American Sweethearts

by Adriana Herrera

  “Pris, it’s not like a glorified hobby. Mi reina—Fuck.” He sucked his teeth at the slip up. We were certainly not back to endearments yet. “You had that room at attention. I was expecting at least a few eye rolls, but we were all hanging on your every word. And to have older Latinx men and women talking openly about sex? Yo, that shit was beautiful. For real.”

  Juan Pablo never said something he didn’t mean. Never, even when it cost him a friendship or, in our case, when it meant there would be a fight. J spoke his truth, as he saw it, always. That’s why, for the most part, he kept his opinions to himself.

  But hearing him say it now, it was like he was handing me a gift I’d been too afraid to wish for. And holy shit did I want to take it, but I couldn’t. This wasn’t my reality. It wasn’t even his.

  I shook my head again, harder this time. “Nah, J, I can’t. I just can’t.” My voice shook, because I wanted to ask him how to make it work. What he saw that I couldn’t, but this road was not good for me. I could not just throw all fucking caution and responsibility to the wind because I wasn’t feeling my job.

  I held up a hand when I saw that he was going to argue. “Please.” I closed my eyes, finally feeling the tiredness of the day. Of the long week I’d had. “Today has been nice. I don’t want to get into a thing over this.”

  I was pleading, and he could see it and hear it clearly, and he kept whatever he was about to say to himself. “Okay.”

  With that he turned the show back on and settled the bowl of popcorn between us again. And we went back to the show in silence, the tension of all the things that we didn’t say making the air so thick I could practically see it. I needed to go.

  I was about to stand up and do it when a sharp pain in my belly made me sit back down. Of course.

  My period would start fucking with me just in time to make this situation that much more shittastic. “Dammit.” I groaned as a particularly eye-watering cramp came right on its heels. With any other person I would’ve just dealt with it in silence, but this was J, so I opened my mouth.

  “Shit,” I said, grabbing my belly.

  “You okay?” He was already up, his entire body poised, as if he was ready to pick me up and whisk me to the nearest emergency room.

  I grimaced as another spasm shot through my back. “Cramps.”

  “Oh shit.” He started moving, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Do you still like ginger tea? I have some, and I’ll put the warm pad in the microwave for you. Here.” He handed me a throw that was hanging over the back of the couch. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”

  I took the blanket with numb fingers and spread it over my legs. I sat there digesting the fact that he had the tea I usually drank when I had cramps and remembered I put a hot pad on my back when the pain got really bad. J had never been squeamish about periods or “woman stuff.” He’d grown up with three older sisters and Irene raised him not to be an asshole. But he had never been...nurturing. Neither of us had been. That was one of the things that always seemed to work for us. Neither of us was sentimental. We were practical. Got our shit done, and if we ever needed a hand, we asked for it.

  This was different. Such a departure from our usual playbook, and it shook me. To know that in these past couple of years J had worked on himself, found ways to be different, better. And I was drowning in self-doubt, my entire life one big unsatisfying mess.

  “You don’t have to take care of me,” I said, realizing shit was about to get real, and I was going to cry. And I couldn’t even blame it on PMS moodiness. “I’ll go home.”

  “But I have stuff here.” He looked crestfallen. Like I’d mortally wounded him by turning down his offer to help. And if I was a stronger woman I’d have taken my ass home. Instead I looked up at his handsome face, and those brown eyes that were looking at me with so much longing and said, “Do you have any Motrin?”

  He beamed, like I’d made his entire year by letting him coddle me. There were so many levels to how all of this could potentially fuck with my head, but it felt so nice here with him. I just wanted some more. More of not having to grin and bear it on my own. More of being taken care of, for once. I knew this was the kind of shit that was going to make staying in friend zone hard, but I could not bring myself to care just then.

  God, I wanted to kiss him. Pull him down to where I was, find a position that didn’t make me feel like I had ferrets gnawing at my lower back and then, I’d kiss him. Hard.

  “Why are you looking at me like you want to take a bite out of me?” His mouth was all twitchy, like he was working real hard on not smiling. I looked down at his white crew socks and then back up to see him run his hand over his fade. Everything about Juan Pablo felt comforting and oh so tempting at that particular moment.

  “For a guy that’s had a front-row seat to how moody I get when I have cramps, you’re taking a lot of risks.”

  He snorted, as I folded my arms around my belly and leaned my head against the couch.

  “Let me go get your Motrin. Actually.” His face changed then, like he was really taking his life into his own hands with the next part, but he asked anyway. “Why don’t you stay over?”

  He said it as he was walking away and I knew it was to avoid seeing whatever face I’d make. It was a good time to ask him what he thought was happening here. To make it clear to him that the only way this could work was if we didn’t muddy the waters again. That the night after his dad’s birthday has been good, too good. And I was scared that if we kept falling into bed together, we’d fuck things up royally. That having him back felt like a lifeline.

  I was about to say all of it. But when he came back to the room a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea and put out his hand to pull me off the couch, I took it.

  “You can take my bed.” His voice was husky and low, and even in my less than comfortable state, I was having a hard time staying on task.

