by P. Dangelico
His head comes back around and he looks me squarely in the eyes. “Friends don’t let friends face important stuff alone.”
This boy…
My heart does bouncing leaps inside my chest before dramatically melting to the floor. This needs to stop. He made his feelings clear on the subject…but I can let him be my friend.
“No c-comments on my driving.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he deadpans.
Liar. A smile tugs at my lips. “Or Bernadette.”
“Now you’re asking too much.” A crooked grin appears, and despite the flutter of panic I’m feeling over this trip, I get a little lost in that smile.
“I don’t know how this is g-gonna go down sooo…”
How do I tell him I might chicken-out at the last minute without looking like a total weenie?
“No pressure. It’s just a ride-along. If you change your mind when we get there––where are we going anyway?”
“San Fran.”
“If you change your mind when we get there, we’ll go get some chow and come home.”
I’m tempted. I’m so tempted to let him come along. The truth is, although I’m committed to going, I’m not sure how I’ll react once I get there. This is scary as heck. It would be nice to have someone there for moral support. It would be nice to have him there. Dallas does not get nearly enough credit. He’s keenly aware of people’s vibes, a fined tuned instrument when it comes to reading other people’s feelings.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I nod.
“Is that a yes?”
I nod again.
“Nah, I want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“That I’m the hottest dude you’ve ever laid your big peepers on, but that’s besides the point.” An involuntary giggle escapes me. “Say you want me to come along.”
He opens the passenger side door and rests an elbow on the roof of my car, a big smirk on this beautiful face.
Rolling my eyes. “I w-want you to come along––”
“––your Majesty.”
“Get in the c-car, your Majesty.”
Grinning, he does as he’s told. One thing’s for certain, there’s never a dull moment when he’s around.
“Oh. Oh. Oh. Tenderness, where is the…
Tenderness, where is it?
I don't know where I am but I know I don't like it…I open my mouth and out pops something spiteful…na, na, na, na, na, na, na.
Words are so cheap…la, la, la, la, la, la. But they can turn out expensive…
Words like conviction can turn into a sentence…”
My carpool buddy is singing Tenderness by General Public way, way off-key. He’s been doing it on and off for an hour. It was fun for the first ten minutes, when he tried to sing along to Smokey Sings and messed up all the words. That was fun. Now it’s turned into a nightmare.
He’s got the passenger seat pushed all the way back, the seat back reclined, and his legs spread apart. I wonder if he’d mind if I crawled all over him and kissed him senseless…or at least quiet. Lord, gimme strength.
We stopped at his house and picked up a few things for him, seeing that we could be gone for a few days, before hitting the road. That turned out to be a very bad idea. Driving on the I-405 on a Friday afternoon to San Diego is sheer insanity. We’ve been at a standstill for an hour.
“I told you going to San Diego tonight was a bad idea,” says my sexy car buddy.
“I t-thought you said you wouldn’t c-comment on my driving?”
“You’re not driving. You’re parked in traffic, Kitten.”
Dang, that nickname still makes me blush every time. His gaze flickers to my mouth and a lazy Cheshire cat smile grows on his face. We both know he does it on purpose to rile me up. Why he wants to rile me up is another matter.
“And why do we have to go all the way south so we can go all the way north? Seems counterproductive.”
“I h-have to get the ad-ddress from my father’s laptop.”
“Huh? Wait a minute, why don’t you have it already?” He flips up his sunglasses.
“Because…” Cringing. I haven’t been completely forthright about my plan. “B-Because t-they don’t”––I steal a glance and am met by an unblinking, hyperaware stare––“know.”
He sits up abruptly, taking the seat back with him. “Your parents don’t know?”
How do I explain without throwing my parents under the bus? “My parents are…very p-protective––”
“They treat you like a child.”
“––of me. Can you p-please stop being so perceptive?”
“That would be like asking me to be a little less good-looking,” he answers with a completely straight face. “Try to be a little reasonable.” He flips his sunglasses back down.
That nudges a smile out of me. He always knows how to break the tension. “T-They’ve been doing everything to discourage me. They said that my mother was just a donor.”
“How did it happen? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“My dad, Evan, k-knows K-Katherine from high school. They r-ran into each other when he was attending a teachers’ conference in B-Berkley. My parents had decided to s-start a family and adoption was really difficult for gay couples back then. They were s-searching for a surrogate…she offered.”
Nervously, my thumbs drum on the steering wheel. I’ve never once told anyone that story. It’s too personal, too close to my heart. But there’s something about Dallas that tears down my concerns, puts me at ease. Which in and of itself, I can’t explain.
I’ve always been shy in general. More so with boys like Dallas. The beautiful, popular ones. It shouldn’t make sense that I feel most like myself around him. And yet I do. Something about him expands my boundaries until I can’t feel them anymore. He makes me feel free to be who I want to be.
“So what’s the plan? Breaking and entering on a government computer?”
“Is it illegal if the LEO is a f-family member?”
“Yes, Dr. Evil. It is. So why are we committing a federal crime instead of asking them for it?”
More cringing. “Because they d-don’t know that I already s-stole her email address from the same computer.”
