“Um… what are we doing?” I asked.
Eddie retrieved his pastry and put his feet up on the coffee table, “I have another brother, a sister and five dozen cousins. I’m not starting anything again until visiting hours are over.”
Goodie. A reprieve.
I sat down on the opposite side of the couch, putting my phone on the coffee table and I ate my Napoleon, my eyes on the game. I wasn’t a big sports fan. If pressed I’d go to games, mainly for the atmosphere, but I wasn’t fond of watching them on television.
The minute I consumed the last bite of my pastry and put my plate down, Eddie’s feet came off the table. He leaned down, grabbed my ankles and pul ed them in his lap. Then he started to work on the straps of my shoes.
“Eddie…” I began, trying to pul my legs away.
His hands wrapped around my ankles.
“Quiet, Chiquita. You’re going to relax.” He tossed my shoes several feet away and then he pul ed off his boots. I settled into my corner, as far away from him as I could get, thinking this was slightly anti-climactic. I didn’t have high hopes for my date with Eddie but I expected it would be me who screwed things up in some way or bored him to death. I didn’t expect to spend the night watching a basebal game.
His hand shot out and he grabbed me, dragging me across the couch as he put his feet back on the table. He tucked me into his side so my shoulder was wedged under his armpit and my cheek was against his chest. He wrapped his arm around my waist, his hand resting on my hip.
Dear Lord.
I wasn’t bored anymore, I felt nice. As in, real nice.
I put my feet up on the couch and curled into him, keeping my eyes on the game and daydreaming about doing this with Eddie again, maybe every night for the rest of our lives.
The next thing I knew, my cel phone was ringing. I could also hear Eddie’s.
I’d fal en into a doze and somehow my arm got wrapped across Eddie’s waist. I came up, pul ing my hair away from my face and grabbed my phone. Eddie leaned forward and pul ed his phone out of his back pocket.
My phone said “Indy cal ing”. I flipped it open and said,
“Hel o?” at the same time I heard Eddie say, “Yeah?”
“Jet? Are you with Eddie?” Indy said by way of greeting, her voice sounding funny and not in a good way.
“Yes. Is something wrong?” I asked.
She hesitated then said, “Is he on the phone?” I looked over at him. He was listening, then his face got tight and his eyes moved to me.
“Yeah,” I said to Indy.
“He’s talking to Lee. I tried to stop him. I promise I did everything I could think of.”
I felt a chil run up my spine.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Listen, our adventure at Einstein’s got out and—” I didn’t hear her say anything else as the phone was pul ed from my hand and flipped closed.
My head snapped around to Eddie.
“Hey! I was talking to Indy.”
“I know.”
He slid his and my phones on the table, looked at me, his eyes serious and maybe a little pissed off.
“What’s going on?” I asked, moving away from him.
“You’ve had a busy day,” he said.
Uh-oh.
I thought, at that juncture, it might be wise to keep my mouth shut.
“Went lookin’ for your Dad like I asked you not to do and found some trouble at a bagel place,” he said.
I forgot about keeping my mouth shut.
“Eddie, it’s none of your…”
His eyes narrowed.
“Chiquita, if you tel me it’s none of my business, I swear to God, I’l shoot you.”
I jumped up from the couch and put my hands to my hips.
“Wel it isn’t!”
He angled off the couch and took a step toward me so he was towering over me.
I real y wished I had my shoes back but I held my ground.
“It fucking wel is,” he said in his scary quiet voice.
I glared at him.
“How do you figure that?” I asked.
He threw his arms out and looked around.
“What the fuck do you think is happening here?”
“I don’t know!” I yel ed at him and, actual y, I didn’t.
He looked away from me, tore his hand through his hair and muttered in Spanish. Then he turned back to me.
and muttered in Spanish. Then he turned back to me.
“Witnesses state that a blonde woman of your description was seen rol ing around on the floor at Einstein’s on Alameda with a guy who fits the description of Vince Fratel i.”
I decided, again, to be silent.
“Jet, Vince Fratel i is a bad guy. Not just a bad guy, a scary bad guy. He’s muscle for a very scary bad guy. Who knows what he’s done? Likely broken knees, cut off fingers, kil ed people. And you attacked him in fucking Einstein’s Bagels.”
Not good. Real y not good. Vince did sound like a scary bad guy.
I went into defense mode. “Wel I didn’t know!” I yel ed.
Eddie’s quiet voice went away and he shouted.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“He cal ed you a wetback!” I shouted right back.
Yeesh.
Eddie stood stock stil and stared at me.