“First of all, mamita, I don’t have any popcorn. Second, you barely touched your dinner. Now you wanna eat?”
I thought fast (this, by the way, was not easy).
“My mind was occupied at dinner. Now, I’m feeling peckish,” I lied. I would probably throw up if I ate anything, I was so nervous.
He shook his head laughing low again then lifted up, pulled back the covers and slid in.
My heart stopped.
He arranged the pillows behind his back (I will note, he completely devastated my efforts at equal pillow disbursement of not ten minutes before). His arm curled around my waist and he pulled me backwards so my back hit his side, my legs uncrossed and my shoulder and head were pillowed on his chest.
Oh, I got it. I didn’t need pillows. I was using his chest as a pillow. So that was why he could hog them all.
I felt him move, saw his hand holding the remote in my peripheral vision and the TV snapped on, a ballgame appeared and the hand disappeared.
As if he hadn’t just settled us comfortably in his bed like we’d be sharing our golden wedding anniversary the next evening and not doing this for the very first time ever, he continued the conversation.
“Your mind at dinner was occupied with an attempted freeze out which, mi cielo, is cute, I gotta admit, but it’s only fair to let you know, it’s not gonna work.”
My body went still. He thought the Ice Princess was cute? Cute?
The Ice Princess was not cute! I knew grown men that feared her!
Well, maybe not feared, perhaps they just disliked her and gave her a wide berth.
It was good I was moving to Crete because if he thought my Ice Princess was cute then I was in a mess of trouble.
“We’ll order a pizza if you’re hungry,” he told me.
I crossed my arms on my chest, stared at the TV and contradicted my earlier lie, “I’m not hungry.”
His arm came around me, his forearm resting on my chest, his fingers curled around my opposite shoulder.
“You want something, let me know,” he said and he sounded distracted.
Obviously the game had called his attention.
So I thought it might be safe to ask an eensy, teensy, tiny, little personal question just because I was dying to know and since I didn’t get the gift I intended to give myself that evening, I was going to go for something different.
“What’s the tattoo on your chest mean?” I asked casually like whatever answer to a brokenhearted tattoo question would mean nothing at all whatsoever to me.
“Belinda,” he replied, still sounding distracted.
I was not distracted. My body went still again.
“Belinda?” I asked.
“My ex,” he answered.
Oh… my… God.
He had a tattoo of a broken heart on his chest. No, he had a tattoo of a broken heart over his heart on his chest! A tattoo he got for Belinda!
“Was it a bad break?” I was still going for casual but my voice sounded breathy.
Now, why did I ask that? Why? What was wrong with me? Now I was punishing myself and getting myself into stupid, terrifying situations.
“You could say that, since she broke it off three months before the wedding.”
Before I could think better of it (or, say, think at all), I shot up to a seated position and twisted to look at him, my mouth open.
Then I snapped it closed.
Then I spoke. “She broke up with you three months before your wedding?”
Oh my God!
Hector had been engaged. He’d nearly been married!
Oh my GOD!
He didn’t move, his body still reclined on the pillows, the sheets to his waist, his chest displayed, only his eyes came to me.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Why?” I asked.
“She wanted a nine-to-five guy who mowed the lawn on the weekends. I’m not a nine-to-five guy who mows the lawn on the weekend. She couldn’t handle me being on assignment, away for days or weeks or even months not being able to contact her. She tried to talk me into a desk job. I told her the man who put the ring on her finger was a field agent for the DEA and that’s who she’d have to marry. She saw I was serious, pawned the ring, got her Mom to call the church, hall and guests and took a vacation at an all-inclusive in Acapulco.”
My eyes narrowed.
“She pawned your ring?” I spat, sounding frighteningly like Ralphie.
But seriously. Who would pawn Hector “Oh my God” Chavez’s ring? Who would try to make Hector something he was not? Who would go to Acapulco alone when they could go to Acapulco with Hector? On their honeymoon even!
