American Sweethearts

by Adriana Herrera

  That smile he gave me—it was the one that in the last fifteen years had consistently fucked me up and made me like it every step of the way.

  Juan Pablo

  “So that thing is not what you use for pegging, then?”

  I really didn’t need to be sitting here listening to Doña Rosa, my barber’s mom, asking about prostate massagers. But I sure as fuck was not getting out of my seat until Priscilla was done with this class.

  We were about five minutes from the end and I’d managed to push through half a dozen boners and one particular tricky situation with a cock ring demo that for real had me holding my breath so long I lost time.

  Pris was in her element though. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to make a sex talk for older folks fun, engaging—and God help me—sexy. I mean my mind was fucking blown.

  Also, she looked happy.

  It was such a far cry from how I’d found her outside of the center earlier. Face drawn, upset...exhausted. No, here, she was a different Pris, one that I hadn’t seen in ages. And she had all these people enthralled and chatty, about sex toys. I’d been certain she would talk the whole time because the audience would be too embarrassed to ask questions. But Pris had put everyone at ease within minutes and it had legit been one of the most interactive workshops we’d had at the center.

  I drifted back into the conversation as Pris was wrapping it up. “Now who’s going to carve out some time for solo play?”

  Everyone raised a hand and Pris clapped, delighted. “Excellent. Okay, so who has some stuff written down they’re going to buy tonight?”

  All hands up again, and I was not going to let any images of these aunties getting sexy at home in my head.

  Instead I lifted my own hand way up. When Pris saw me she busted up and winked. “Awesome. Thanks so much for joining me tonight, and I hope you found some of what we talked about useful and gave you a little fuel to feel empowered about your body and your pleasure. Remember to ask your partners for what you want, and screw polite.”

  The room broke out in applause and fuck, the smile on her face broke my heart. I wanted to see her like this always.

  I stood back as people came up to her to ask more questions or say thanks. Some people pointed at a toy, clearly wanting more info and she got to every single one of them. I waited in the back, observing with too many things swirling in my chest. I wanted to go up to her and tell her that all that sexy shit she was telling the abuelitas had me mad revved up and a little confused. That I wished I could take her home right now and fuck her senseless. Instead I took four deep breaths like my therapist showed me and waited until it was just the two of us left in the room.

  I walked up slowly as she started putting her stuff away. “I’m right behind you, Detective Gutierrez. I don’t want to get popped on the mouth.” I didn’t need to see her to know she was smiling. When she turned around she still looked happy as hell.

  “You’re not cute.”

  She did not sound mad at all, and she handed me a little black pouch. “Here. I wanted to give you something, to say thank you for dinner and for almost punching you in the throat before.” Her mouth was twitching and I knew I was full on cheesing.

  I took the bag and looked inside, trying really hard not to laugh.

  “So you’re giving me a used prostate massager to say you’re sorry.”

  She balked at that and I swear I was going to choke from trying not to laugh.

  “It’s not used. Oh my God, J, that’s gross. It’s brand-new. I just got it the other day.”

  “Thanks.” I bit my bottom lip at her contrite expression and felt sort of proud of myself that I didn’t say something greasy, because I was feeling her right then. She was in gray slacks, a yellow sweater and black ankle boots. Her hair in the bun I knew meant she needed to wash her hair soon. The little diamond studs I’d gotten her for Christmas like ten years ago in her ears.

  I knew this woman like I knew myself, but I had no fucking idea how to convince her to give us another shot. To come home with me, so I could take care of her in every way possible. I didn’t want to bring up what had gone down after my parents’ party, the night we’d had. Because even though it had been awesome, she’d still slipped out of the house before I woke up. A simple thank you in a text later that morning the only evidence it had happened at all.

  I got myself together and tried to sound like I wasn’t agonizing about everything. “This was great. I can safely say we’d love to have you back. Rafa’s going to be calling you for sure.”

  She nodded as she finished zipping up her bag, her face open and relaxed. “I’d love to do it again.”

  And of course, I came out of my face without any fucking warning. “Do you want to come to my place and watch a movie or something?”

  Netflix and chill? Really, Juan Pablo?

  I belatedly remembered I was holding a vibrator in my fucking hand and waited for her to answer.

  “Wow that’s pretty tired.” She didn’t sound mad though. “You could just say you want a repeat of the other night.” Something in her voice told me there was a lot more to it than that. She was looking for something and if I didn’t get this right, I’d put us back where we’d been before the wedding.

  I closed my eyes and struggled with what to say. I didn’t want to play games with Priscilla. “I have a feeling that if I say something out of pocket, I’m going to get iced.”

  Her face got serious then, and my heart thumped hard against my chest. “Damn you really have changed, J.” Her tone wasn’t exactly friendly, but it was definitely not salty either. It was as if she was still trying to process what had happened with me.

  “I just don’t want to play around, and also don’t want you to think I just want you to come over so we can jump into bed.” I lifted a shoulder, feeling decidedly out of my depth. “I want to spend time with you.” I raised both hands up in a gesture that was pretty close to supplication. “I’m up for whatever you’re up to, Priscilla. No strings, no catch. I miss you.” To my utter fucking humiliation I choked up on that last part. But I didn’t look away. I wanted her to know I meant it.

