familiar with this routine, so I decide to be helpful.
“Just r-rip off the Band-Aid. Easier that w-way.”
She runs her hands through her hair like she’s getting down to business, but she has nothing to hold it back so it falls around her shoulders. If I’d known I wouldn’t get to feel those silky strands again, I would have touched her one more time for good measure.
“I didn’t know if you’d even care, or if last night was a one-time thing for you,” she says.
“No, I d-definitely would like to do that again. But something t-tells me you wouldn’t.”
“I have a kid.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“And an ex. And a mortgage. And a dirty house.” She kicks another book onto the floor.
“All things I knew l-last night.”
“But you didn’t have time to think any of that through before I jumped on top of you.”
I really hate truth being fudged. I prefer outright lies or complete honesty. She doesn’t know this about me yet. Why would she?
“Don’t do that—pretend I w-wasn’t equally into it. Or that you’re worrying about m-me. And if you are, stop. Because it’s unnecessary. I’m not your k-kid.”
She winces. “We both know this can’t go anywhere.” If she bites that lip any harder, it’s going to bleed. “I can’t have someone in my life right now.”
“Because of Diego?”
“That kid’s gone through hell and I don’t want to drag him through more of it.”
How can I argue with that? A mom knows what’s best for her son. But I don’t see why it’s an all or nothing situation.
“What if we k-kept it separate from him?”
She looks away. “I thought about it. But I can’t just hook up with you.”
“B-because I’m your tenant?”
Her eyes land back on me and I’m a deer in the headlights. “No. Because last night was more than a hook up. For me.”
I’m glad I wasn’t alone in that. “Would be nice to see where this c-could go.”
For the first time since we sat down, she looks like the Eva from last night. Open. Real. A little sad. “I don’t have that luxury right now, I guess.”
My stomach takes a sickening dip, because affection shouldn’t be a luxury. And if she can’t fit someone in her life now, then when? The woman I was touching all night and most of the morning needs to be cared for and she deserves it.
“I understand if you don’t want to tutor Diego,” she says. “Or live here, even.”
Well, Eva was right after all; I hadn’t thought through the fallout.
“Are you saying you w-want me to move?”
“No, no. I . . .”
“And why would I stop t-tutoring?”
Her eyebrows frown themselves into a single line, like Diego’s do. “I don’t know. I’m trying to make this easy for you.”
“Didn’t I just ask you n-not to do that? I’m not a d-dick. I’m not going to punish your son because my feelings g-got bruised.”
She laces her hands together and squeezes them. “Sorry. I didn’t take that as a given.”
I guess she wouldn’t, considering Marco isn’t all that reliable.
“I’ll see you Monday for t-tutoring,” I tell her, leaving her in her family room filled with toys and family mementos—all of which are a life apart from me
.
My visit into her world was memorable, but it was never going to be an extended stay.
Chapter 10: Eva
My big sister, Carmen, teeters on her purple heels as she stops to fix the strap of her dress. She is the physical manifestation of a party: what a good time would look like if it was in skin form. All curves and bounce and bright colors.
“This better be worth the drive.”
Carmen lives in Sacramento with her husband, Rick. The bastard swept her off her feet and snuck her up there. If he wasn’t such a great guy I would hate him.
“We’ve known Denise since high school. And it’s less than a three-hour drive.”
Back in the day, Denise used to sleep over our house every other weekend. She was in Carmen’s grade but still tolerated me hanging around. She even snuck me my first beer. Now she’s about to marry the man of her dreams: a stockbroker who’s at least a dozen years her senior.
We round the corner of the house. It’s a sprawling place, set on what looks like a couple acres of expensive property in Woodside. Touches of Denise are visible, from the bright green door to the Halloween decorations that are already up in the front yard. We follow the bass thump of music to the back where the party is hopping.
“She did well for herself,” Carmen whispers, which means everyone can hear.
Luckily, the crowd of people in the backyard are too busy eating and drinking to pay us any attention. This is a far cry from when Denise, Carmen, and I used to sunbathe in my parents’ rusty deck chairs.
Not everything has changed, though. Denise spots us and runs over, holding her arms out. “Who let you two in?”
“Same person who let you in here,” Carmen says, hugging Denise. “Thanks for all the eye candy, by the way.”
I scan the co-ed crowd to verify Carmen’s claim; there are indeed some lookers here. One of them is standing at the barbecue, watching the caterers cook the meat. He glances in our direction and lingers there.
Denise pushes a lock of her sleek dark hair behind her ear, showing off a pair of solitaire diamond earrings as big as my pinky. “I couldn’t stand to have one of those all-female showers with the games.”
“Like all the aunties had,” I say. “With that terrible punch.” I shudder as I remember my mother shoving me into flouncy gowns so I could sit and watch grown women hold toilet paper between their knees.
Denise leads us toward the party. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen both of you.”
Between her flower business and my busy schedule, we hardly ever have time to meet up.
“Come say hi to Eddie.” Denise walks us past a beautiful manicured garden filled with gerbera daisies and lilies. I’m not envious until I spy fruit trees in the distance; I would kill to have peaches and plums in the summer.
“Eddie” is Edward Wharton, one of the top brokers at his firm. At forty, his hair is already shot with gray and his midsection is starting to thicken, but he has a smile that makes you feel like you’ve known him for years.
When Denise walks up to Eddie, his eyes sparkle like he was thirsty and someone gave him an ice-cold beer. He puts his hand on the back of her neck and rubs lightly, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.
“Maybe you ought to move up the wedding,” Carmen says.
“I’d do it tomorrow if she’d let me. I told her the second day we met that I wanted to run away and get married on a beach in Hawaii.”
