“So you expect that I’ll be lucky enough tonight to meet a man who—”
“Has the face and moves of Ricky Martin,” Adriana began.
Sylvia added to the list, “And the body and eyes of Brad Pitt.”
“Not to mention Freddie Prinze Jr.’s sexy little-boy grin,” Juliana tacked on softly.
Tori rolled her eyes. “Right. And after I find this perfect Papi—I will take no names and ask no questions. Just do it.”
“And often,” Juli finished.
Tori, Adriana, and Sylvia all gaped openmouthed at their friend.
“¿Que? You don’t think I know about these things? I’m not a naive virgencita, sabes.” Without waiting for a reply, Juli handed Tori her bag, then turned, slipped a key into the other door, and opened it.
Adriana shook her head and wagged a finger in Sylvia’s direction. “You’ve been a bad influence.”
“Hmm. Maybe it will rub off on Tori here. Maybe she will let loose and then—watch out!” Sylvia stepped into the other room and Tori noticed for the first time that she also had a small overnight bag. Adriana had two, likely one for herself and one for Juli.
“You’re all in there together?” Tori asked.
“Sí. We wanted you to have privacy, just in case. Meet us back out here in fifteen to watch the ship pull out?”
Tori nodded and entered the room.
It wasn’t overly large, but more than adequate for an overnight stay. A queen-sized bed, sumptuously appointed with satin sheets and comforter in deep maroon, took up most of the room. The bed was flanked by a dresser on one side and an entertainment center in front. The latest state of the art electronics filled the entertainment center. By the door to the room there was a large window, with a table and two chairs in front of it, facing the ocean.
There were definite romance possibilities here, she thought as she tossed her bag on the bed and glanced out the window. With the ship docked, the view was of Bayside Marketplace and downtown Miami. The areas were awash with activity, from the people teeming past the various shops and restaurants in Bayside, to the cars and other vehicles cruising along the street behind the Marketplace.
Tori smiled at all the motion and commotion in the city. She loved it and had since she was a small child growing up in Little Havana. Miami had always represented so much opportunity to her. She’d always dreamed of making it big there someday. At thirty, she could happily say that she had. A nice condo in South Beach. A partnership at one of the larger law firms downtown. A great family and incredibly loyal and fun friends.
What more could she ask for?
Chapter Five
People crowded the decks as the yacht pushed off and slowly moved down the Miami River until it had cleared Fisher Island and put out to sea. They were cheering, laughing, and jostling each other excitedly along the railings, ready to enjoy the night and morning at sea.
With the freedom of a longer cruise, the ship had the luxury of sailing along the Miami Beach shoreline once it was on the ocean. Tori felt like a tourist as she and her friends leaned on the railing and pointed out their favorite South Beach haunts, which were highly visible, thanks to the bright neon lights and distinctive architecture. The Park Central and Imperial Hotel with its bright blues. Farther down, Adriana and Juli’s place with its classic Mediterranean styling brought to life by strategically placed spotlights.
“It looks great,” Juli said excitedly and jabbed Adriana with an elbow.
Adriana smiled broadly. “It does, doesn’t it.”
There was a hint of surprise and uncertainty in her voice.
Tori eased from the rail, stepped behind her two friends, and wrapped an arm around each of them. “Well, of course it does. My friends have excellent taste.”
Sylvia eased her arm beneath Tori’s and joined the group. “We hope you’ll continue to think so after tonight.”
Tori glanced at each of her friends. Each one was as different as the next and yet, there was no doubt about the affection and friendship between them. A friendship that had lasted through high school, college, and the marriages and subsequent departures of others in their circle of friends.
Adriana had been the motivator, a testament to her abilities to both lead and control, even at fifteen. It was after Adriana’s quinceañera party that they had banded together. The young girls had feared that they would never escape the constraints of their Catholic high school upbringings and the rule of too strict mothers. Not to mention the demands of the men in their lives.
