“Here.” I legit squealed and jumped about a foot in the air when he lifted a hand gesturing for my plate. “I’ll hold it for you, so you can get comfortable.” I passed him the glass of wine and plate then went around the to the other side of the chaise, trying hard not to look directly at the tattoo which just made the muscles on his smooth chest look that much more delicious. The man waxed and groomed more than any other person I’d ever met, and you’d think all the high maintenance bullshit would put me off his dick... Well, you’d be wrong. Because I was actively refraining from running a hand over all that brown skin.
As soon as I sat on the chaise he placed my wine and food on the built-in wooden tray between us. As I worked on getting my top back in place, I kept my peripheral vision on him long enough to see him noiselessly suck on his teeth. My heart tripped inside my chest at the gesture—which was usually the precursor to him saying something filthy and extremely hot—and I fought the urge to push up to him. The electricity in the air that was ever present whenever Juanpa and I were within touching distance practically burning my skin.
And he was right there with me, close enough I could smell his citrusy aftershave and the shea butter and jojoba coconut oil he religiously rubbed on his skin each morning.
Fuck, drinking and this much contact with Juan Pablo was not going to end well.
“There’s really some hashtag ‘living my best life’ shit happening right now.” His voice startled me again, this time at least I managed not to scream. “I’m too overwhelmed to even post to my Instagram account,” he said, making me laugh. I nodded in silent agreement, as I took a long sip from the delicious Chilean sauvignon blanc they literally had on tap.
“Leave it to Camilo to find a man that hot and that fucking loaded and then make him so crazy he has to beg him to spend money on him,” Juan Pablo joked, referring to Camilo’s refusal to take money from his fiancé at the beginning of their relationship. Thankfully our prickly friend was now embracing the flex, which meant we were getting treated to a pretty fancy vacay.
“I’m not going to say I’m mad at Camilo seeing the light,” I muttered around a mouthful of grilled octopus.
“Ey, nobody’s complaining, least of all me—”
Juan Pablo suddenly stopped talking then cleared his throat and stared somewhere around my mouth.
“What?” I asked, running a hand over my cheek.
“You got a little bit of the sauce on your chin, here,” he said, leaning in to rub his thumb over the spot.
Fuck, he smelled so damn good.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying mad hard not to do something crazy like lick him, but it was a very close call. He kept his thumb on my face for just a moment longer than necessary and we both held our breath, caught up in touching again. Everything felt like this with J, like I was always on the edge of a precipice. Constantly on the verge of falling. I had to make sure I never forgot it was a bad idea to take the plunge.
But like back at the cave, just when I was about to let myself take what I knew we both wanted, Juan Pablo pulled back. With his eyes hidden under mirrored glasses I couldn’t exactly see what was happening, but the flush on his chest and neck told me that he was just as heated as me.
He stood up, pointing at my half-full wineglass, his empty bottle in one hand. “I’m gonna go to the bar for another. You need anything?”
I shook my head as I attempted to compose myself, “Nah, I’m good.”
He angled his head in the direction of the beach bar where some of our family was still eating as I tried to discreetly watch him walk away. That wide back tapering down to a narrow waist and God, that ass, which had always been my weakness.
“Nice to see that even though we’re living the MTV Cribs life these days, some things never change. Pris, your thirst is showing, Mama.”
I glanced up to see Camilo and Easton both grinning at me but before I could tell either of them to fuck off I got flanked on both sides and got matching looks, which all but guaranteed I was about to get a session of twenty questions. “Don’t you two have men you need to be paying attention to?”
Camilo flicked his hand in the direction of his silver fox who seemed to be in a very engrossing conversation with Patrice. “They’re talking about the elections. They’ll be at it for a while, and I’ll have plenty of time to get all the QT I need with my man soon.” He gloated, as he raised his left hand to admire his very understated engagement ring. Tom had managed to get a rock on that ring, but I’m sure he restrained himself for Camilo’s sake. “From here, we’re going to some bougie place in Greece for two weeks of what I hope will be nothing but fucking, eating and day drinking, not necessarily in that order.”
I smiled at how happy he was. It seemed that while I wasn’t looking all my friends had become...fulfilled. The Priscilla who had been through more than a few breakups with them and knew how fucking amazing they were was happy, no, elated for them, because they deserved it. The other Pris, the one who was starting to feel like every part of the life she’d worked so fucking hard to build was suffocating her—she felt just a little bit jealous. Not because I wanted exactly what they had, but because I felt unsatisfied and I had no clue how to fix it.
Actually that was a lie. I knew what could fix it, I was just too scared to try. But instead of going down that anxiety-inducing rabbit hole, I focused on my reason for being here and pulled on Milo’s hand so I could kiss his cheek. “You’re a smug little bastard, but I’m happy for you.”
He made a “move over” gesture with his free hand, and I obliged as he directed his knowing gray eyes in my direction. “Thanks, but don’t change the subject. What’s up with you and J? I’ve been catching some serious powder-keg vibes from the two of you.”