His eyebrows shoot way up, over the top of his sunglasses. Taking those same sunglasses by the stem, he pushes them up to the top of his head and leaves them there.
“And people say I’m the bad influence. You’re stealing my thunder, babe. For the record, I’m too pretty to go to prison, but I’ll risk it for you.”
His gaze heavy on me, I turn briefly and discover sweet sympathy on his face. “What did she say in the email.”
It takes a minute to muster up the courage. Saying it out loud is harder than I anticipated. Sigh. “She said, please don’t contact me again.” Dallas stares blankly. “In her defense, she told my p-parents s-she was relinquishing all her rights…she was n-never interested in me…It’s even in the contract.”
We ride in silence for a while. Then, the boy least likely to be the one I can count on places his hand on my thigh and says, “Whatever you wanna do, count me in, babe.”
Babe, again.
He hits the button on my iPhone resting in the cupholder and the music comes on. Boys of Summer by Don Henley. Pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes, he tips his head back on the headrest. And the hand on my thigh––the broad, suntanned one with veins intersecting along the back of it––it looks perfectly natural resting there. That’s why my heart goes a little bit crazy.
Dallas
“Maybe I should wait in the car,” I mutter, staring at the white house with the glossy black door and pink flowers. Also known as Casa Ramos.
By some divine intervention, it’s only 8 p.m. by the time we pull the car into the driveway. Now that we’re here, I’m having serious second-thoughts though.
“Are you sure they said it was okay? Won’t your dads feel threatened by me?”
Dora giggles and my sto
mach flips. Every time this girl laughs it does strange shit to me. I can’t tell you exactly what, but I do know it’s hazardous to my state of mind.
“C’mon, it’ll be fine,” she says. Giving me a teasing smile, she jumps out of the car while I stay put, relishing the comfort of the calm before the storm.
I don’t do parents. Never have. This is my first time and it’s two dudes. I’m like a rookie QB having to face the Patriots defense in the Super Bowl without a single day’s practice. In other words, the odds are stacked against me.
She stops and turns, head cocked to the side, rust-colored hair falling over her shoulder, brown eyes smiling as she gestures me out of the car. Dutifully, I follow. Because I’m finding out that I’m a sucker for this girl and if I’m not careful she’ll own my ass in no time.
“In the kitchen,” a deep voice calls out as soon as we step into the house. The scent of something delicious hangs in the air. Whoever is doing the cooking knows a thing or two about food.
Looking over her shoulder at me, Dora unleashes a big smile, her optic white teeth digging into her fat bottom lip. For a moment, my steps falter and my mind goes blank.
“R-ready?”
“To be torn apart by wolves? Sure. Let’s do this.”
Giggling, she continues in the direction of the voices and I follow, my eyes naturally drawn to the generous curve of her hips. The way her heart shaped ass looks in those jeans should be a federal crime.
“Dad, Daddy––this is Dallas.”
I walk in and the kitchen gets real quiet. They’re both dressed in jeans and dress shirts so I don’t now which is which. My only hope is that the big one wearing the heavy frown is not the Chief.
“Evan Ramos,” the blonde one introduces himself. I’m screwed. The frowner is the Chief.
Evan extends his hand and gives me a friendly smile. He’s got the permanent tan and build of a runner. I noticed that even in the pictures. These guys are seriously athletic.
“Nice to meet you. And thank you for having me over.”
“We’re happy to have you. You’re welcome any time. This is my husband, Jay.” Looking over his shoulder, Evan glares at Jay.
“Nice to meet you, Dallas,” Jay Ramos says in a flat voice that communicates with absolute certainty that it is not at all nice to meet me. Jay Ramos also does not extend his hand.
I steal a glance at Dora and catch her glaring at her father. This is going about as well as I thought it would go.
“How’s your steak, Dallas? Cooked enough?” Evan asks twenty minutes later.
We’re eating outdoors. They have a sweet set up. Big comfortable couches, hammocks in the shade, and a large flatscreen TV. If Jay Ramos didn’t see me as an existential threat to his daughter’s welfare, I would really dig hanging out with them.
“Yes, sir.”
Needless to say, the conversation has been stiff all throughout dinner. I’m pretty sure I have an ally in Evan, but Jay will not be dissuaded. Not with talk of the Dodgers. Not with talk of water polo, which he played competitively in high school. Nothing is earning this guy’s mercy.
“How do you feel about the Biology GRE, are you ready?” Jay asks Dora.
“I’m so r-ready I could take it blindfolded.”
“What’s a GRE?” I ask, my feelers going up.
“It’s similar to an MCAT,” Dora explains. “I need it to apply to Veterinary school.”
Her lips are glossy from the olive oil in the salad dressing, and I find myself trying not to stare as she speaks. If her father notices, there’s a very good chance he’ll stab me in my sleep.
“You still have your heart set on Cornell? I know it’s still early, but I have to mentally prepare myself to have my baby living so far away.”
It finally clicks. “You’re moving to New York?”
Her big eyes on me, she nods once. “Next summer.”
My chest feels like it just caved in and I’m having a hard time breathing. I’ve been living in the moment for so long I never imagined Dora not being part of my future. And now that I’m forced to, I don’t like how it feels.