In the years since, Tori had somehow become the mediator and equalizer for the diverse personalities amongst them. The gyro that kept them from sometimes running aground because she, of all of them, possessed a little of each of the personalities of the other women. She was usually unassuming like Juliana, except when in court. Cuban and in control like Adriana, but not as much of a bitch. Able to enjoy a good time like Sylvia while realizing that life was not just a never-ending party.
Or at least, that was how Tori saw herself. And because her role was not to rock the boat, she grinned and replied, “Of course, Syl. So what’s up first? Dinner?”
“Definitely.” She urged Tori away from the rail.
As they walked, whiplash occurred as various men noticed Sylvia. She was dressed to kill tonight, in a sapphire blue Dolce & Gabbana dress that hugged the long, lean curves of her body. The color didn’t wash out Sylvia like it did many other blondes. The vibrant hue enhanced her friend’s green eyes and olive skin, inherited thanks to a mix of genes from her Latino father and Anglo mother. Her long blond hair, artfully highlighted, was pulled back from her face and held in place by a funky clasp. Rather than be severe, the style showed off the classic features of her face.
Sylvia was tall, beautiful, and graceful. Thin. Tori felt like she had to lose another twenty pounds whenever she was around Sylvia. Add Sylvia’s sometimes pushy attitude to the mix and it would be easy to hate her. Except that Tori knew she could always count on Sylvia to be there for her.
As they walked along, Sylvia examined Tori’s clothes. “Kors? And is that Prada I see?”
Tori held her hands up in surrender. As the “After Dark and Gossip” reporter for one of Miami’s upscale magazines, Sylvia never failed to know just what was in and out at any given moment. And the job always kept her on the run. From hip new restaurants and clubs at night, to all kinds of events during the day. “You are amazing, Syl,” she advised, but her friend shrugged it off.
“It’s just part of the job,” she replied, which surprised Tori. Not the words of a happy camper. She’d always wondered how Sylvia had ended up doing such fluff journalism but had figured her friend was satisfied doing what she was doing. Her words belied that, but Tori said nothing else as they walked down two decks to the restaurant.
The host led them to the table where the women settled into the customary places they took on their Monday night gatherings.
Adriana was next to Sylvia, providing a buffer for Juliana in a number of ways. First there was the obvious physical differences between the two women, from Sylvia’s fashion modelness to Juliana’s schoolmarm sense of style.
Tonight, Juliana was dressed in a flowing dark rose caftan that clashed with the tones of her cafe con leche skin and black hair. She looked almost jaundiced. The caftan hung on her like a sack, making Tori wonder if Juliana didn’t realize that she was no longer the plump teenager of years ago.
In contrast to Sylvia, Adriana was chic but not flamboyant. Attractive, but in an understated, confident kind of way. It occurred to Tori that Sylvia’s style screamed for attention whereas Adriana made a fashion statement in a subtler way.
Tonight, Adriana wore a fitted black Adrienne Vittadini suit that accented her physique. Her auburn hair was cut in a chin-length bob, with not a hair out of place. She was the perfect public face for the restaurant she co-owned with Juliana. But Juliana was the soul of it. Unfortunately, a soul that hid in chef’s clothing in the kitchen and beneath
an unflattering caftan out in public, Tori thought.
And a soul that often couldn’t handle Sylvia’s sometimes harsh and determined personality, like Adriana could. It wasn’t unusual for Adriana to deflect things that Juliana couldn’t deal with, although Tori sometimes wondered if that was a good thing.
Still it somehow worked for them as friends, Tori thought.
“So how does it feel to hit thirty first?” Juliana asked.
“It feels … the same as it did yesterday. It’s just another day.”
“And that’s the problema, Tori.” Sylvia jabbed a finger in Tori’s direction. “You need to get out of that rut. Do something different.”
“Hello. Different here. No problema thanks to all of you.” Tori lifted her water glass into the air as if in a toast.