Was she nuts?
I realized belatedly that Hector was smiling a huge, blinding white smile at me.
Oh no.
What had I given away?
He did an ab crunch, his hands came to my shoulders, twisted me so my back was to him, his arm went around my chest and he pulled me into my earlier position. But this time his arm was wrapped tighter.
“Calm down, mamita, my sister Gloria went to her house and roughed her up when she got back from Mexico. It was a couple of years ago, you can stand down.”
There was the answer; I’d given it all away.
Darn it!
I decided to move attention off me “standing down”. “Your sister Gloria roughed her up?”
“Catfight. Not pretty. Word is, Gloria won.”
I wanted to laugh and clap my hands for an absent sister I would probably never meet.
Of course, I did not.
“She broke your heart,” I said to the TV.
His fingers did a squeeze on my shoulder. “I’m over it.”
“It hurt enough for you to tattoo it on your chest,” I pointed out.
“I didn’t get the tat because she marked me, I got the tat to remind myself of the lesson I learned. She was beautiful, great body, fantastic in bed and she could be sweet when she wanted but most of the time she was a nagging bitch. Every time I see the tat, it reminds me not to be led around by my dick.”
All right then, more proof that Hector was as real as you could get.
It was clear, at this juncture, it was time for me to steer us into safer waters.
“So, what’s the skull with the crown and the rose mean?”
Hector’s body tensed and the air in the room immediately felt heavy. My body tensed at his reaction and the feel of the air.
Eyes on the TV, I didn’t even try to be casual when I whispered, “Hector?”
He sighed, his body relaxed but his arm around me got tighter.
“I got it to celebrate nailing your father.”
Of course.
He got it to celebrate, forever and ever, putting King Drug Man, Mr. Death to many (probably), better known as my fucking father, in prison. That was just great.
Well if I didn’t already have my proof that we were ill-suited, it was tattooed on Hector’s fucking back.
“And the rose clamped in his teeth?” I asked, wanting to know what that meant, perversely looking for more reasons to buy my tickets to Crete and fill my luggage with beach towels even as I was wearing Hector’s t-shirt and lying in his bed with his arm around me.
“The rose is you.”
Plans of buying beach towels flew out of my head, my stomach dropped, my heart seized and I could feel a tremor shiver through my body.
“Me?” I whispered.
He did another ab crunch, his arm moved to around my waist, he twisted me so I was facing him and reclined, me pressed mostly to his front with my face close to his.
I put my hand on his chest and pressed up but his arm went solid at my waist and I stilled.
“You,” he said firmly, his eyes back to that warm intensity. “In time, this arm…” He squeezed me with his right arm but lifted his left. “Right here…” His right arm left me and he pointed to the inside of his forearm and my eyes moved there then back to his as his arm came around me again. “Is gonna
have the same rose. Because you belong on my arm. Do you understand what I’m sayin’ to you?”
I understood what he was saying. I understood what he meant when he said “My Sadie” now too.
The tremor shivered through my body again.
“Sadie, do you understand what I’m sayin’ to you?” he asked again, his tone no less firm but it had grown slightly soft.
I was staring at him but I forced myself to nod. I couldn’t trust myself to speak.
His arm went tight around me, sliding partly up my back, hand catching under my shoulder blade, bringing me to him. He kissed me, slow, sweet, mouths open, tongues tangling, toes (or at least my toes) curling.
His mouth broke from mine and he murmured, “Now, we’ve had our talk. You know where I stand. Can we watch the game?”
I nodded again. His arm loosened, I turned, rested against him and stared, unfocused, on the game.
Blooming heck.
I wasn’t in a mess of trouble, I was beyond trouble. I was in so deep, I was over my head and the water felt so warm, snugly, comfy, lovely that I was beginning to wonder if I minded drowning.
