If there hadn’t been an audience, we would’ve ended up on the floor again. Shirtless. At least me.
Now she’s in my bedroom. Instead of taking full advantage of the bed, I'm asking this amazing girl if she’s promiscuous. That’s the antithesis of romance.
No chick wants that.
After I ask her for a head count, my only recourse is closing my eyes. As if I cannot stand to see her answer. If I were her, I’d smother me with a pillow.
Instead, I feel a weight land on my body, exactly where she’d been earlier today. Her body, where it meets mine, is warm. Opening my eyes, I see her once again straddling me.
Dresses are definitely a weakness of mine.
She leans forward, eyes locked on mine, deadly serious. “Counting you?”
I don’t even nod. We haven't done anything, why count me?
“Kiel,” she murmurs, leaning closer still. When our lips are touching and she has my hands pinned down (how had that happened?), she says, “Zero.”
Without a thought, I break her hold to grab the back of her head and crush our lips together. What she said? It’s mind-blowing. I want her infinitely more than I did ten seconds ago, if that’s possible. In the back of my mind, a small voice says to me she could have said five, ten, or twenty. It was the unknown that weighed down on me.
Breaking the kiss, making her moan in protest, I start trailing kisses down her jaw and neck. I breathe her in; the scent of flowers invades my senses.
Ashlyn’s little gasping noises bring me back to reality. If I hope to make it out of this room without embarrassing myself further, we have to stop. Her eyes are glassy when I pull back.
Bringing my lips to her ear, I tell her, “This is killing me each time we stop. But I have to stop us.” I decide not to elaborate. Hell, she's sitting on the evidence. To which she responds with a wiggle of her hips and a goofy bad-girl wink.
She climbs off onto the other side of the bed, lying down to face me. I roll to my side facing her and fix her dress for both of our sakes.
“I'm sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. Not when it meant possibly hurting you.”
“I want us to be able to talk things through, is all. I hate it when you go into your head.” She reaches out and traces my ear, my lips, and my neck.
We lay there just like that, barely touching each other.
***
Sure enough, Mom’s made mole enchiladas for dinner. Dad has a mole-free torta, a Mexican sandwich, on his plate.
Mom serves. Lili will only allow one to grace her plate. I'll make it through one and a half before I can’t take it anymore. Knowing her own children’s tolerance levels, she heaps three onto Ashlyn’s plate, along with the rice and beans.
Ash’s face never slips from pleasant. If she makes it through dinner, I'm thinking she's what they call a ‘keeper.” The kind moms want their sons to marry.
Dad blesses the meal and we dig in. On Ashlyn’s first bite, she moans, “Oh, no!”
Mom’s face shows all sorts of false worry. This was her fiendish plan all along. Dupe the white chick into eating chocolate chicken. Mom opens her mouth to say something, but my girl beats her to it by taking her next bite, then another.
Mom has met her match.
Ashlyn makes it through two of the three. Very commendable. Lili is still picking pitiably through, attempting to save the chicken and her side dishes from touching the sauce.
“So, Ashlyn,” Dad starts, “you have a taste for ‘traditional’ Mexican dishes? I can’t get used to some of them, myself.”
“Oh, my mom learned to cook lots of different things when she started dating Dad. To impress his family, partly. It worked. They never gave her grief for being the palest.”
Maybe she forgot that I told her about my Dad’s family. Mom seems far away for a second. Dad clears his throat. Liliana glances from Ashlyn to them and back again. She looks pleased with Ashlyn’s screw up.
“Oh! I am so sorry. I didn’t mean…” her voice trails off. She looks to me to help her out.
“Mom, what’s for dessert?” I ask.
She laughs, a good sign. “Lili, come help me serve the cake.”
Dad turns to me and asks, “How were the auditions, Kiel?”
“I got everyone I needed. Kind of a surprise. My center on the team showed up out of the blue with an electric guitar. A limited edition Les Paul Epiphone, no less. Didn’t see that one coming.”
Dad and I chat about guitars and music choices. Dad’s attention turns, bravely, back to Ashlyn.
