He gave me a squeeze. “Why?” he asked.
“I did it to you again,” I told him honestly. It cost me but he deserved honesty and not the cold bitch I treated him to the last time I walked away from him.
He rolled me to face him, arranged the blanket so it was covering me again and slid his hand through the side of my hair, pulling it away from my face. His hand went down my back until his arm was locked around me again.
I looked into his eyes. They were warm and gentle not hard and angry.
Well, thank God for that.
Finally, he said, “Don’t worry about it.”
“I didn’t intend –”
“I know you didn’t.”
“I feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t,” he said firmly.
I pulled in my lips, nodded (even though I still felt like an idiot, I mean, this was embarrassing) then dropped my gaze to his throat.
“Put your arms around me, mamita,” he ordered.
I didn’t want to but I did and, for some reason, this made me feel better.
“Can I ask a favor?”
I nodded again.
“Stay here tonight.”
My body went tight.
“No, Sadie.” His fingers came to my chin and lifted my face to look at him. When my eyes were on his he leaned in and touched his mouth to mine. He pulled away a couple of inches and said, “I just want you beside me. That’s it.”
“Buddy and Ralphie –” I began, using my one and only easy (but good) excuse.
“I’ll call Buddy and Ralphie.”
Darn.
If Hector called Ralphie and Buddy and Ralphie answered he’d probably leap for joy. I figured Buddy’s reaction would be far less dramatic but along the same vein.
I chewed my lip. Oh heck, what could I say?
First off, I’d already slept with him twice. It was on a couch but still. Secondly, I could hardly say no after this latest episode. Lastly, I wanted to stay with him, he made me feel snug, warm and safe.
Boy, my plans never really worked out, did they?
“Okay,” I agreed.
He didn’t grin, look amused or glory in his triumph. He pushed up, kissed the top of my head then slid away.
I sat up, holding the blanket to my front and watched as he walked across to a dresser, pulled open a drawer and yanked something out.
I stared in fascination at his brown-skinned, muscled back. It had a tattoo too, this one on his right shoulder blade, bigger than the other one. It was a skull, wearing an elaborate crown, its grinning teeth clenching a beautiful rose. The skull and crown were all in black, the petals and stem of the rose, though, were in full, striking color. Although I was no tattoo expert, I had an art degree so I felt safe in saying the rose was exquisite, you could see the artist had taken their time and they were skilled at their craft, it was, quite simply, stunning.
It was way cooler then the broken heart.
He slammed the drawer, turned and walked back to me. He gave me a white t-shirt, wrapped his hand around the back of my head, leaned in and kissed the top again. Then he walked away, went to another drawer, got something else and headed to the door.
He stopped, put his hand to the knob and looked at me. “Get changed, mamita, I’ll call the boys and I’ll be back.”
I nodded again, he closed the door and I heard the floorboards creak as he walked away.
I stared at the doors and rewound the evening wondering how I got myself in this latest predicament. Without lemon drops to blame (I had diet with my spicy beef burrito), I could only blame the power tools.
Now what normal girl got turned on by power tools? I was so weird!
Then I realized he could be back any second. It didn’t take a year to call Ralphie and Buddy.
I threw the blanket back, tugged on the t-shirt (which was huge on me, by the way), undid my bra underneath it and squirmed and contorted until I pulled it off. I snatched up my clothes, folding them, my bra between my shirt and skirt, I put them on the dresser and dashed back to the bed which, I noticed belatedly, was unmade. I rearranged the pillows that were slightly scattered but partially stacked so that they were evenly placed. I sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, pulled the covers up around my waist, tucked them tightly around me and I stared at the door.
When it didn’t open immediately, I looked around the room.
I noticed a dresser, closet (one door open, one Hispanic Hottie that clearly hadn’t been taught how to properly hang clothes), boots and running shoes scattered against one wall and a laundry hamper overflowing in a corner.
Incongruous to the room, an expensive, flat screen TV sat on a handsome, dark wood, heavy, masculine TV stand that rested at the wall opposite the bed. It had electronic equipment and stacks of DVDs on display on shelves underneath it.
Boy, gay or straight, rich or poor, men really liked their TVs.
The room hadn’t been refinished. The once utilitarian cream of the walls was grubby, the white skirting boards chipped, the wood floors notched and needing sanding and refinishing.