She smiles sweetly. “Except that weird thing you did with your tongue.” Then glances down to her crotch and cringes like she’s remembering the worst oral sex of her life.
The hand at my face goes still and I swear to God my heart stops. Did this girl just call my oral skills weird? And damn, I really wish I remembered going down on her.
“I’m totally messing with you.”
“So, we didn’t…”
She motions between us with the pen in her hand. “We didn’t have sex.”
I nod.
“Of any kind,” she adds.
Relief and disappointment shoot through me. I want her, but damn I want to remember it too.
Amusement twinkles in her eyes.
“Wanna tell me what we did do?”
“You mean did I let you get further than first base?”
“Wrong sport, Kitty.”
She thinks for a moment. “What’s the equivalent to first base in basketball lingo?”
“In basketball, it’s all or nothing. You score or you don’t.”
Her lips part and cheeks pink. When she speaks her voice is tight. “No one scored.”
“Damn shame. Although, probably for the best.”
She arches a brow in question.
I lean in. “When I score with you, I’m going to be stone cold sober and I’m going to remember every second.”
Letting out a breath, she breaks eye contact. “Ooookay. Maybe we should get back to the questions.”
“Wait. First, I want to know what I agreed to. You writing some tell-all piece on the Moreno family?”
“Would people read that?” She looks disbelieving.
“Damn straight they would.”
They would.
“No. I wrote a play that takes place in Mexico in the early 1900s.” She stops and pulls out a couple of books that look like they might have been printed in that timeframe. “I got these Mexican history books but honestly history is not my jam and I think, or I’m hoping, that learning more about your parents will help me understand a little about what it would be like growing up in Mexico.”
As she finishes explaining, disappointment mars her face like she’s just realized it’s a long shot. It is, but I have an idea.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” she asks hopefully.
I let out a breath like this is gonna be tough – a real imposition on my part. “I’ll help you the best I can.” This is gonna be cake. I can’t even try to hide my smile. “Admit it. You were just looking for an excuse to go out with me.”
She rolls her beautiful eyes.
I lean back in my chair. “Let’s get this done then. I’m capitalizing on my date immediately.”
“It’s Sunday.”
She stares blankly. I don’t give one single fuck what day it is or even what time. I’m cashing in now.
Pulling out her notebook she re-asks the question without looking up. “Why did your mother decide to leave Mexico?”
I think for a few seconds. The obvious answer is more opportunities, but I don’t want to give her a bullshit answer that she could have gotten without my help. She really should be asking my mom.
“How about we grab lunch and I can get you your answers at the same time?”
“Does this count as your date?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“That’s cheating. You’re trying to get two dates out of this.”
I shrug. “Nothing wrong with eating while we discuss. Besides, the place I have in mind is rich in Mexican culture.”
Her eyes light up and I know I’ve got her.
Standing, I reach for her bag and toss it over my shoulder. “Come on.”
She’s silent as we walk to the parking lot behind the library. I head straight for my car and open the passenger side door. She stops in her tracks and looks at me.
“I’m over there.” She points across the lot.
“But you don’t know where we’re going.”
No movement.
“I promise to return you to your car.”
“I have to be back by two.”
I smile in agreement and wave a hand for her to sit. Semantics. Just get in the car, woman, so I can call this date as good as on. “Whenever you want.”
Once we’re driving out of the parking lot, I finally give myself the props I deserve for commandeering this study sesh to a date. Damn, I’m good. Quick lunch with my family where she can ask her questions and then I’ll convince her to a proper date that will hopefully end with us naked.
It’s as good as done.
11
Katrina
“Where are we going?” I go for curious, but I’m a little panicked as Joel pulls off onto a road that looks like it goes nowhere but up the mountain. This is where I die. Okay, that’s dramatic, but my palms are sweaty, and I think I’ve got a contact high from being enclosed with Joel like this.
“Lunch.”
“Are we going to hunt rattlesnakes and mountain lions?” I laugh awkwardly as I clutch my purse like a lifeline in my lap. Not sure about cell reception out here, but maybe I can get a text to go through. I have no idea who I’d call in my hour of need. That’s a shitty realization.
“Not today, Kitty, not today.”
When the house comes into view, a wave of relief washes over me and then it hits me. “Oh my God. Are we at your parents’ house?”
A cocky grin pulls up one side of his mouth and he settles a big hand on my leg and squeezes. I’m sure it’s meant to be reassuring, but my body tingles and clenches at the contact that’s gone before I can even properly enjoy it.
“This is the best way I know to get you your answers.”
“Couldn’t we have just called your mom and asked her? This seems like overkill. I can’t just barge into their house and interview them.”
“Relax. The whole family is over for lunch. We do it every Sunday. “Cuantos mas seamos, mejor.” He winks. “The more, the merrier.”
Since it looks like I’m not getting out of this, I take in the beautiful Spanish-style house. Joel parks under the port cochere and kills the engine. I glance out my window and down the mountain looking over Valley. “This view is incredible.”
He nods in agreement without looking and opens his door. “Ready?”