“Ashlyn, you're a senior, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“College plans, yet?” he continues.
Talk about roll reversals! Her parents love me. And here she is, basically interviewing for the girlfriend position.
“I'm still thinking about it. There aren’t a lot of things I can see myself doing for the rest of my life. Maybe baking with my mom. Who knows?”
“What do your parents think about your plan?”
“Um, it hasn’t really come up, I guess.”
Whoa. Me and her need to stop making out so much and get to know each other better. My dad found out more about her in one question than I have in three weeks. I'm impressed by her honesty and conviction.
How to stop making out with her when she was the instigator?
Despite my adoration for her and that stellar answer, Dad seems unappeased. What did a girl have to do to impress my parents? He looks like he wants to interrogate further.
Mom saves Ashlyn unwittingly by bringing in slices of chocolate cake. They head back into the kitchen for the coffee to go with it. All of us sip and eat. The conversation stays safe. Now I know her birthday (October 9), that Brisa is sixteen, and she's never been to Mexico.
***
We excuse ourselves from the table and head out to the Jeep. I would walk her home to eke out more time with her, but Mom throws a grocery store trip in at the last minute. The only grocery store in town closes in fifteen minutes. How convenient.
There's no way we cannot go without cheese for another ten to twelve hours. And flour? She never runs out of flour. Mom wants Ashlyn home, period.
At the Jeep I stand ridiculously close to her as I say, “I think we should take her out to get muddy tomorrow. When can I pick you up?”
“Oh, absolutely! But it has to be after Mass. Doesn’t your mom go to the same church as us?
“Yeah, it’s the same.”
“You could, you know, come with me. Tomorrow. Sit with me?” she suggests hesitantly. Her eyelashes bat up and down, pressing her lips together. Oh, hell. She’s learned well.
“What time?” I concede to her the victory. But not without cringing.
“Kiel,” she laughs. “It’s not ‘til 11:30. Your mom probably goes earlier for confessional and to pray for her lustful son and his wayward girlfriend.”
Mhm. Girlfriend. Dump the friend part. She's just my girl.
“I'll pick you up at 11:00.”
***
Ashlyn
I was this close to stripping us both down right there in Kiel’s bedroom. With his whole family mere feet away. Then dinner is freaking awkward. The food’s good, though.
I admitted to Kiel’s dad that I had no aspirations. No goals. I sound like a winner. Girls are supposed to be as driven as men, more so if they want to make it. But I don’t want power suits and long hours away from home. I don’t want strangers raising my kids.
The highlight was convincing Kiel to pick me up for church. The eye trick is going down in my playbook.
My mind inadvertently wanders back to his bedroom. His mouth on my neck. And how to get him alone again. I'm wearing a naughty smile when Brisa comes to our room freshly showered.
“Girl, you better not let Mom see you like that, and especially not Dad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say your wallet was a little lighter.”
I crash back into my pillows and say, “Not that I’d mind! Let me know
when I'm safe to be seen in public.” Brisa whacks me with her pillow and laughs.
“He is pretty awesome to look at. Have you gotten to touch any of the goodies?”
“I took off his shirt and molested the abs from heaven.”
“That’s all?” a very disappointed Brisa says. “I would have touched everything I could see…or not see!” She plops back on her bed with a sigh.
“Who says I didn’t?”
“Oooooh!” she pops up squealing. “You are my hero!” and plops down on my bed beside me. “Did he get to see or touch your goodies?”
“Bri!” I reprimand her. “I don’t see that it’s your business!” But I ruin it with a giggle and admit, “No, not yet.”
“Ashlyn, you are the single luckiest chica ever. I want to be like you when I grow up.”
“No longer single! Don’t forget the rumors flying around and texted threats…”
“Ash, if someone is threatening you, you gotta tell Mom and Dad.” She frowns. “I know that sounds lame, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I sigh. “I know, Bri. I know. I just don’t think it’ll do any good. I mean, is she really that stupid?”
“Reyna?” she snorts. “Yes, she is Ash.”