  “J.” I really did mean to step back, but I pushed closer instead. He brought both hands so they were pressed to my lower back, right where I needed soothing. My eyes were half open, as if I was still trying to fool myself into thinking I wasn’t really going to kiss him. I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he held himself back, not making a move until I did it first, and again I was blown away by all the ways in which Juan Pablo had changed.

  I turned my head, so my mouth was right under his. His beard prickly on my lips. He smelled good. So good. So I opened my mouth, flicked my tongue over his lower lip. Just a caress, but like I knew he would, he ran with it.

  He gasped as our mouths touched and without hesitation kissed me deeply. He was gentle too, careful not to press too hard on my belly. He managed to somehow watch the places I ached at the same time he touched and licked me just how I craved. When he lowered his mouth to kiss my neck he let out a groan that I felt in my own gut.

  “You feel so good, Pris.” The yearning in his voice, the deep longing there, made my knees weak. “You always feel so good.”

  I covered his mouth with mine, trying to stave off whatever words were primed to come out and break the spell. I wanted to stay like this, feel the rasp of his tongue on my neck. His teeth grazing my ear until I shivered. The way his touch filled places that no one else ever could.

  “Juan.” I didn’t even know what I wanted, I just had to say his name.

  “Nena.” He slipped a hand down my back and gripped my ass hard as I panted, the cramps and pain forgotten for these few seconds. Just as I was starting to wonder what exactly I’d started my phone started buzzing against my thigh. I sighed, pushing back from J and pulled the phone out of the pocket in my leggings. When I looked at the screen I saw that it was my mother’s number. It was almost 11:00 p.m. and she knew I was off.

  “It’s Mamí, you know she’ll get worried if I don’t answer,” I muttered tiredly, as J tried his best to get himself back in control.

 
“Sure, tell her I said hi.” His voice sounded resigned, he knew better than to expect I’d pick up where we left off after I talked to my mother. But I let it go to voicemail as I considered what I was doing. I’d had an emotional day—hell, an emotional week, month—and everything I hadn’t let myself feel was sitting right under the surface. I kept feeling like all my priorities were out of whack. That the things I seemed to have valued above everything were smothering me, and if that wasn’t enough of a mindfuck, it seemed like the only person I could talk about it with was the man I told myself I needed to stay away from.

  I sent a text to my mother, without any indication that I was at J’s house. He’d gone into his bedroom, so I just stood there waiting, I wasn’t sure for what. No, that wasn’t true, I was waiting for him to come out of the bedroom and try to convince me to stay, so I could tell myself I was just being nice. But he didn’t come back. I waited for a minute, then two until I went looking for him. I found him sitting on the bed with the hot pad in his hands.

  He turned to look at me and smiled sadly, his lips still a little bruised from my kisses. “We’ll take this as far as you want, Pris.” He shook his head, and heaved out a tired breath. “I want you in my life. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t want a repeat of the other night.” As soon as he said that he widened his eyes, as if seeing the hot pad for the first time. “I mean obviously not today, but like anytime. I am open to whatever you want.”

  My laugh at his attempt to work in the appeal for more sex was shaky, but the cramps were coming back, so I wasn’t sure if it was because of J’s words or my own body. I stood, letting what he said, the obvious want in his voice, wash over me. To be wanted like this, desired, just as I was, had always been a heady thing. And I’d always struggled with believing it. Believing him.

  He looked down at the floor, shaking his head, and when he looked at me again, I could see in his eyes that he was desperate for me to see how much he meant every word. And when in the past I’d harden myself to his promises, this time I just didn’t have the strength to walk away.

  “I swear I will not fuck this up.”

  I shook my head and came to sit with him on the bed. “I was the one that kissed you, J.” I took the pad from his hands, just to find something to do. “I don’t want to mess this up either. It’s been nice hanging out today. I’ve missed you too.”

  He dipped his head and looked at me again, looking more serious than I’d ever seen him. “We’ll make it work. Figuring out a way to be around each other cannot be harder than staying away.”

  I laughed and ran a hand over his fade, running the pad of my finger along the sharp angles of his lineup. I was so mixed up about this man, and about myself. I wanted to let whatever was starting to brew between us happen and deal with the consequences later, but as if to remind me just how bad things had gone the last time, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen, making me double over.

  “Shit.”

  With that Juanpa stood up and waved a hand at the bed. “Get in there. I’ll go get the tea and heat this up.” He rushed out of the room with the pad in his hand and I curled up under his covers, amazed to realize that even though this was the first time J had ever done any of this stuff for me, he still knew exactly what to do.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Juan Pablo

  “Damn, J, you real pressed. What’s up?”

  I was so far in my own head while working on Yariel Cuevas, one of the Yankees players I gave PT to on the off-season that I practically jumped at his question. I didn’t answer right away and kept massaging his shoulder as I considered what to say.