“Anything I should know? It’s been awhile since I’ve met a guy’s parents. And not usually before we’ve had our first date.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Just don’t let Dylan saw you in half.” I give him a quizzical look. “You’ll see.”
He leads me through a house which I silently catalog with amazement like I’m on an episode of MTV Cribs.
“My mom will be in the kitchen,” he says as we walk toward the sound of voices.
It’s in this moment that I realize I should probably have checked my hair and makeup, maybe had him swing by my apartment so I could put on something besides leggings and an open back t-shirt. There’s no time for any of that now, though. I’m pulled into a room and all eyes are on me before I can even think through what it is I would have worn had I known.
There are at least ten women in the room and one by one they each notice the girl next to Joel. Unfortunately, that girl is me. The room feels too quiet and too concentrated on me for two whole seconds before Joel breaks the silence.
“Hey, Ma,” he says and walks us toward a gorgeous woman standing on the other side of a huge island in the kitchen. Joel’s mom is hot. I’ve never called someone’s mom hot, but it’s the best way to describe her. Hair the exact same color as Joel’s, she’s tall and fit just like her son but in a feminine way. Her eyes are a shade lighter, and her smile holds none of the arrogance his does.
She drops the scissors she was using to cut the stems off what looks like two dozen white roses. The rest of the room has gone back to whatever it is they were doing and ignoring me – thank God.
Mother and son embrace and then Joel drops a kiss to her cheek. Her face lig
hts up with such happiness it makes me miss my own mother.
I’m frozen watching the interaction when Joel steps back and places his hand back at my side. “Ma this is Ki – Katrina.”
“How lovely to meet you, Katrina.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Moreno. You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you, dear. Call me Isa.” She shoots her son a look that I can’t decipher.
“Katrina is working on a school project and had some questions about Mexico in the early 1900s – you know about the time you were born.”
She swats at him, but her smile stays intact. “That’s wonderful. What sort of school project?”
“Oh, I—” I wasn’t prepared to give my elevator pitch. What if they think it’s the dumbest idea ever? Will they still help me? “I wrote a screenplay based on the great, great-grandparents in the movie Coco – Hector and Imelda, and it was selected to be this year’s Spring Showcase performance.”
“You didn’t tell me that part,” Joel says, astonishment in his tone. “That’s incredible, Kitty.” He doesn’t catch the nickname that rolls off his tongue. “I love that movie.”
“You do?”
“Dylan made us all watch it many, many times,” Isa adds.
“My son did the same thing. That’s actually where I got the idea.”
My face warms and I feel the man beside me turn to stone. Sh– crap. Well, that certainly isn’t how I imagined telling Joel I had a kid. I look over at him with what I hope is an apologetic smile.
He clears his throat, but when he speaks, it’s gruff and stiff. “Katrina these are my tias, Lupita, Opal, and Bonnie, and my sisters Bree and Michelle. Those three over there are my cousins Karla, Anita, and Celeste,” he rattles them off as if there is any chance I could possibly remember all of them. Each one smiles or waves in hello.
“It’s so nice to meet all of you. Can I help with something?”
His mom looks to Joel who motions toward the back of the house. “Dad outside?”
“You know he is.” She pulls two waters from the fridge and hands them to Joel. “Make sure he doesn’t throw another putter into the mountains.”
“You good?” he asks quietly, turning so his back is to the rest of the women in the kitchen and shielding me from their gazes.
I nod, but he doesn’t budge. The look in his eyes is intense as he studies me as if he’s really seeing me for the first time. All of me. Katrina Phillips, twenty-one-year-old college student and mom.
“Go on. We’ll take good care of her.” Joel’s mom’s voice cuts through the moment.
His fingers brush mine as he takes a hesitant step toward the door. “I’ll be out back if you need anything.”
Isa calls out orders as I watch him go. “Katrina you can help me with the buñuelos as soon as I get this arrangement done.”
Lupita, the only name I remember because Joel introduced her first, steps forward and holds her hand out. “Let me finish the centerpiece. You’re cutting those roses too short for the vase. Desastre.”
Joel’s mom hands her the scissors and motions me to follow as she walks into a large pantry. “I’ve been hoping she’d take over for the last half hour. I’m afraid I’m terrible with flowers.” She hands me a pan filled with rows of tiny balls of dough and takes two others herself. “But cooking I can do. And this is an old family recipe so it’s perfect that you’re here to help.”
“Thank you for being so great about this. I hadn’t meant to intrude on your family lunch, but Joel insisted it’d be easier if I asked you directly.”
“Cuantos mas seamos, mejor,” she says repeating the same words Joel did in the car. “The more, the merrier.”
We take the trays back to the other room, and without prompting, Joel’s sisters take the trays and begin rolling out the dough into thin circles about a hand’s width wide. I can’t exactly jot this down in my notebook while I help so I mentally catalog it all. Including the way his sisters work like they’ve done it a million times, despite looking a few years younger than me. In fact, the whole kitchen works this way. There’s no bumping into each other and asking what needs to be done next. They’ve all been here in this kitchen every Sunday just like Joel said and it shows in the ease of their routine.