***
I get ready for church the next morning in personal chaos. I am flustered, an out-and-out mess. Outfits are tossed on my bed and Brisa’s. Rejected for being too this or not enough that. I cracked my powder compact, leaving an ivory trail from the vanity to the sink.
I settle on one of Brisa’s dresses. A vintage-inspired dress with a pleated skirt and creamy lace top. Brisa has my nude heels dangling from her fingers at our bedroom door. She scans the wreckage.
“Did you leave anything in the closet?”
“Yes. That ugly, yellow sailor dress you bought on clearance? It is still hanging.”
“Just for that I'm wearing your new hi-lo dress,” she says and traipses through the disaster area.
“Fine, but watch out for the salsa at lunch, ‘K? I don’t even know if I can wash the thing.”
“Salsa? Was that a racial slur?” Brisa asks, laughing, not offended in the least. It really might be, although she eats it on everything, maybe even her PB&Js when no one’s looking.
“Bri. Hair up or down?” I ask, demonstrating.
“Down,” she decides.
I hear a knock on the door downstairs. My parents are expecting Kiel, and it is exactly 11:00. Lipstick on, I shove my feet into the heels, maneuver around the room, and head to the living room. Kiel is standing there chatting with my dad in Spanish.
I'm enthralled by his voice in English and now Spanish. I'm sure they are talking about an inane topic, but it sounds so…enchanting. I can’t take my eyes off of him. He’s in a black Polo tucked in at the belt buckle. His black Chucks have been replaced by—get this—a more formal pair of gray Converse.
I smile and glance up to find him smiling at me.
“Ashlyn,” Dad says, “Make sure to invite Kiel back here for lunch. Mom has enough posole for an army.”
“He’s standing right beside you, Dad,” I remind him. Dad shrugs like it’s not his business who I invite to lunch. Anyway. “Ok, bye Dad. See you there.” I drag Kiel outside. Glad to see there are doors on the Jeep today. He opens the door and helps me in where the AC is still running. Hallelujah.
“You are gorgeous today,” Kiel says, flicking his eyes at me as he drives.
“What do I look like every other day?” I joke.
“Gorgeous,” he states, without missing a beat.
Blushing, I say, “Thanks.”
***
Walking in to church arm-in-arm, I feel intensely proud. Not only of Kiel’s rocking hard body. Also for who he is. I'm on the arm of one of the greatest guys I’ve met. In the company of men such as my step-dad.
He’s mine! I squeal in my head.
My joy is stolen by the girl walking up to us. Seriously? It’s Reyna. As far back as I can recall, she stopped attending church in middle school. She approaches us with a drop-dead expression pointed at me. Her whole body screams I'm at fault for her presence in a house of God.
I'm sure she's not about to speak on any God-related topics when she says, “Oh, hi Ash,” with saccharine sweetness. “Glad to see me? ‘Cause I'm glad to see you! We haven't seen each other in, what? Five days?”
“Um, hey Reyna,” I say. “How are you doing?” What else can I say? The priest is greeting mere feet away.
“Hey, Reyna,” Kiel says flatly. I guess in case she forgets again that he’s standing there. He moves me closer to him.
“Yeah,” she drawls out, dismissing him but staring at where his hand rested on my waist. Ok, that makes me want to slap her down. “Look, blanca, I put up with you before because you were convenient,” she says, sticking to her sweet routine. “You are no longer convenient. Get it? See you in church!” The last is tossed out as her dad rounds the corner from the sanctuary to retrieve his daughter. The look he tosses my way has me livid.
Was I the one who turned his daughter into a pathological liar, a lush, and a tramp? Really?
“What did she call me?” I ask Kiel, setting aside her daddy’s issues.
“That’s what bothers you about that conversation, the one Spanish word? You are hopeless.”
“That’s weird. Why would she call me that?” I think out loud.
“No, Ash, you're hopeless. She called you blanca.” He looks at me like some bell is gonna go off in my English-only brain. “Blanca? No? Babe, it’s slang for ‘white chick’ and not in a good way.
I don’t give a rat’s right now what the slang anything because he just called me babe! I want to jump up and down.