  She dipped her head in a hard nod, as she fiddled with her phone case. “Let’s do it. It sounds like just what I need, actually.” She almost flinched at whatever she remembered. “I’m too hyped to sleep.” I thought she was done, but then she looked up again and her smile was real and big. “Thank you, J.”

  She leaned into me and gave me a chaste kiss on the lips, but she lingered there just a moment longer than I expected and my dumb heart was beating so fast I was sure she’d heard it.

  When she pulled back, she still looked mad happy. I didn’t punch the air, but shit, I wanted to. “Okay, let me lock up and I’ll see you at mine.”

  I was going to let Priscilla set the tone and the pace, but I was not going to waste a chance to let her know her being back in my life was my foremost desire. Never again would I let her walk around not being certain that she was everything I wanted.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Priscilla

  I was on the elevator going up to J’s house and even though I would never ever say it out loud it hadn’t taken very long for me to feel right at home in his building. He’d given me the entry code, so I’d made my way up without having to get buzzed up. I wasn’t going to make a thing out of the fact that I was looking forward to hanging out with J. I didn’t want to ruin it by telling myself we would only end up hurting each other, or worse—that this would be the time we wouldn’t be able to come back from. No, I’d needed this ease and I was going to enjoy the fact that I’d been able to turn my evening around after a shitty end of the day at work. I was tired of handling everything on my own.

  Juan Pablo and his new Zen thing had gone a long way to put me at ease tonight and I was not going to question it. I didn’t want to go back to my place, which was c
omfortable and had what I needed, but didn’t exactly feel homey, even after being there for almost a year. It wasn’t like me to not make a space my own, but lately I didn’t seem to feel settled anywhere. Tonight, doing the workshop, being in a space where I could help people feel more in tune with themselves and their sex lives had refilled my very empty well. I loved it, and it was getting harder to ignore that recently a few stolen moments working on my side hustle was what got me through most weeks.

  As I pondered that very unpleasant reality my phone buzzed in my jacket pocket, right as I got to J’s floor. I stepped onto the hallway as I read a message from my mother.

  Call me, mija. Just wanted to know when you’re going to be home for Christmas.

  I sighed and immediately felt guilty. Lately speaking to my mother was something I dreaded, and I felt shitty about it. About all of it. I didn’t have to wonder why. I knew. It was because half the time she wanted to hear about the job. How the promotion prospects were going. How I was putting away the bad guys. Honestly, I didn’t have the energy. The other one, of course, was the fact that she’d ask where I was and I’d have to either lie to her or tell her I was at J’s and that was not happening. Instead of answering I put my phone on vibrate and rang J’s doorbell.

  If anything came up from the job my work phone always had the ringer on.

  As soon as J opened the door, my shoulders loosened. If I’d been a more reasonable person, or at least the me from a year ago—who seemed somewhat better equipped in not actively looking to fuck myself over—I’d have taken it as a warning and taken my brown ass home. But that Pris seemed to be out to lunch and the one in her place had her nose wide-open and was not shying from the almost certain mess in her future. At this point, the only thing keeping me from doing something incredibly dumb with Juan Pablo was the bloating and all-around PMS discomfort. Basically I was back to my teenage years’ levels of self-control.

  “Hey, come in.” He’d had a bit of a head start. I’d gone by my place to drop off my stuff and change out of my work clothes, so he was leaning on the doorway wearing a tight long sleeve Henley and sweats that were riding very low. I could see the jut of his hipbones, which alerted me to the fact that my eyes had made it further south than was advisable.

  “Hey,” I said, as I walked past him, doing everything I could to avoid eye contact. Still without looking at him I handed over the bottle of wine I’d brought from home. “I picked up some of that Garnache we discovered on that trip to Ithaca.” Reminiscing about trips to see my parents was the opposite of sensible, and yet here we were.

  He gripped the bottle and as he pulled away his long fingers flickered over mine, and no that was not a fucking shiver.

  “Thanks.” His voice was low, like he could tell I was mad skittish and didn’t want to scare me off. “Let me go open it. I don’t know what you want to watch, but I’m up for pretty much anything. Other than horror, you know I don’t fuck with scary movies.”

  I rolled my eyes as I sank down on the long end of his sectional and grabbed the remote. “Holy shit, Juan Pablo, how many buttons does this thing have?” I asked, baffled.

  He laughed and got busy pulling glasses out of the cabinets and opening the wine. “You’ll figure it out.” He actually wagged his finger at me like the big cornball he was.

  I scooted up so I was sitting closer to the lamp and tried to figure out how to turn the TV on. “Please tell me you saw Get Out,” I said, while I finally got the giant flat screen on the wall to turn on.

  “Hell, no. I couldn’t sleep just from the trailer.” I turned to see him walking in with two glasses in hand. He looked genuinely freaked out just from talking about the movie, and it was so fucking adorable. I wanted to forget the wine and the movie and kiss him silly. I teased him instead.