“How long have you known Joel?” One of the aunts whose name I can’t remember asks with a knowing glint in her eye.
“Not long.”
I hope that is a safe answer. I still don’t really know Joel. But when no one replies, I ramble on. “I mean he comes into the campus café where I work so I’ve talked to him lots of times, but I just ran into him the other night and that’s when I found out about your family. He agreed to help and here I am.”
He agreed seems like a nicer way to put it than he bartered because he wants to get in my pants. The look these ladies give me, though, I think they’re well acquainted with Joel’s motives.
“That’s very nice of him,” the talkative aunt says. I wish I could remember her name because I have a feeling she’s the one who has the dirt on every member of this family.
“Too nice of him, don’t you think Michelle?” the older of Joel’s sisters pipes in, looking to the other. Well, that’s one more name to the list. I really need a refresher on who’s who.
“I think it’s hopelessly romantic. You ran into each other and just happened to be writing a play based on Mexican culture.” Michelle looks around as if she’s waiting for everyone to agree. “And we’re a Mexican American family.”
“That hardly makes us unique,” older sister retorts.
Michelle isn’t deterred, and I want to hug her in hopes some of her idealistic views rub off on me. “But it was Joel she ran into at just the right time. I mean of all the people you run into every day it’s amazing that one of them has just the thing you’re looking for.”
I don’t argue that he’s been running into me on purpose for months now. I like her thinking better.
“In this case, I think that thing he was looking for was –”
I’m certain I blush at the words about to come out of Joel’s older sister’s mouth, but his mother, God bless her, intervenes. “Fate or not, we’re happy to have you here.” She looks from me to the sisters. “Bree, bring the buñuelos over here. Michelle, you and Katrina can sprinkle the sugar and cinnamon on.”
Michelle moves next to me with a pleased smile. “You’re really pretty. Your eyes are so cool.”
“Thank you.”
“You and my brother would have pretty babies. Do you like basketball?”
I choke on my own spit to the point everyone side eyes me in concern. I don’t think they heard Michelle because no one jumps in to tell her how crazy of a thing that is to say to a near stranger.
“Sorry,” she says when I’ve nearly gotten myself under control. “I have a bad habit of saying what I’m thinking. But it’s true, you would. You’re not married, are you? I mean I checked for a ring, so I’m thinking not.”
The first buñuelo is placed in front of us and I follow her lead and sprinkle a generous amount of the sugar and cinnamon mixture on both sides.
“No, I’m not married,” I confirm, and she rewards me with a big smile that gives away her visions of little nephews and nieces. “And I do like basketball, but your brother and I are barely even friends. He didn’t even know I had a son until today.”
She waves me off. “Joel loves kids. He–” She pauses, bites her lips and then repeats herself, “Loves kids.”
Uh-huh. Everyone loves kids when they can return them. Having a kid or dating someone with a kid is a whole different thing. Or so I believe. I’ve not dated anyone with a kid or really dated since I had Christian sooo I’m guessing at best. It feels true.
We’re moving the food outside to a covered patio before I realize I’ve completely neglected to ask any of my planned questions. Being in the Moreno household is a bit like how I imagine it would be to ride a magic carpet. It’s exhilarating and cool and so ma
gical that you forget to do anything but be in the moment. Well, hey, that’s what it looked like for Jasmine anyway. I really need to expand my movie watching beyond cartoons.
I spot Joel crossing the yard toward me. Long legs covered in athletic pants eat up the space and it transports me to the times he walked through the door at University Hall. Except there are no barriers between us now. No café counter to hide all the truths I was afraid to say.
I like him. There I’ve admitted it. He’s sort of sweet under all that suave charm, and though I have zero expectations that he wants anything besides sex, I’m not as put off as I’d been initially. He may be a total player, but he’s been respectful and attentive and the amount of effort he’s put into getting me to go out with him shows a level of commitment I’ve never had from a guy before.
A little boy about Christian’s age barrels past me at full speed and launches himself into Joel’s arms. I watch in fascination realizing it’s exactly what I want to do. Joel carries him toward me as the boy clutches his neck and chatters happily. “Tio Joel, I learned a new trick. Wanna see it?”
“After lunch okay?” The boy looks absolutely crestfallen. “Dylan, this is my friend Katrina.”
He eyes me carefully and I give a little wave.
Joel leans in and whispers something in Dylan’s ear and he nods excitedly before reaching behind Joel’s back and pulling out a white rose seemingly from thin air. He hands it to me and I’m rightly impressed.
“For me? Thank you.”
“I’m a magicianan,” he states, butchering the word, but stating it so very matter of fact that I know better than to laugh.
“What other tricks do you know?”
A devious smile spreads across his adorable face. “I can cut you in half.”
Joel laughs. “No chopping up people today, little man. Go wash your hands before we eat.”
Joel motions toward the food. “Ready to eat?”
I follow his lead and fill my plate with everything – wanting to try it all and experience every bit of his world. Everyone sits outside and for the almost buffet style dining, it’s still intimate and homey.
The Fadeaway: A Smart Jocks Novel Page 7