“Ohh,” I say, keeping it in check. My lips are parted. I can’t keep my eyes in check, though, as they fill with adoration.
Chapter 17
Kiel
I officially love church. Mass has never been so stimulating. Sundays will be sacred to me starting today.
Together, Ash and I kneel, stand, sit, repeat from the missalette, and hold hands—not that hand holding is part of the service, but it makes it more appealing. To keep us both in line, we decided to sit with her parents. Interesting enough, my mom’s usual seat is directly behind theirs.
That's a really good thing, because her dress is distracting. With three sets of parental eyes on us, I'm not likely to let my hands or gaze wander.
As it is, her dad eyes our entwined hands with concern. Her mom, however, is beaming. Like a Christmas tree. It’s the same look Ashlyn sports whenever she glances at me from under her lashes. Is it pride?
I may be feeling temporarily content, but Reyna’s threat to Ash rings in my head. What the hell did it mean that Ash was “no longer convenient”? What was she up to now?
***
“So,” she says once service is over. “My place for lunch?”
“Your dad said posole. I’m in,” I reply.
“Driver!” she shouts, snapping her fingers in the air. I chuckle while many parishioners give us annoyed glances. I safely tuck her and her loud mouth in the Jeep.
There is less drama at her house during lunch. Ashlyn’s sister isn’t an unpleasant child. Brisa is chill. I know blood should be thicker, but the blood running through Lili’s veins is cold and vapid. Ashlyn’s parents also aren’t testing me like mine did to her.
However, I keep hearing Mrs. Ramos’ voice under her breath saying, “Points” with each please, thank you, and ma’am or sir I say. Mr. Ramos starts in on a soccer discussion. He slips into Spanish, but I keep bringing him back to English to keep Ashlyn involved. A typical hazard of living in a house of Spanish speakers. I do the same for my dad all the time.
Neither of them ask me about future goals. They're probably thinking it’s too soon in the relationship to worry about how I'm planning on taking care of their daughter. If their daughter has anything to say about it—or to do with it—we’ll be “new” for all of a few more days
.
This may sound forward or premature, but this girl has me worried. So at the store last night? I did some shopping of my own. Got an old-guy glare from the clerk. If he had Ashlyn ripping shirts off him and landing on top twice in one day, he’d be taking precautions as well. Anyway…
Back to the lunch.
While Mr. Ramos and I chat amiably over iced tea about FIFA and Mexico’s team, Ashlyn dashes to her room (no joke, she ran) with Brisa in tow.
Mrs. Ramos comes into the living room with us and sits down. In Spanish, she asks if we’ll be back for dinner.
“I don’t think so. I'll probably get us dinner.”
“Not too late, Kiel. School tomorrow,” Mr. Ramos reminds me. Then he leans forward and says confidentially, “It’s a long shot and I love Ashlyn, but she can’t speak any Spanish. Work with her?”
I gotta laugh. “Yeah. About that…I can only try. We do have Spanish class together.” They both look at me apologetically. Mrs. Ramos sighs. It can’t be easy on the family. I should know. Dad has at least mastered rudimentary basics.
Ashlyn comes bouncing in the room in shorts and a tank top. She stops and hears the end of the conversation.
“Oh, man! Really people? If you both can’t teach me Spanish and two different teachers can’t make headway, what makes you think Kiel’s got this? Come on Kiel, before they ask you to turn the leftovers into gold.” She huffs toward me, dragging me out.
***
Ashlyn’s hand is under mine on the gear shift. She got permission from the family friend to use their land for today. And she talked me into teaching her how to drive a manual.
The best way to teach a girlfriend to drive a manual transmission? In your lap. Maybe it’s not the best way. But the most fun.
I gotta say, she doesn’t totally suck. I'm not worried about my Jeep at all. She did well enough that I'm letting her drive it by herself right now.
What I did worry about while she was learning was how good she felt in my lap. Every time she did something correct, I kissed her on the back of her neck. Oh, hell. I kissed her neck when she ground my gears also. To boost her spirits. It worked, the kissing strategy. As evidenced by the almost-smooth ride she has us on now.
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