Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 02 - Hasta la Vista, Lola!

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  “Great,” I said, crunching on a warm tortilla chip dipped in chunky salsa. I’d have to leave soon—less time to spend alone with Jack. “I’ll be sure to thank her for you.”

  “I’ll thank her myself,” he said. “I’m going with you.”

  My spine popped. “You don’t have to.” How much torture was he going to put me through?

  “Yes. I do. I’m doing my own research, remember?”

  Sylvia glided up to the table. “What can I get you two?”

  I shook my head. “Oh, we’re not eating together, Sylvia. I was just passing through.”

  “Mentirosa. You know you came here to eat,” she finished, then whipped out her order book, pen poised to write.

  Before I could utter a word, Jack rattled off his order. My stomach growled. Traitor.

  Sylvia turned to me, her eyes moving briefly to my stomach, her eyebrows arching. “¿Lista?”

  My shoulders sank. I was starving. I gave in. “I’ll have the tostada salad,” I said.

  It was just a late lunch with Jack. Not a date. Not a seduction. It. Was. Just. Lunch. With a friend whose voice could probably bring me to orgasm if I let it.

  It wasn’t like I couldn’t control myself in the middle of my family’s restaurant. But alone with him on the college campus? That was another story.

  My eyes glossed across the tables in the dining room. Chely stood at my grandparents’ booth, the three of them staring at me like I was the bearded lady with Ringling Brothers. By the grace of God, everyone else minded their own business, unaware of the turmoil in my mind. Sylvia scratched the order on her pad and retreated to the kitchen.

  “I need to say hello to my grandparents,” I said to Jack. I slipped away from the table, hoping I’d gain some perspective from across the dining room.

  I felt his gaze penetrating my back as I walked. Next to my nubile fifteen-year-old cousin, I looked curvy and busty in a Betty Boop kind of way. Ah, who was I kidding? I was Betty Boop next to anyone. Boobs, hips, and a belly button ring that Jack thought was sexy. The whole package.

  I straightened the hem of my sweater and smoothed my hands over my skirt. If Jack was going to stare, he might as well get a good, long look at what he’d get when he sorted things out with Sarah.

  Chely smacked her gum and grinned at me as I flung my hair away from my face. “He’s, like, so fine and he can’t keep his eyes off you. I knew you liked him!”

  I leaned down—kicking one high-heeled leg out behind me—and gave my grandparents kisses on the cheek. Extra motivation for him to hurry up and work out those problems, I reasoned, but I quickly dropped my leg. I was no tease.

  Chely leaned her back against the table and waved across the dining room. I turned in time to see Jack grinning and waving back.

  “¿Estas comiendo con el güero?” Abuelo flung his cane into the air, pointing it at Jack. We all followed the trajectory of the cane and saw Jack grinning. His gaze lingered on me. He looked hungry. Like a wolf.

  With my head bowed, I turned back to the booth, my hand cupped over my eyes. Ay, Dios mío. “We’re friends and we’re having lunch.”

  Chely nodded slowly, as if she understood the ways of the world. She leaned in to whisper in my ear, her tongue lapping against the roof of her mouth as she chewed her gum. “Right. Tienes hambre por ese hombre.” Then she gave a wickedly suggestive laugh as only a fifteen-year-old girl can.

  I leveled a look at her and went into mentor mode, totally ignoring the fact that she was right on the money. “Just because you’re fifteen now, that doesn’t mean you are a love guru, so cállate, muchacha.”

  Then, with my head held high, I walked back to have a civil meal with Jack.

  Margaret Wallis was a mountain of a woman. She stood at least six feet tall and half as wide, and had to have at least thirty years on Jack. My eyes teared, and I choked back a relieved laugh. Margaret, at least, wasn’t one of Jack’s former lovers.

  Plunging my arm forward, I smiled brightly and pitched my voice with extra enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Wallis. I appreciate you taking the time to see me.”

  “Call me Margaret.” She lumbered back to her desk and sat in her chair, swiveling around to face us. Jack and I sat in two straight-backed uncomfortable chairs next to her. “Jackie tells me someone enrolled here using your name?”