Easton nodded in agreement as we all looked at the man in question making his way back to us. He stopped about halfway when his dad called after him. Turning around only gave me another look at that ass.
Easton made an appreciative sound, which I knew was more to make me laugh than anything else. “I got more than I can handle with the professor burning the sheets off my bed on a regular basis, but, friend, I gotta tell you, at another time, I’d have happily taken a bite out of that.”
Camilo cackled as he stole a sip of wine from my glass.
I laughed too, keeping an eye on J. “He probably would’ve let you too. And please stop, I don’t need this kind of dangerous enabling when I’m in an all I can drink type of situation, Easton Archer.”
Camilo cut his eyes at me and spoke in a low voice. “Like you’ve ever needed substances to fall on that dick or vice versa. The two of you have always been that thirsty for each other and it looks like time has not taken off the edge.”
There was no use denying what we all knew was true. “We work better as friends.”
“If you say so” came across loud and clear on Camilo’s face, but thankfully J’s return put a stop to the conversation.
Before he even had a chance to say something, Jude came over waving a finger in the direction of Juan Pablo and Camilo, then turned to do the same at Nesto and Patrice who were sitting just a few feet away still talking to Tom. He smiled widely as he looked at the foursome.
“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the full set.”
I didn’t even have to ask—he was referring to seeing the matching tattoos the four of them had gotten while we were all in college. Each of the guys had a beating heart tattooed over where their real ones would be. Each one covered in flags. Juanpa’s had the Puerto Rican and the American flag; he’d had the last name of his Italian mother done in a heavy cursive font on the other side of his chest. I’d gone with him to get both pieces. Back then we were inseparable and still talking about the future.
I shut down that line of thinking immediately, nothing good was going to come from me reminiscing on shit that was done with a million years ago. Instead I loo
ked up at the guys who were now lined up showing off their tats. Juanpa’s chest was like chiseled marble. Since he’d started the job with the Yankees he’d been taking better care of himself. His body, which had always been lean, was now hard and strong.
Checking myself again, I held up my camera, desperately trying to get out of my very unhelpful thoughts. “We should document this occasion. Before the very first one of the GA crew gets officially hitched.”
That got a laugh from the group and they started posing right there in the lanai, but Camilo, who always had to have a say, shook his head and pointed toward the water. “Let’s do it with our backs to the water, so we get the view.”
The other three all shook their heads and griped about Camilo’s bossiness, but made their way to the exact spot their friend had indicated.
We all shuffled out of the shaded refuge and stepped out into the afternoon sun. Out of nowhere, an image of me lying on a chaise with J’s head between my legs almost made me drop my camera.
“Shit.” I sounded as flustered as I felt, while trying to adjust the lens for the picture.
“Prima, you all right? This sun is killing us.” That was Nesto.
“Sorry, here we go on the count of three.” I got a few weird stares for spacing out, but I kept it moving. I felt a twinge of resentment at their surprised looks. Once again, I felt burdened by the expectation that I was made of steel or something. That everyone around me could falter or fall apart, but somehow I could never have a misstep, a moment of doubt. I looked down for a second, trying and failing to shake off whatever this was, and when I glanced up Juan Pablo was looking right at me. The intensity in his eyes telling me he sensed something was wrong.
I flexed my shoulders and made a show of adjusting the camera. “Here we go.” I took a moment to look at them, the boys I’d grown up with, now men. Handsome, successful...happy men. It was almost overwhelming to see them all standing there, so much history. I took a couple of shots as their partners and lovers looked on, the mixture of adoration and possessive pride all over their faces.
Right as I brought the camera down Juanpa caught my gaze and held it. There was too much there for me to process. I knew we were thinking the same thing: this was the end of an era. Our friends were all stepping into their future. Juan Pablo and I were getting left behind.
I wondered if I’d ever find someone that got me like Juan did. I knew it would be impossible for anyone else to understand what my family and my people meant to me, because at the end of the day...my people were his.
That I could never get with anyone else, the shorthand of so many years knowing each other as we did. I’d thought more than once that the history we had was part of what made it so hard for us to work. I’d always felt a little caged in by the family in my business, the meddling. But as I stood there, feeling the love that surrounded us and would always lift us up, I wondered if embracing all this was a better approach than trying to contain it.
Chapter Five
Priscilla
I wouldn’t ever have to imagine what a fairy-tale wedding looked like. I was in one.
It was a small wedding; less than a hundred people. I sat in the second row of comfortable chairs lined across the white sandy beach. The sun was lower in the sky and the breeze coming from the ocean made for a pretty perfect moment.
“This is quite spectacular,” Easton whispered from the seat next to mine. On my other side were my mom and dad, and right in front of us were Nesto’s parents and Patrice’s mom.
“It is,” I agreed, as I took in the scene. The event planner, a high school friend of Tom’s, had outdone herself. She’d built a small canopy, under which Tom and Camilo would say their vows. It was covered in what must have been thousands of white and green orchids. And to the side was a music quartet playing instrumental versions of old merengue. After a moment, they began playing a more solemn piece and Tom’s mom and dad came down the aisle, looking like royalty and beaming at all the onlookers.