Chapter Twelve
I Think I Made Hector Mad
Sadie
My sleeping body jerked awake when I heard the loud noise from somewhere too close for comfort.
Then it froze when I heard the crash.
I had nearly a nanosecond to assess my position tucked tight against Hector’s warm body, his arm around my waist, my cheek on his left pectoral, my hand resting dead center on his chest, Before that nanosecond was over, his heat vanished and a blast of cold hit me.
I lifted up on an arm, my heart racing, pulling back my hair with my other hand and seeing Hector’s shadowy body moving beside the bed.
He had the bedside drawer open, I heard a soft thump as he put whatever it was on the nightstand and then his hand immediately came out, his fingers closing around my wrist. He lifted up my arm and I felt him press something in my hand.
“Stay here. You feel a bad vibe, hear something you don’t like, you dial 911,” he whispered. Then he tagged whatever was on the bedside table and disappeared from the room.
I stared at the door and heard noise, voices and visions of Marty or Ricky blowing Hector’s beautiful head off danced sickeningly through my head.
I threw back the covers in a flurry and tiptoed across the room to the side of the door. If someone was going to come and get me, I wasn’t going to be sitting in bed waiting for them.
I pressed my shoulder against the wall by the door and assessed my options.
I had Hector’s cell phone in my hand. This was lame.
I could get one of his boots. I could seriously clobber someone with one of Hector’s boots.
Or I could get one of my spiked heels. I could poke someone in the eye with the spiked heel. That would sting.
On that thought, I heard raised voices, Hector’s and a female’s. They were yelling at each other in Spanish. Although this was yelling, it was not bad vibe yelling, it was irritated yelling.
I took a deep breath and crept out the door, down the hall and the yelling kept going, mostly the female.
I made it to the top of the stairs and looked down.
There was a light on and Hector was standing at the foot of the stairs, his back to me, the King Skull on display, a gun held loosely in his hand.
In front of him were three Hispanic women. One of them (the one yelling who was also gesticulating wildly with her arms) was short and gorgeous. She looked like a younger, less round but no less fiery version of Blanca.
A relative.
I let out a breath and put my hand holding the cell phone to my chest.
The minute I did her eyes lifted to the stairs, she stopped yelling and her mouth dropped open.
I wanted to turn and run back to the bed, pull the covers over my head and wait until Hector got back.
Instead, New Sadie clicked into place, took her hand from her chest, waved the cell phone at the woman and called, “Hi.”
Hector twisted and looked up at me. I watched him bite his bottom lip and as I’d never seen him do that before I didn’t know whether he was biting back a smile or annoyance.
I took in a deep breath and walked down the stairs.
All three women watched me descend, all of them had their mouths hanging open.
I thought this was bizarre. Hector was Hispanic Hottie, he’d nearly been married to Belinda. It wasn’t like he’d never had a woman at his house.
Hector stepped to the side when I got to the bottom and I stopped next to him.
“Sadie, this is my sister Gloria. Gloria, Sadie,” Hector introduced us when I came to a halt.
So this was Catfight, Rough Up Belinda Gloria.
I couldn’t help it, I smiled at her.
Her eyes bugged out.
Now, this was bizarre too.
Hector rapped out something in terse Spanish and Gloria blinked.
Then she said to me, “It’s just like Mamá said, you do look like a fairy princess.”
Oh. That again.
I shrugged.
Eyes still on me, she breathed, “Dios mio, please tell me it’s just a little hard to be that beautiful.”
I stared at her, not knowing how to react.
On the one hand, what she said was really sweet and that made me feel nice.
On the other hand, it was more than “just a little hard” to look like me because looking like me made me a Balducci Brothers Target of Terror.
On this thought, of their own accord, my fingers started toward the scar on my cheek and for some reason when I did this, Hector’s body gave off his angry electric current and it began snapping around the room.
His arm slid around my shoulders and he tucked my front into his side. His other hand came up, his fingers wrapped around my raised wrist and he pulled my hand to his chest. While he did this, he barked low, angry Spanish words at his sister.