  An invisible string tugged on my head like a puppet. “Jackie?”

  He glared at me, but he didn’t have the power to wipe the nearly hysterical grin off my face. “Old nickname,” he said.

  I nodded. Turning back to Margaret, I said, “You may have read about the woman in the newspaper, actually. She was killed recently. Died in an alley off Florin Road.”

  “I do remember seeing that on the news. Jackie said they thought it was you?”

  “That’s right. She had a driver’s license in my name—”

  “She had a lot of things in your name,” Jack muttered.

  “—and financial aid material for Sac State.”

  Margaret spun around in her chair and tapped on her computer keyboard. “Social Security?”

  I rattled off my nine-digit number and waited while she tapped. A moment later, she grabbed hold of the monitor with her bulky hands and angled it to face us. “There you are. Dolores Falcón Cruz, admitted for fall semester, financial aid pending.”

  Yep, there was my name, enrolled in Sac State for the second time in my life. “Why would they admit me again? I already have my bachelor’s degree.”

  “People come back all the time. Change in interests means a change in major.” She scrolled down the screen, pointing when she found what she was looking for. “See here, it shows you already have a degree in criminal justice. The second admittance is under Spanish.”

  “So she wouldn’t have to take any prerequisites again? Just the upper-level courses?”

  Margaret shook her head. “No, she’d have to take any undergraduate courses relevant and required for a Spanish major and any new requirements since the original graduation date. The upper division would be major specific.”

  I looked at Jack. “What was she going to do with a Spanish major?”

  He shrugged. “Translator? Teach? Who knows?”

  It didn’t make sense. “If I already have a degree, and she was living as me, then why would she even need a new degree?” It was a rhetorical question, and since my haunting dopplegänger wasn’t talking, the answer would probably stay buried with her.

  “Is there anything else you think might be helpful?” I asked.

  Margaret scrolled through the file before shaking her head. “You can talk to financial aid,” she suggested, and before I knew it, she had the phone receiver in her hand and had dialed an extension. After a brief conversation, she cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear and turned to us. “You can head over there now. Randall Leonard will help you.”

  Margaret heaved herself out of her chair and offered me her hand to shake. Her large, pudgy fingers engulfed mine, leaving a dry sensation on my skin. Jack gave her a quick hug. “Thanks for your help.”

  “My pleasure. Say hello to your mom for me.”

  “I will.”

  Ah, so Mags was Jack’s mother’s friend. Once we were out of earshot, I turned and grinned at him. “Jackie, Margaret is adorable. Thank you so much for bringing me to meet her.”

  He indulged me with a smile, but before my eyes, his face grew serious and he wagged a finger at me. “Forget you ever heard it.”

  “What?”

  “The nickname.”

  “Or what?” I asked. I walked ahead, the two-inch heels of my shoes clicking against the sidewalk.

  I felt him before I heard him. His arm wrapped around me, and his fingers spread against my torso as he matched his footsteps to mine. “I can’t do this, Lola.” His voice held a seductive edge that sent tingles down my spine.

  I walked faster. In three long strides, he caught up with me, slipped his arm around me again, and pulled
me to a stop. “Randall Leonard can wait.”

  He led me to a bench. I sank down next to him. My skirt slipped up to reveal my thighs. I suppressed the rational voice in my mind, giving in to my desire to flirt. “What d’ya want to talk about, Jackie?”

  His mouth drew into a cockeyed smile, and his brows rose, that infernal dimple glimmering in his cheek. “It’s pure torture being around you, you know that?”

  “Self-inflicted. You insisted on coming.”

  “If I weigh the options, I’d rather be around you and be tortured than not be around you.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. “I can’t share you, Jack.” Looking at him, I started to lose myself in the ocean of his eyes. Blinking broke the spell. “The financial-aid guy is waiting,” I said, my voice far away and almost dreamy, not wanting to budge.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Jack murmured.

  I swallowed, trying my hardest to stay focused. “He’s waiting for me.”

