Aced (Blocked #2)

by Jennifer Lane

  “You do?” His mouth eased into a slow, sexy smile.

  That ignited a furnace of heat in my belly, cementing the idea. “Yes.”

  “Here you guys are!” Mateo loped into the room, one side of his black hair slanted over his eye with a punk rock spike on the other side. “Johnny told me you were in the Vermeil Room, not the library.” He gestured behind him to a blond agent who didn’t look much older than Alejandro.

  “Sorry, sir,” Johnny replied, then joined Brad by the room’s entrance.

  “The what room?” Alejandro asked.

  “The V-e-r-m-e-i-l Room,” Mateo said. “Vermeil means gold-plated silver. Across the hall from the library.”

  Of course we were in the library. I just hadn’t noticed the shelves full of books until now. I also gawked at the bouquet of roses on a round cherry-wood table. There must have been at least five dozen.

  “Where’s Lucy?” asked Mateo.

  “She took Dane to see the bowling alley,” Alejandro said.

  “Sweet.”

  As Mateo spun around to leave, I noticed a black cat at his feet.

  “Hey!” Alejandro called, and Mateo turned back to face us. “Rudo. Come meet my girlfriend, Maddie.”

  With a shy smile and a blush reminiscent of his sister, Mateo approached. “Sorry,” he said. “I know Lucy’s eager to see Escuincle.” He nodded at the cat and offered his hand.

  “Matty, meet Maddie.” He laughed, and Mateo and I cracked up, too.

  “It’s like I’m meeting myself,” I said with a grin.

  “Except you’re taller.” He studied me. “Your block was epic against Penn State.”

  Lucia’s family had attended the final four of the NCAA tournament, but Secret Service had whisked them away before I’d had the chance to meet them. “Too bad we still lost,” I said.

  Mateo shrugged. “Penn State’s setter was better.”

  “That’s an astute observation, little brother.” Alejandro glanced at me and smirked.

  “Well, I’ve been dragged to countless volleyball games,” Mateo grumbled.

  “And baseball games.” Alejandro’s arm extended like he wanted to sling it across Mateo’s back, but he stopped in midair when his brother seemed to stiffen. Alejandro tapped his fist on his shoulder instead. “Thanks for being there for us.”

  Mateo looked down, and awkward silence descended. I tried to think of something to say. “Your music’s increíble.”

  His eyes shifted up, and I noticed they were lighter than Alejandro’s. “¿Hablas español también?”

  I looked to Alejandro for help, and he shook his head. “Maddie doesn’t speak Spanish. She doesn’t care about politics, either.”

  “Then I like you already.” Mateo gave me a conspiratorial smile. “But how do you put up with Alex’s Republican rants? They go on and on, like, forever.”

  I met Alejandro’s dark gaze. “He’s a passionate guy. I like his passion.” His eyes smoldered, and for a second I forgot I was standing in the White House. If Mateo weren’t here, I’d show Alejandro some passion of my own. To tamp down the tingle in my spine, I focused on Mateo. “Your lyrics are really beautiful.”

  The blush returned. He was so damn cute!

  “I think that’s a great way to deal with your illness,” I continued. “Funneling all your frustration and sadness into songs.”

  Alejandro inhaled, then nodded. “That’s what you’re writing about. Diabetes has stolen your life away.”

  “Some of my songs are about that, yeah.” Mateo tucked his hands into the pockets of his frayed jeans.

  Alejandro’s eyes traveled down my body, then back up to linger on my face, which warmed under his appreciative gaze. “Quite insightful, Maddie.”

  “It’s the Maddie-Matty connection.” I tilted my head toward the teenager.

  “Squinky!” Lucia shrieked.

  She jogged into the room with Dane, Frank, and a man holding a camera trailing her. I followed Lucia’s horrified gaze to the floor, and watched the black cat rise from his crouch after depositing two pellets of poop next to Alejandro’s shoe.

  Alejandro jumped away. “Disgusting!”

  “Ba ha ha ha!” Mateo doubled over in laughter.

  “Stop laughing, Matty.” Lucia’s voice shook with suppressed giggles. “We have to clean this up before Mom sees.”