She shook her head then nodded and, her face going a bit pale, she said, “I’m sorry, Sadie. I didn’t think.”
So, Gloria knew what happened to me too.
This time, I mentally shrugged. It was way harder than the fairy princess thing but I was getting used to it too.
“Please, don’t worry about it,” I said softly.
Finally, she gave me a small, hesitant grin, turned and gestured to the two girls behind her. “These are my girls, Ines and Tia.”
I looked at them, they were smiling at me and both were nearly as pretty as Gloria (but not quite) and finally I said, “Hi.”
They said, “Hi,” back.
I was feeling weird then I realized this was because I was standing in Hector’s t-shirt, tucked in Hector’s side, in the middle of the night, with Hector’s sister and her two friends in Hector’s living room.
I wondered briefly why Hector’s sister would break into her brother’s house in the middle of the night but I decided it was none of my business. I didn’t have siblings, who knew how they acted? Maybe this was normal.
I put my hand holding the cell phone around Hector’s waist and waited for someone to say something. No one did.
So I tried to figure out what was the nice thing to do in this situation and I settled on asking, “Should I make coffee?”
“Fuck no,” Hector said immediately.
This jerked Gloria out of her Sadie Daze and she started snapping in Spanish at Hector.
Hector listened for about half a second then interrupted (thankfully, in English), “Gloria, no fuckin’ way are you and the girls sittin’ in my hot tub at fuckin’ one o’clock in the fuckin’ morning.”
Hector had a hot tub?
“We’ll be quiet,” Gloria assured him.
“I don’t give a fuck. What’s in your head, breakin’ into my house in the middle of the night? I could have shot you, for fuck’s sake,” Hector replied sharply.
“Mamá said you’ve been spendin’ the night at Sadie’s. We didn’t t
hink you’d be here,” Gloria responded.
Blanca knew Hector was spending the night at my house?
How? Why? Again, how?
“That makes it okay?” Hector shot back, breaking into my crazed thoughts.
“You aren’t using it!” Gloria snapped back.
“Jesus,” Hector muttered, obviously at a loss to come up with a retort against his sister’s (I had to admit) bizarre logic.
“Maybe I should make coffee,” I broke in, trying to be peacemaker.
“Maybe Gloria, Ines and Tia should get their Mexican asses out of my fuckin’ house,” Hector didn’t feel like allowing me to make peace.
Thus began a hot-blooded, Mexican-American sibling stare down that was so scorching, I felt even the latent Ice Princess shy away.
New Sadie, however, felt like marching straight into the fire.
I looked up at Hector. “Hector, let them sit in the hot tub.”
Hector looked down at me, face still angry but for some reason I knew he was not angry at me and he started, “Sadie –”
“What’s it going to hurt?” I broke in.
I watched Hector’s teeth clench and a muscle leap in his cheek.
“That’s okay,” Gloria said and Hector and my eyes moved to her. “We’d have to use the bathroom to change and we’d have to come back in to dry off afterward. We’d probably be noisy,” she explained, now smiling the Glamorous Chavez Smile at me (hers had a dimple, like Eddie’s). “We didn’t know you were here, Sadie, or we wouldn’t have woken you up.”
“No problem,” I told her, wanting to laugh at her implication that if it had been just Hector at home they wouldn’t have hesitated waking him up.
“We’ll come back when you’re here some other time. We’ll all sit in the hot tub,” Gloria invited herself over.
Hector’s body went tight.
I was thinking I’d likely be in Crete by that time, licking my wounds and obsessively sketching versions of Hector’s celebration tattoo, my father’s skull, my beautiful rose even though I didn’t sketch, I’d have all the time in the world to teach myself.
Instead, I said, “I’ll look forward to that.”
“Jesus,” Hector for some reason muttered again.
Rock Chick Regret Page 21