Denise rewards him with a kiss.
As endearing as that is, today it’s hard to watch. I lower my eyes to the ground so they don’t well up.
We make small talk with Eddie for a while and leave so they can mingle with their other guests.
Eventually, Carmen and I plant ourselves at a round table topped with a centerpiece of pink roses and someone comes by to fill up our water glasses and check on our wine. The food is decidedly more casual than the service and decor. It’s also delicious, although watching Carmen dig into ribs isn’t for the faint of heart.
“What?” She grabs for a napkin, her hands coated in sauce. “I never get to eat without the kids bugging me.”
Carmen decided to go big or go home when it came to children. She’s up to three already, and since she’s older than I am she has a good head start. Not that I ever plan to catch up. Or will have the chance to.
Barbecue guy comes and sits down next to me.
“These ribs are delicious,” Carmen says, rubbing sauce off her chin. “You’ve got a talent with meat.”
“Oh my God.” I kick her under the table, but she’s unfazed.
“I’m Nick,” meat guy says, giving us his most winning smile. “And I’ll take that as a compliment, even though I didn’t cook them. I was getting some pointers.”
Carmen finishes off her wine. “Smart man. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going for seconds.”
Which leaves me alone with Nick, who’s around thirty and sporting a head of blond hair that would make a boy band jealous. The way it’s styled to perfection means he knows it.
He turns toward me and leans in. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Eva. The crazy rib-eating champion is my sister, Carmen.”
He chuckles, the hair of his strategic five o’clock shadow catching the light. “Pretty runs in your family. How do you girls know Eddie?”
Girls?
“We’re actually old friends of Denise’s.”
He fold his hands on top of the table. He has good, solid wrists, one of which has a Rolex strapped to it. “Eddie’s nuts about her. I’ve never seen him like this before.”
“They’ve only known each other six months.”
“I guess when you know, you know. You have to admire it.” His phone pings, so he glances down at it.
“Admire what?”
“How they jumped right in. Threw caution to the wind.”
I look over at Denise, who’s leaning into Eddie as he places a hand on the small of her back. “I guess so.”
“Maybe we can do the same. What are you doing after this?” He looks down at his texts again, longer this time, like he’s trying to have two conversations at once.
I think of Ryan tutoring Diego—giving him his complete attention. The same way he does with me.
“I’m going home to my kid. He’s six.”
Nick’s eyes snap to mine. “Uh, okay. Well . . .”
Just as I thought. Poor bastard. I decide to take pity on him. “I need to check in with Carmen. Nice meeting you, Nick.”
I stand up as he nods enthusiastically, grateful for the out. When I get back to the table, he’s not there.
“Why don’t you come to my house for a while?” I ask Carmen when we finally leave. “Diego will be back from his dad’s soon.”
“I have to get home. Rick’s probably ready to jump out a window, and the kids have school tomorrow.”
For the second time today, my eyes feel tight. I hate this feeling.
Carmen wraps one arm around me, still shorter than me despite her three-inch heels. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
She looks skeptical, but then she’s always been my protector. When I had scary dreams as a kid, it was Carmen’s bed I’d end up in. She’d wrap me in her comforter and whisper to me until I feel asleep. If only a warm blanket could solve my problems now.
“I’ll come to one of dad’s barbecues soon. I promise.” She kisses me on the cheek, probably leaving a red lipstick mark.
“Sounds good.” I give her a hug, holding on a little longer than usual, appreciating her affection if only for this moment.
* * *
“Dinosaurs had feathers?” Ryan fusses over each word so he doesn’t stutter.
“Sure, some.” Diego’s small voice is surprisingly heavy with condescension.
Ryan is a good sport about it, which isn’t at all surprising. He showed up for tutoring today, right on time as promised. The sight of him—with his mussed hair and sticker-filled messenger bag—hurts my ch
est.
“Alright, if you sssay so.”
“You almost stuttered,” Diego says.
“Almost. Not quite. Making the first sssound of a word longer is a way for me to avoid stuttering.”
“Do I have to work on As and Es today?”
“Easy peasy,” Ryan says. “Name five words that make the ‘ahhh’ sound.”
I chop the carrots a little slower as I listen to Diego’s list.
“Apple, ant, alligator.” He drags out the beginning of each word, his mouth stretching and contracting. “That’s all I know.”
“Aggravated, action, anteater,” Ryan says.
“I already said ant.” Diego pulls on his bottom lip.
“True. Let’s play our card g-game.” Ryan stops. “Shoot. No sticker for me today.”
“You tried, though.” Diego pats Ryan on the back.
Ryan’s laugh is husky like his voice. The way he used that voice last weekend makes me shiver every time I let myself think about it.
What a surprise he was in bed. I expected him to be nice, maybe even sweet, like he is on the outside. Instead, Ryan has sex from the inside out, using all his calm intensity to prove that the only thing he cares about is making me crazy. He’s gorgeous and tender, but it was his laser-like focus and determination that did me in. I already miss his touch. Worse yet, I miss him.
It was only one night.
Diego slams a card down, breaking my train of thought.
“These cards are dumb,” he yells, shoving his chair back and pushing away from the table.
Sometimes Diego’s frustration will boil over and turn into a much larger tantrum. I try to avert these crises before it gets to that point. As I move toward the kitchen table, ready to jump in and comfort Diego, Ryan sees me out of the corner of his eye and puts a hand up to stop me.
“Like you said to me: you tried. That’s what I care about. We’re going to switch to drawing nnnow, okay?”
Diego stares down at his sneaker, which is shuffling back and forth over the laminate wood floor. “But I already drew you a picture.”
“This time I’m drawing you one. What do you wwwant it to be?”
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