  “Yes, we do,” Alejandro growled. “I’m surprised he didn’t poop on my shoe. That cat’s such a brat.” He looked at me. “That’s what Escuincle means in Spanish. Brat.”

  Lucia tsked and scooped up the cat, cradling him like an infant. “Don’t listen to him. How’s my little Squinky-Squinky?” she cooed. “Did you miss me, baby?” Dane leaned over to tickle the cat’s belly.

  Over the cat’s motorboat purrs I heard the clicking of a camera. Was that the White House photographer?

  Alejandro must have heard it too, because he hurled himself in front of his siblings, blocking the photographer’s view. “You can’t take pictures of this brat cat pooping in the library, destroying our country’s relics!”

  The rich oriental carpet probably cost more than an entire year of my father’s salary.

  Dane laughed. “Not the image you want for the first family, Alex?” He seemed to notice Mateo just then, extending his arm for a fist bump. “How’s it going, my man?”

  “Good.”

  “Hey, Matty!” Lucia stretched her free arm around his shoulder and tucked him in for a hug. “Thanks for looking after the Squinkster.”

  “He’s a cool cat.”

  Alejandro glared at the feline. “He’s the devil. Now, how will we clean this up without staining the rug?”

  “Housekeeping’s been notified, sir,” Frank said from across the room.

  Click, click, click went the camera.

  Alejandro ran his hands through his hair, looking stressed. I crossed over to him and clasped his hand in mine. “It’ll be okay,” I said. “I think it’s hilarious Squinky pooped on the White House carpet. The public will love it.”

  “Really?” His hand relaxed a bit.

  “Mr. Ramirez?” The photographer called. “Will you move over by your siblings? I want to get some shots of you three.”

  He gave me a guilty glance, and I released his hand. “Go,” I said. I backed up against a bookshelf and Dane came to stand next to me.

  Alejandro stood the tallest, but it was his demeanor that made it clear he was the oldest. His posture was straight and serious, his dark gray suit professional. Lucia wore yoga pants and long-sleeved black shirt that had “Talk to the Hands” spelled out in rhinestones with an image of two palms splayed out over a volleyball net, ready for the block.

  The siblings’ thick, black hair shone in the overhead lights. When Alejandro reached to pet the cat, the resulting hiss got his brother and sister laughing again.

  “Damn, that cat hates him,” said Dane.

  “Do you wish your family lived here instead?” I asked him.

  He stroked his chin. “It’d be pretty sweet, I guess. But all the other stuff? The security detail, the media…” He pointed to the photographer. “Luz can’t even hang with her bros without some douchebag recording it all for posterity. No, thanks.”

  A woman in a light-gray dress with a white apron entered the room and quietly cleaned the cat’s mess.

  “Wonder where we can drum up some food in this place,” Dane said as he scanned the room. “I’m starving.”

  I was hungry, too.

  “Maddie,” Alejandro called. He smiled at me and gestured for the photographer. “Take some photos of us,” he told him.

  “You sure?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He folded me into his side, and we stood in front of rose-a-palooza for several shots. How would Braxton react to my wide smile?

  “Niños, you’re all here.”

  I turned to see Mrs. Ramirez enter the room.

  “I’m so happy!” She cupped her face in her hands
.

  The photographer spun around to snap some photos of her, and she raised her hands in front of her face. “Ay! No photos. I look a mess.”

  A riot of jewel colors splashed across her vibrant print dress, and she’d clearly spent time on her coiffed hair and makeup. I glanced down. What would she think of my suede jacket over black jeans?

  Alejandro clasped my hand. “You ready to meet Hurricane Sylvia?”

  “Should I be scared?”

  He chuckled. “Nah. She’s loud and blustery, but she’s okay.”

  Lucia and Dane reached her first. Lucia embraced her mother, and to my surprise, Mrs. Ramirez hugged Dane as well. As she let him go, she peered up at him. “You staying away from alcohol, young man?”

  Dane grinned. “Sí, Señora Ramirez.” He glanced at me and explained, “The first time I met Luz’s mother didn’t go so well.”

  “You were drunk,” Mateo offered.

  Dane rolled his eyes at Mateo. “Thanks for your help.” He looked back at me. “Hopefully Señora likes you better than me.”