“Let’s make it official.” Adriana motioned to the waiter who hurried over. She ordered a bottle of Cristal and said, “We want this night to be absolutely memorable.”
“Well, the blindfold was certainly memorable,” Juli said.
Tori chuckled. “Definitely. And I’m sure the rest of the night will be just as interesting.”
“It’ll be fun, fun, fun, amiga. Just let yourself go. Forget all about responsibilities, and party!” Sylvia fisted her hands, did a little party circle motion, and gave Tori a small nudge. “Vamos. First step. Just try it. Even if it looks silly. Come on,” she urged until Tori relented, picked up her hands, and mimicked Sylvia, even though she felt a trifle foolish.
“So what’s Step Two?” Tori stopped as the waiter came over, uncorked the champagne and filled their glasses.
“Step Two is…” Adriana began as she raised her glass in a toast, “Whatever you want it to be, chica. This is your night after all.”
Tori raised her glass and glanced from one friend to the next, finally beginning to realize that they were totally serious about this being her night. “¿De verdad? Anything?”
“Anything,” they all echoed in unison and clinked their glasses with hers.
Chapter Six
Never ones for card games, her amigas opted for spots at the slot machines as Tori watched the roulette wheel for a while, seeing a couple of spins of chips wiped off the tables when the wheel chose to repeatedly hit the zero and double-zero, much to the consternation of the players who had bets placed everywhere else.
Shaking her head at the foolishness of relying on anything as ephemeral as the spin of a wheel, she searched for a reasonably priced table to bet the five hundred dollars her friends had gifted her with as part of her birthday surprise. The baccarat and poker tables were packed and dozens of people lingered around them.
Again Tori watched and waited, but it seemed the players there were settled for the night and there would be no openings anytime soon.
She turned from the one table and noticed a man standing a few feet away, likewise watching and waiting.
He was dressed in an off-white dinner jacket and black slacks, much like many of the men at the gaming tables. But that was where the comparison ended.
Not tall, maybe about five feet ten, but lean, which made him look taller. And well built. His shoulders stretched the fabric of the dinner jacket. At the waist, the jacket was buttoned, accentuating flat abs and lean hips.
He looked up from the table, and their gazes collided for a moment.
Tori sucked in a breath. Dios mío but he was the sweetest looking Papi Chulo she had seen in a long time. High cheekbones. A sharp slash of a nose and a strong jaw with just a small hint of a dimple in his chin. Full, beautifully shaped lips.
No, but he’s probably one of those model wannabes that flood the South Beach scene at night, hoping to be discovered, she thought.
He smiled at her, displaying perfectly white and straight teeth and blue eyes that glittered with amusement. She ripped her gaze away, embarrassed that she had been caught scoping him out. Although Sinfully Sexy Tori, or Sylvia, would have continued to check him out and maybe even telegraph a come-and-get-me signal.
But she hadn’t yet had enough champagne to be that bold. Heat bathed her face as she walked toward one of the blackjack tables. She hoped Mr. Papi Chulo didn’t see the blush on her cheeks. Experienced women of the world didn’t blush. Risking a quick look over her shoulder, she realized he was no longer at the table and breathed a sigh of relief. And experienced a moment of disappointment that her interest hadn’t been reciprocated.
As she approached the ten-dollar blackjack table, a spot opened up. My first bit of luck, she thought, as she sat down and counted out two hundred dollars for chips, reserving the rest in case her luck was bad.
Not that she actually believed in luck. Winning at cards was just a combination of knowing what she held in her hand and what was being played by the others around her. Luck … well, that was something other people had. She had skill and knowledge and if some chose to translate that into luck, so be it.
It took a few hands for Tori to get a feel for the cards and the other players. After a dozen hands, she had a good sense of what was happening and soon a small pile of chips grew before her.
“You’re one lucky little lady,” the dealer said as he dealt a fresh hand.
“Gracias, but it’s not luck.” She grimaced as the man next to her asked for another card.