  His lips brushed against mine, soft and warm. “I’m waiting for you, too.” My rational mind began to melt away as the warmth of his breath mingled with mine, his tongue slipping between my lips.

  My breath grew rapid, and my heartbeat became wild. My body wanted Jack, and my mind was struggling to remember why I couldn’t go with the feelings.

  Then, just as suddenly as he’d kissed me, he pulled away, leaving me breathless. My eyelids fluttered open, and I saw his eyes sparkling in the bright sunlight, the curve of his lips more than a little wicked. His hands had been resting casually on my arms. One slipped down to my hip and skimmed over my leg. I shuddered, marveling at my reaction to his slightest touch. The guy was good. Seduction should have been his middle name.

  My head felt heavy, a layer of sensual fog weaving through my thought processes in anticipation of the next kiss. It didn’t come.

  Forcing my eyes open, I caught a mildly coherent glimpse of Jack flicking his wrist up and glancing at his watch. He looked at me for a long second before pulling me up by the hand. “Come on. Let’s go see Randall Leonard.”

  “Wh-what?” I shook my head, clearing away the clouds of desire. My ankle twisted on the uneven grass.

  He faced me, a tortured look on his face. “I can’t stay away from you, Lola. I’m trying, but I can’t.”

  Dios mío. He was chipping away at part of my wall.

  “Then don’t. Be with me.” Just me, I added in my head.

  “I want to. It’s just…” He looked me in the eyes then, straight and as honest as I’d ever seen him. “I might have to leave again soon.”

  I blinked away the last of the sensual fog I’d been in. “To see Sarah,” I said, saying what he hadn’t.

  The next thing I knew, Jack’s mouth was pressed hard against mine. The kiss was desperate. Searching. Like it came from a soldier who’d been missing in action and who was suddenly in the arms of his true love.

  Tortured.

  Jack’s body was a perfect fit against mine. His nearness sent corkscrews of desire through every inch of me. I wanted to climb onto him. Into him. Go home to him, where I knew I belonged.

  But it wasn’t that easy for us. Because he owed Sarah. She was sick, and he’d broken her heart. An ache settled into the base of my throat when he pulled away again. His mouth pressed against my forehead.

  He caressed my fingers one by one, lifting my hand to his mouth, kissing each knuckle, opening the palm, skimming his lips across it. “I don’t want to,” he said, his voice hoarse and labored.

  Determination coiled in the pit of my stomach. He’d wanted me since we were teenagers, and I’d wanted him for just as long. So why did it feel like we’d never have our moment? Truth or dare. I opted for truth. “You’ve always been able to have any girl you wanted,” I said, my voice low. “Why do you suddenly want me when you have Sarah? When you feel so obligated to her?”

  “My wanting you is not sudden. It’s been a long time coming.”

  That was his truth. If he’d said it to win me over, he’d said the wrong thing. It scared me worse than a trip to Mexico, sin Pepto-Bismol, would. “There’s no way I can ever live up to all of your expectations, even if Sarah were out of the picture.”

  “There’s no way you can’t,” he said.

  “I think I’m safe for you,” I said slowly. “You can’t actually have me while you’re tied to helping Sarah.”

  Jack ran his hand through his hair, looking frustrated and exasperated all at once. He paced across the grass, and when he looked at me again, his face had hardened. “When did you become a psychotherapist?”

  “I’m not. It just makes sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He wheeled around. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, Lola.”

  I could feel the anger emanating off him. “Okay,” I said.

  The look he gave me was a blend of desire and hopelessness. “I’m going to figure this out.”

  I just nodded. I hoped he could.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “Randall’s waiting.”

  And that was that.

  I did my best to put my game face back on. In my mind, I said to him, I’m just like you, Jack. I’m tortured. Positively and completely tortured.

  Chapter 15

  Randall Leonard looked to be all of eighteen, a late bloomer still in braces, pockmarks on his face, and shoulder-length stringy brown hair that was three days past needing a wash. He didn’t budge from his chair as Jack and I entered his small office. He wore stiff shorts that were way too big for him, and his legs flopped out to either side like a frog. I had a pretty good view right up into his nether zone and, like a rubber necker passing the scene of an accident, I had a hard time not staring in horror.