  “Mamá, this is Maddie Brooks,” Alejandro said.

  “Qué hermosa. Beautiful.” She cradled my cheek in her hand, and her light floral perfume floated between us. “She could be a model, Alejandro.”

  “I know.” He beamed at me, and my face flamed.

  In an instant, I was in her arms. Mrs. Ramirez patted my back and murmured, “Lovely to meet you, my dear.” Her ample bosom pressed into my abdomen; she was so soft and warm. Her comfort overwhelmed me, and I was shocked when tears blurred my eyes. I thought I was done with crying!

  When Mrs. Ramirez released me, I blinked to clear my tears.

  “Of course I like you,” she said. “One look at Mr. Morose grinning like an idiot over there tells me everything I need to know about you.”

  “I do not look like an idiot,” Alejandro huffed.

  “Dude.” Dane shook his head. “Your mom’s enchanted by your girlfriend. Don’t ruin it.”

  “Well said, Dane.” Mrs. Ramirez clapped her hands. “But where are my manners? Come, all of you; you must be hungry. We have food set up in the Palm Room.” She headed for the door, and Dane and Lucia followed her.

  Alejandro had turned to watch his brother and a female agent. She wore the business-suit uniform of the other agents I’d met, topped with fiery red hair. Mateo rolled up one sleeve, and she pricked his exposed arm with a lancet, testing his blood in some sort of device.

  Alejandro frowned. “Fingertip pricks are more accurate, but Matty says they interfere with playing the guitar.”

  “How many times a day does he have to get tested?”

  “Not sure. A while back it was around five, but Mom said his numbers have been crazy recently—you know, with hormones and everything.”

  “Hormones affect insulin?”

  “Especially human growth hormone.”

  The agent nodded at Mateo, who glared at us. “You done talking about me?”

  Whoops. “Sorry,” I said.

  “How is it?” Alejandro asked.

  “It’s fine.” Mateo marched out of the room, and Alejandro sped behind him. I jogged to catch up.

  “What’s the number, Matty?”

  His brother ignored him.

  “Tell me.”

  Mateo whirled, his eyes flaring. “It’s one-ten, okay? I manage just fine without you.”

  “Okay.” Alejandro held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  I tried to think of something to distract them. “When will we meet your dad?”

  But Alejandro seemed to tense up even more. “Maybe for lunch. I don’t know.”

  Brad and the red-haired agent followed us. The first room we passed had white walls and recessed red shelves, flashing recognition in my mind. “Is that the China Room? I saw that in a movie once, I think.”

  “Yes. I’ll make sure we get the tour later.”

  Across the hall from that room was an opaque door. “Secret Service,” Alejandro told me. He glanced behind him at Brad. “China’s in there?”

  “Yep.”

  I hadn’t seen her since we’d entered the White House. Alejandro seemed worried about her, but I had no idea why.

  Once we arrived in the room with the buffet table, my eyes went wide. I’d never seen that much food.

  Mrs. Ramirez stood by an informal dining table. “There’s a family dining room upstairs, but we typically eat down here, with only three of us for meals.” She gave her eldest a pointed look. A jab about him not visiting more? “I love all the light coming in.”

  Sunlight streamed through the glass door and windows at one end of the rectangular room, silhouetting the two marines posted on each side. I was grateful the spring weather was more temperate in DC than at Highbanks, where it had snowed a few days ago.

  “Plus, it’s near the kitchen,” she continued, “and the West Wing, so Adolfo doesn’t have far to come. Staff can grab something from the buffet, too. Please.” She gestured to the plates at one end of the buffet table. “Dane, I see you drooling over the enchiladas. You go first, but save some for the rest of us, ¿sí?”

  His eyes lit up, and he piled food on his plate.

  Mrs. Ramirez exchanged a look with Mateo. He nodded, and she smiled. Was she also checking on his blood glucose?

  We quieted as we ate. I kept staring at a painting of Lady Liberty ensconced in the American flag. It looked straight out of the eighteenth century. Alejandro noticed my fascination and smiled at me.

  “¿Me puedo servir otro plato, Señora?” asked Dane.

  “Por supuesto.” Mrs. Ramirez nodded.