One of the other players was not as reserved as Tori and groaned aloud at the boneheaded play. Not the first for that particular player who had quickly lost a large pile of chips during the time Tori had been seated next to him.
The player drew a nine and busted. “Damn bad luck,” he said and as the last of his chips were swept away, he pushed away from the table, complaining loudly as he did so.
Tori breathed a sigh of relief. Being the one who followed him in the draw, he’d made it a little difficult for her at times, taking cards she hadn’t expected him to. With him gone the game might improve even more for her.
The dealer turned to her for her next card. She had a two down and an eight showing. Mr. Bonehead had taken the nine that would have put her over the dealer, who had to hold with the sixteen he had dealt himself. But with the cards that she had, it was impossible to bust. She asked for another hit and got what she wanted—an eight that made her a winner again.
As the dealer finished the round, someone slipped into the empty chair beside her.
Tori shot a quick glance at the new player and realized that if there was such a thing as luck …
The sweet Papi Chulo from before was now beside her. He gave her a small, almost hesitant smile. She returned it quickly before forcing her attention back to the chips the dealer was delivering to her.
But only part of her attention stayed on the game since it proved difficult to ignore the presence of the attractive man beside her. As they laid their bets or reached for their cards, his shoulder occasionally brushed hers. And he smelled like … she was sure Sylvia would be able to tell her the aftershave was Calvin Klein or Ralph Lauren or some other expensive designer fragrance. All Tori knew was that he smelled to-die-for yummy.
And his voice was like warm dulce de leche over ice cream—smooth and sweet with just a little hint of the exotic. That familiar singsonginess that said English wasn’t necessarily his first language and was confirmed when he used Spanish to thank the young waitress who served him a mojito.
As the waitress placed a diet cola before her, he raised his glass in a toast. To avoid seeming rude, Tori copied his motion and then admonished herself to focus on the cards as the dealer gave her two aces. Smiling, she double-downed on the cards and shot another quick peek at her Papi Chulo.
He was smiling as well and gave a small nod of his head at her decision. The smile reached his eyes. Marvelous blue eyes flecked with tiny bits of gray. They went well with his hair, which was cut short along the sides, but longer at the top. Those longish locks were a caramel brown streaked with strands of golden wheat.
The work of a skilled stylist, she thought, although his light tan and athletic physi
que hinted at the possibility those wonderful highlights might have been honestly obtained. But then again, tanning salon! she told herself, trying to find reasons to fight her attraction to the Latin Ken doll.
She turned away from him to watch the hand being dealt and couldn’t help grinning as the dealer flipped his cards to reveal he was holding seventeen, improving the possibility of her winning on her double bets.
Shifting her attention to the other players, she watched as they drew or held, glanced at the Papi Chulo’s hands as he again checked his cards. He had large hands, with long well-shaped fingers. Strong hands with a hint of a small scar along one knuckle. Capable hands that cradled the cards like …
She imagined those hands holding her. Wondered if they would be rough and decided they would be—the slight imperfection of the scar definitely a sign of someone who used his hands.
Heat bathed her face again and she reached for her soda, took a sip, and blamed the slight bit of champagne she had drunk earlier with her friends. Champagne always made her horny. That had to be the reason she was thinking all these things about the hands of the man sitting next to her.
The man who was showing a six and therefore held sixteen at best—making him a likely loser in this round.
Tori looked up from his hand to meet his gaze and something connected. She realized he would hold and lose the hand rather than draw like Mr. Bonehead before him and ruin her game.
He never looked at the dealer, just motioned that he would pass as he kept his gaze locked with Tori’s. And somehow, she also couldn’t pull away from him as she signaled for a hit.
She didn’t really need to look to confirm her first hand had been a winner. It was in Papi Chulo’s eyes as they lit up with pleasure.
Signaling that she was done on that hand and moving to the next, she again motioned for a hit. Her Papi Chulo smiled broadly and again she knew, motioned for the dealer to move on.
Friday Night Chicas Page 8