  “J, that’s like mandatory. Milo didn’t make you watch it?”

  He sucked his teeth and carefully handed me the glass before sitting down next to me on the couch. I was not going to get all in my feelings about how this was like the old days, because that would not get us anywhere productive.

  He took a long sip of the wine and made a big show of turning on the gas fireplace before he responded. He had his index finger in the air.

  “First of all, Camilo is not the boss of me. His ass is blessedly too busy running Tom’s life to be all up in my business.” His thumb popped up and I was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “Second of all, he knows those movies give me nightmares, and unlike some people—” this time he raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips right in my direction “—he takes people’s triggers seriously.”

  Wow, this therapist was not messing around.

  “Damn, okay, point taken, you didn’t need to go that hard. I got it. But that movie’s required watching. Besides,” I said, pointing my glass in the direction of the TV. “We’ve watched horror movies before.”

  He pursed his mouth again and I could see that he was trying really hard not to say something out of pocket, and honestly that more than anything else completely disarmed me. I wondered if he’d say something bratty or if he’s just push out whatever he had on the tip of his tongue to say. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel either way.

  When he finally looked at me he seemed so serious I almost felt bad that I’d started the conversation.

  “Those times we watched horror movies...uh.” He paused to take another sip of his drink. “I thought we both knew I was secretly reading a book on my phone and trying to tune out the nightmare inducing horror on the screen.”

  He looked a little mortified and straight up adorable and, I legit snorted. “For fuck’s sake, Juan Pablo!” I was literally cackling. “You’re too fucking much. Fine I’ll find something not horrific.”

  His mouth twitched like he was super happy he’d made me laugh, and I wanted to kiss him. So bad.

  I was playing a dangerous game. And yet, I could not for the life of me come up with a reason strong enough to make me leave. I fiddled with the remote after figuring out how to make it work until I found the Great British Baking Show. I raised an eyebrow in question before turning on the first episode of the latest season.

  “Happy?”

  J bit his bottom lip and it was really very hard to be this close and not kiss him. Because if that mouth was around I wanted a taste of it. That wasn’t ever going to change. It hadn’t after all this time. I didn’t think it ever would.

  His shoulders relaxed and he threw an arm over the back of the couch—noticeably not on the side I was sitting. “Perfect.”

  We both sank into the couch and watched a couple of episodes, furiously looking up recipes on our phone whenever we saw something that looked delicious. Every emotional part or stressful moment making us drift closer and closer to each other, so that by the time we were finishing Cake Week, I was practically on his lap.

  I was starting to doze off when the smell of popcorn woke me up, and before I could even sit up Juan Pablo was walking back into the living room with a bowl of fluffy popcorn in one hand and balancing wineglasses in the other. “I knew the smell of popcorn would lure you back from sleep.”

  “You know I can’t resist Orville’s siren call.” He laughed, handing me a refill and placing the bowl on the couch next to me.

  He sat down next to me and in no time we both had our hands on the popcorn bowl. “You looked really happy today doing that class. Totally in your element.” I knew him too well not to know he’d had that on the tip of his tongue all night. But I was not going to go down that road unless I had to. So I just hummed and kept myself busy shoving handfuls of popcorn in my mouth.

  When he realized I wasn’t going to respond, as he always did, he called my bluff. “Have you thought about doing it full time? I mean those ladies were into the class. Two of them asked me if we could make them a permanent thing.”

  I considered him for a second, really looking at him
. I wondered if this was just another way for him to get back on my good side. Of extending another olive branch.

  I could blow it off again, but I didn’t feel like it. Somewhere deep inside, in a little drawer I rarely even let myself open, I did hold the dream of doing something like this for a living. Of being an activist, and educator. Of putting into my community in ways I knew it needed. Maybe even going back to school for it. But it just seemed so fucking reckless.

  Without really looking at him, I made myself say it though. “I mean, sure, it could be great and I really love doing it. But that’s not really an option, not as a job.”

  I could tell that he was really thinking about what he was going to say, because my job was always, always a source of tension between us. And we’d had more than our fair share of arguments when it came to it. He looked at me, and I could tell he was gaging how much telling me what he was really thinking would piss me off. In the end, he ran a hand over his mouth and went in.

  “I just want you to know that in no way do I think what I’m about to suggest is easy or would happen any time soon.” He paused for effect, because deep down Juan Pablo was the OG Drama Llama. “But you could slowly start doing something different. Like change careers.”

  It was exactly what I thought he’d say, but what surprised me was the emotion that flared in my chest as he said it. But I was more frustrated with myself and the fact that I was too scared to take a chance on something I really wanted, more than annoyed at him. Still, my first instinct was to get defensive. Lash out at him for saying things that he knew would upend my life. I tried very hard not to bite his head off since I knew he was trying to help.

  “I’ve thought about it.” Wow, I didn’t even curse him out.

  Growth.

  “But I can’t do that. I can’t leave a union job, with security, benefits, a pension, to do something that’s a glorified hobby, just because it makes me feel good. That’s not my life, Juan Pablo.”