  Alejandro leaned in to whisper, “Dane asked if he could have seconds, and Mom said of course.”

  Dane returned to his seat with an even larger plate of food.

  “That’s repulsive,” Mateo said, eyeing the food mountain.

  “C’mon, we had a killer practice this morning.” Dane swigged some ice water. “Jessica says I eat more than swimmers do.” He puffed out his chest like he was proud. “Though they’re tapering now, so they’re eating less.”

  Mateo perked up. “What’s tapering?”

  “It’s when swimmers rest more—swim fewer laps—before their big meet at the end of the season. Jess bounces off the walls this time of year.”

  “What’s her big meet?”

  Dane finished chewing his bite. “US Nationals, in April.”

  “So, like, what events does she swim?”

  That was Mateo’s third question about Jessica. Interesting. I glanced at Lucia and noticed her smirk. I’d have to ask her if Mateo had the hots for Dane’s sister.

  “Breaststroke and IM,” Dane said. “Individual medley is all four strokes. Jess is really versatile.”

  His pride was heartwarming. I wondered if Braxton ever spoke about me that way. Probably not. He’d told me several times I’d sold out by accepting an athletic scholarship.

  Once we’d finished eating, Alejandro stood and reached for my empty plate. A man dressed in a black uniform rushed in and took it from him. “I’ve got it, sir.”

  “Oh.” Alejandro stepped back and looked around, tugging at his jacket sleeve like he was nervous. It was strange to be treated like royalty. I hoped I wouldn’t make a fool of myself during this visit. Alejandro started as he looked toward the West Wing. “Hey, Dad’s here.”

  President Ramirez glided through the door held open by one of the marines, and it was obvious where Alejandro got his grace. The president towered over the two agents shadowing him, but when Dane stood, I could tell he was a couple inches taller than President Ramirez.

  Alejandro took my hand and drew me to my feet.

  “Sweetheart,” Mrs. Ramirez said as she popped out of her chair.

  Mr. Ramirez fanned his hands to the side and pressed down on air a few times. “Please, stay seated, everyone.”

  “That’s okay; we’re finished. Let’s get—” The president cut off his wife by grabbing her for a kiss. They
hugged for a long minute, whispering and smiling at each other. Alejandro rolled his eyes. But I smiled.

  “What was I saying?” When her husband let her go, Mrs. Ramirez’s hair was ruffled, and her eyes hazy. I knew what it was like to be undone by a Ramirez kiss. “Oh! Let’s get you a plate, Adolfo.”

  “I ate earlier,” President Ramirez said. His wife started to protest but he’d already moved to envelop Lucia in a hug. “Mija, so good to see you here.”

  “Cool crib, Dad.”

  He laughed, but his expression sobered as he turned to Dane. Offering his hand, he said, “Tough game against UC Irvine.”

  Dane’s eyes widened in apparent surprise. “We’ll get ’em next time.”

  “How are your parents doing?”

  “They’re…” Dane frowned. “Good.”

  “Send them my best.”

  He nodded.

  President Ramirez patted Mateo’s shoulder. He was still seated, his fingers flying over his phone keyboard. “A hug for your dad, Mateo?”

  “Dad, I just saw you, like, five minutes ago.”

  The president shook his head at Mrs. Ramirez but let Mateo stay absorbed. As he approached us, my breath caught in my throat.

  “Son.” He and Alejandro thumped each other on the back as they hugged.

  Alejandro seemed to brace himself as he looked at me, then back at his dad. “This is Maddie Brooks.”

  The president’s sharp gaze met mine, sending my heart rate soaring. Then he broke out in a megawatt smile as he shook my hand. “So this is my daughter’s idol.”

  “Dad.” Lucia sounded embarrassed.

  Alejandro had the same deep, dark eyes, but lines around his father’s creased when he smiled. “Thanks for taking care of Lucy.”

  “She’s taken care of me, too.” I shrugged. I smiled at Alejandro and almost added, And so has Alex.

  “Alejandro tells me you’re trying out for the national team?”

  Warmth flooded my cheeks. What if I didn’t make it? “Next month.”

  “Mr. President?” An older woman with blond hair had entered the room. I took in her flawless beige suit jacket and skirt. She looked familiar.