“It’s perfect.” I didn’t mean to sigh, but it was hard to resist getting a little maudlin. I’d never wanted any of this for myself. I still didn’t; my idea of a happily-ever-after had never involved a wedding dress or a white picket fence. But bearing witness to one of my dearest friend getting his own version of a happily-ever-after was beyond special.
“God she’s so cute.” I smiled distractedly at my mother’s comment then looked over to see Tom’s six-year-old daughter, Libertad, walking toward the front, a little red cushion holding the weddings bands.
That was something else I didn’t want: children. I’d never envisioned domesticity for myself, which had not been exactly an easy sell for my Dominican parents. I was their only child and I knew they’d always dreamed of getting to do this. Of seeing me walk down the aisle and stand up with the person I loved.
Juan Pablo and I would laugh, wondering how we’d break it to our parents that there would most likely be no wedding or grandkids, at least not from us. The rustling of people moving in their seats and Easton’s gasp got my attention back on the proceedings, and my eyes landed on the guys who were walking in that easy rhythm of people who were used to making space for each other.
They were wearing pastel blue linen Cuban guayaberas with gray slacks and leather sandals, with Ayako, Camilo’s work wife, heading up the line in matching blue linen romper. They all looked sun kissed and handsome; fades fresh, breads trimmed. They could’ve been a destination wedding fashion shoot.
Tom’s side came up after, with Priya, one of his best friends, wearing the same romper as Ayako but in a golden yellow, her arm linked with her husband Sanjay’s. Behind them, Tom’s other best friend and his brother walked along, smiling in their yellow chacabanas—the Dominican equivalent of the guayabera, minus the intricate embroidery on the sides. Tom followed them and, after a minute, Camilo came up with his mother.
There was a collective gasp on our side when we saw the two of them beaming as they made their way to the canopy. Seeing Camilo and Dinorah glowing had us all in tears. I looked up and saw that Juanpa and the guys were doing their best to hold it together while Ayako was trying, and failing, to blot her mascara as tears ran down her face. Tom’s face was the definition of adoration as he stood on the tip of his toes, clearly holding back from running down the aisle. The rest of us could disappear and he would not even notice, all of his attention on his beloved.
After Camilo got to the front and hugged Dinorah, all of us were ready to lose our shit. But when Milo walked up to Tom and the older man enveloped him in a tight embrace and mouthed “I love you,” with such intensity he could barely get the words out, there was not a single dry eye in the place.
There would be no judge, gay marriage not being legal in the DR. Tom and Milo had already made it official in New York City. This was the celebration of their love they wanted to share with all of us. Tom’s dad stood up to say a few words in English and Spanish about Tom and Milo and we all settled in to hear the vows.
Tom told Camilo about the ways his love had changed him for the better. How for the first time in his life he felt like he could step into all the parts of who he was without fear. And Camilo reciprocated by telling his man that because of Tom’s love he was finally able to trust that he deserved the fairy tale he’d always yearned for, but never thought he would get.
As Camilo and Tom made promises to each other about forever, I glanced at Juan Pablo and found him looking at me. Each time the intensity in his gaze almost made me jump in my seat.
What was he looking for, looking at me like that?
I wondered if this new Juan Pablo I’d been seeing glimpses of all week wanted something different. If he wanted something more “normal” than the low-key shared apartment we’d dreamed about as teens. I couldn’t tell. He looked at me with a mixture of longing and hope, I couldn’t quite decipher. As Milo and Tom finished their vows and then ended the ce
remony with a swoon-worthy kiss, we all whooped and cheered. With that, the first notes of Celia Cruz’s “La Vida es un Carnaval” sounded across the beach and we all headed up to where the reception to end all receptions was waiting for us.
I let our family and friends hurry up the sandy path to the cocktail hour area and lingered behind, giving myself just a minute to breathe through the wave of emotions that had hijacked me during the ceremony. It was so strange to feel so alone when I was literally surrounded by every person I loved. I could see them all right now, and still I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I sighed, sick on my own bullshit, and decided I’d take a stroll on the beach before rejoining the rest of the group. Just as I was about to turn I felt a light touch under my elbow. It was almost like my body could recognize him before my mind did.
“You bracing for what our nearest and dearest are about to do to that open bar?”
Just like that, the tension balloon that had taken over my chest popped.
I tried my best not to laugh, but then stopped fighting it and busted up. When I looked up he was grinning from ear to ear. “You think you’re funny,” I said through fits of laughter. “Although my dad’s been availing himself of the Blue Label like it’s his job.”
He scoffed as we took a few steps toward the darkened beach. “I can’t talk, my parents took so many crab legs from dinner to their room last night they could barely walk.”
I shook my head and grinned, certain he was only exaggerating a little bit, then bumped his shoulder. “You guys looked great up there.”
“Shiiit. Is that a compliment?” I could barely make out the grin on his face, now that it was fully evening and we were getting further from the lights of the reception area. But it was there.
American Sweethearts Page 4