  He directed his pointy chin at us. “Hey.”

  I forced a pleasant smile, ignoring the fact that his college education hadn’t covered social etiquette. Working hard to keep my gaze on his face, my eyes started watering. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “Dude.” Jack uttering that single word from where he leaned against the door was man-speak. Randall read between the lines. He slammed his legs together and sat up.

  The kid bit into an apple and waved his hand at a chair across the room. So gallant. I dragged it over so I could sit across from him. My skin prickled from Jack’s unrelenting gaze on me. We were both tormented with a bone-deep craving for each other. Sad but true.

  “I’d like to see the financial aid forms filled out by Dolores Cruz,” I said to Randall.

  I shrank back as he shook his head, his stringy hair flying around his face. When his head stopped moving, he shoved a wayward strand behind one ear. He took another bite of apple and chomped. “No can do,” he said, his mouth full of fruit mush. “Those are confidential.”

  I hadn’t actually filled out the forms, but technically they were mine. “But I’m Dolores Cruz.” I pulled my wallet out from my purse and flipped it open to show him my driver’s license.

  “That lady in admissions said it was about someone else.” He peered at the license, then at me. “Huh.” He must have chalked it up to a misunderstanding because he asked, “You need to change something?”

  “It’ll only take a few minutes.” Classic avoidance of the question. I held my breath, hoping it would work.

  He hesitated, finishing off the apple before tossing the mangled core into the garbage can across the room. Pushing back in his chair, his feet propelled it across the small room to the filing cabinet. “Dolores Cruz, huh? Dolores. That’s like an old-lady name.”

  Huh. He had huevos. Nobody had ever voiced that aloud before. “Yeah,” I said, “but it has a great nickname.”

  I heard Jack shifting his position at the door.

  “Oh, yeah? What is it?” Randall’s eyes gleamed like this was some sort of conspiracy.

  “Lola,” I said.

  He grinned, his shiny silver mouth, tiny red rubber bands on each brace, beaming at me. “Sex-y.”

  The way he said it gave me the feeling h
e was flirting. Had he not noticed Jack, with his I’m gonna kick your ass stance, framed in the doorway?

  Apparently not, because Randall winked at me before he began riffling through one of the drawers. He finally located the file in question. He pulled it out, slammed the metal drawer closed with a reverberating bang, and scooted himself back to his desk.

  I reached for the file. “Thanks.”

  He held tight for a beat and gave me what I think was his player look. “Sure thing, Lola.”

  I rolled my eyes—oh, brother—and snatched it from his hands. Flipping the folder open, I scanned the sheets. Everything was there. My Social Security number, driver’s license, mother’s maiden name, work address, home address, phone numbers. Every last piece of my personal information. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach with each agonizing beat. There was nothing in the file that would point me in a new direction. Another dead end.

  I felt Jack lay his hand on my shoulder, an unexpected comfort that made my eyes burn. Tortured or not, he knew when to show compassion. I held the file up. “Look.”

  He read silently, handing the folder back to me when he was done. “Not good.”

  “How did she get all this?”

  Randall looked from me to Jack to the folder. He drew his head back suspiciously. “What’s going on here?”

  Jack held his palm out toward the guy. “Relax, man.”

  “Dude, you relax.” He flicked his chin at me. “What’s she upset about?”

  Jack towered over Randall, at least double the lean mass of the scrawny boy. “Ever hear of identity theft, chief?”

  Randall pushed his feet against the carpeted floor, propelling himself backwards again, away from Jack. “Yeah. Of course.”

  “This,” he pointed to me, “is the victim of an identity theft.” He laid his hand on my shoulder again. “This is Dolores Cruz. The person who filled out that paperwork was not. She was older. She was a mother. And now she’s dead.”

  Randall’s jaw went slack. “Dude.”

  I listened to Jack. He understood. This was more than identity theft. Rosie was dead, and despite her crime, she didn’t deserve the end she’d gotten. She was older, a mother—An idea burst into my head. “Is there a day care facility on campus?”