  Yariel was a friend—hell, he’d been a steady hookup when I’d started dating about six months after Pris and I broke up. He was a real one. Unapologetic about his sexuality from the first day he stepped on the field. Even after things had fizzled out with us we’d stayed close. I’d been over to his place to hang out with him and his boyfriend on the regular and I knew he’d probably be a good person to talk this over with. Of course I could talk to one of the guys, but they all were too invested when it came to me and Priscilla and even when they understood my worries, they couldn’t really be objective.

  I slowly moved his pitching arm around as I worked out a way to say what I’d been stewing on for days. “Priscilla and I are kind of involved again.” I was impressed with myself for summing up the increasingly complicated situation between Pris and me. It had been a week since the night of the workshop and Pris had been at my house almost every day. We’d kept it platonic the first couple of times, but as soon as she felt up for it, we were back in my bed.

  We were now in this weird in-between where we were together, but not really, and it was driving me nuts.

  Yariel looked up at me and blew out a slow breath. During those first months of our friendship he’d gotten more than one earful about Priscilla and all the ways in which I’d fucked up. “Isn’t that good news? Why have you been scowling since I got here?”

  I let go of his arm and pointed at one of the machines we usually worked with.

  “Five reps on each side, then we switch.” I was still thinking about what to say as I walked over to the machine and got him set up for his exercises. “It’s just that we’ve been doing this thing where she comes over and we watch shows and I make dinner. I’ll throw my arm around her, make out...a whole lot more sometimes.” My heart rate sped up, thinking of the night before. She’d come to my place after work and we’d fucked right up against the door. I didn’t even have time to properly say hello.

  My face heated from the image in my head. “But she’s got a very clear limit. We can talk about anything, but if she comes over obviously heated or fucked up from work, I’m not allowed to ask questions.” Yariel clicked his tongue as he did his reps. His head was down but he was clearly listening as I talked.

  “The fact that she’s miserable at her job is not up for discussion, even though I can see how she basically tenses up anytime she gets a text from her captain or one of her colleagues. That’s not my business, because I’m not her man.” I ran my tongue over my bottom teeth as that fun fact sunk in again. I’d let my dick trap me into a situation where I couldn’t really be there for Priscilla, not how I wanted to be.

  Yariel stopped what he was doing and turned around on the machine’s seat to look at me. We were in one of the PT rooms at the stadium which on a random afternoon in December meant we had the place to ourselves. Not that Yariel had any issue with talking about his personal life—the guy was an open book.

  He gave me a look like I wasn’t going to love what he had to say. “Wasn’t the reason you broke up last time related to you being an asshole about how much she worked?”

  I gritted my teeth as I positioned him on the machine again and worked on supporting his back as he pulled on the thing. “That’s a pretty short version of the events, but yes,” I said testily. “She almost got shot on the job and had been getting three hours of sleep for weeks, and when I told her I was worried about her she decided I had something against her being a cop.”

  Yariel took his time on his answer. I knew that he and his boyfriend had their struggles when it came his job and how all-consuming it was. Dating a professional athlete was no joke, at best you came a close second in the priorities list. He flashed those light hazel eyes at me before finally opening his mouth. “But you do have something against her job.”

  Damn, I didn’t know why I thought this fucker would go any easier on me than the guys. “It’s not that I have something against it, I just have feelings about it.”

  He gave me a dubious smile and turned back around to grab the levers for the machine. “You have baggage around it. Your father got injured in the line of duty. You grew up seeing your mom constantly worried about him. You know that and she certainly knows that.”

  Yes, and when she told me she couldn’t deal with me putting my stuff on her while
she was trying to do a dangerous job and begged me to get some help I blew her off until she got tired of my bullshit.

  “She does.” I pressed my lips until they were a flat line, waiting for more of Yariel’s hot takes.

  “Did you tell her you’re seeing someone?”

  I nodded once, sat on the bench across from him and handed him a bottle of water, since we were clearly going to have a heart-to-heart. “I did tell her, and she was happy about it.”

  “Did you tell her you’re seeing a therapist because after you two broke up you were a mess for months and you’ve been on a quest to be a better human for her since then?”

  I pursed my mouth and looked up at the rafters in the ceiling, very much not wanting to keep talking about this.

  “Nope. Because she’ll think I’m just trying to earn points or something. And that’s not why I’m going to Dr. Badia. At least not anymore.”

  Yariel cut his eyes at me like he’d been taking private lessons from Milo as he chugged water. After smacking his lips like an ass, he opened his mouth to ream me out again.

  “So she’s supposed to guess? She went through it with you, for years. Gave you a thousand chances and she’s, what? Going to magically figure out you got your shit together this time? Also how do you expect her to trust you to hold it down for her with the job and be real with her when you’ve been hating on it forever?” He shrugged, but in his eyes I could see he was worried about me. “I mean, if I were her, I’d think that her struggles with her job were the best news ever for you.”

  I really needed to get some friends that lied to my ass on occasion.

  I sighed and got up again, ready to get on with the session. “I’d never be happy about her being miserable at her job.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “Damn, Yari, chill.” I put my hands up, palms out. “I will. I mean true, in the past I would’ve just been happy to hear her wanting to do something else, but it’s not even that. Those workshops and shit that she does are mad good. You should see the shit she writes on her blog and talks about on her podcast.”