“What about you, Dallas? What are your plans after you graduate this year?” Jay asks.
My head whips in his direction. “Pardon?”
“Plans, do you have any?”
He’s fully staring me down now, no pretending anymore. In passing, I wonder when he’s going to read me my Miranda rights.
“Do I need a lawyer present?” jumps out of my mouth. Judging by the look on the Chief’s face, I’m dead. They will never find the body.
Evan chuckles and Jay smirks. Then his smile drops. “Do you need one?”
“No, sir.” I definitely lost that round. “Family business. I’m working for my grandfather. I start right after I graduate.”
“Yeah, what kind of business is that?” He sounds about as interested in the answer as he is in paint drying.
“Jay,” I hear Evan mutter. No mystery who the peacemaker in the family is.
“It’s a brewing company. Anders-Burns,” I answer as I cut into my perfectly cooked medium-rare steak.
Jay glances up and studies me for a beat. “The Anders-Burns––the beer?” This is the first time he sounds less than totally bored.
“Among other products. We have an excellent hard cider and seltzer isn’t half bad.” I’ve never met a single person who didn’t know my family’s company. And there’s no hiding it. It makes for interesting introductions when your actual family name is the name of the company.
Jay seems to regain his composure, takes a bite of his food. “So what will you be doing”––he waves his fork––“in this family business?”
“Dad,” Dora chirps.
“You don’t mind. Do you, Dallas?”
I’m guessing anything other than a no is not an option. “Not at all.”
“See, Dora. Your friend doesn’t mind.”
Evan gives me a long-suffering expression and mouths sorry.
“I’m starting at our bottling plant in Temecula. I’ve worked in the executive office as an intern for years, but the old man believes everyone should start at the bottom.”
Jay nods, appeased for whatever reason. “I’d have to agree with your grandfather.”
“Are you done with the interrogation, Chief?” Dora grumbles.
“All done, sweet pea.”
Evan smiles tightly. “Anyone want dessert?”
Chapter Seventeen
Dallas
“S-Sorry about that,” Dora says, glancing over from her side of the couch. Her nose wrinkles and I start to picture my lips on it, smoothing those wrinkles away with kisses. This is becoming a problem.
We headed to the family room right after dinner and started binging the new Jack Ryan season. This place is nice. Not as nice as mine––they don’t have a trust fund that looks like the annual GDP of a small country––but nice and comfortable, nonetheless. A real home. Where no one pretends, and the people who live here really do love each other.
“No need to apologize. Look at it this way, I’m not an Amber Alert yet.”
She giggles and a hot spike pierces my chest.
“They’re overprotective,” she whispers.
That’s an understatement. Five minutes after I walked through the front door I could see they treat her like a speechless infant rather than the person she’s become, but whatever, I’ve got my own family problems to deal with.
“Are you looking f-forward to working f-for your grandfather?”
“I guess…I’ve never thought of doing anything else. I’m the last Anders-Burns. No cousins or siblings. There’s no one else to take over once my grandfather steps down…or worse.”
Which, knowing the man is built like a bull, shouldn’t be for another ten years at the very least, thank God.
“You c-could do or be anything you w-wanted to…anything. You’re the most p-perceptive person I’ve ever met. One of the smartest too.”
Her praise
does strange things to me. My neck feels hot, so does my face. Her big brown eyes glide over me, honest and unflinching. I can’t handle the intense scrutiny. Like she’s trying to get inside my head. So I distracted her, press my toes against her thigh.
She smiles. It’s a naughty little smile. Then she runs her short nails up the bottom of my foot and I nearly shoot off the couch.
“That’s evil.”
“So whose f-fault is it?” she says, throwing my words back at me. “You shouldn’t start a foot fight if you’re t-ticklish.”
I thought the talk we had a few nights ago at the Cantina would take some of the energy out of the sexual heat between us, but no. My “heat” still has a hard-on for her that won’t quit.
“When are we breaking and entering?”
She glances around to make sure the coast is clear. Her parents retreated to the kitchen twenty minutes ago to clean up.
“After they go to s-sleep.”
Silence falls. The sound of the action on the TV fills the void. Neither one of us moves or looks away and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore what’s happening between us. Trained on my mouth, her eyes slowly move down the column of my neck to my chest, down my arm with the chain mail tat.
My dick is halfway to hard already, which is a sign I need to take measures to avert where this is going. Not that I would mind it going there. Fuck, I’d welcome it. But not here. Not now. This isn’t about us. It’s about her and I’m not gonna let her down.
Clearing my throat, I adjust myself under the blanket covering us. “Bathroom?”
“All the way down the hall and to the right.”
I make it as far as the end of the hall near the kitchen when a pair of quiet voices stop me. The first is barely above a murmur and yet I immediately recognize the authoritarian, nut-crushing tone belonging to Jay Ramos.
“Where’s he sleeping?”
Probably not my best idea to creep on Dora’s dads, but fuck it. A: I’m a nosy bastard. And B: I was getting some hardcore negative vibes from the Chief earlier. I’m chalking this up to self-preservation.
“The guest room,” Evan Ramos answers. “Where would you like him to sleep?”