Then before we left (believe it or not again!), she asked me to be a bridesmaid.
Me!
A bridesmaid!
For a second, I was so excited at the prospect of being a bridesmaid, I forgot I was moving to Crete and I couldn’t stop myself from hugging her and saying yes.
Then it hit me but I didn’t take it back. I wanted to live that one glorious moment and, even if it made me selfish, I didn’t care.
I wasn’t going to give it up.
No way.
I promised myself I’d call her and explain everything.
I’d just do it… later.
Shortly after, I was still in the moment when Hector and I left but we didn’t go to his house, we went to the grocery store.
Sadie Townsend, daughter of a fallen Drug King and ex-DEA Agent Hector “Oh my God” Chavez grocery shopping.
If my father saw us (or when he heard), he’d have a kitten!
Since I was in the moment and enjoying said moment, I didn’t fight it.
Instead, I went with it.
Even when Hector put his hands on the cart handle beside mine which meant the heat of his body was pressed against my back, his chin was resting on my shoulder and we walked a whole aisle that way (a whole aisle!). Even when Hector laughed at me when I asked him where the Pilsbury crescent roll dough was (what was funny about that, I wanted to know but I didn’t ask). Even when he ran into some guy he knew, a handsome, African American, off-duty police sergeant named Willie and he introduced me. Even when they chatted all the while Hector had his arm wrapped casually around my neck, me tucked firmly into his side, making me feel like a real girlfriend, someone who actually belonged tucked firmly into his heat while he chatted with a friend.
Yes, even through all of that.
The moment continued when we got to his place, unpacked the groceries and he asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. In turn, I asked him if I could help him on his house by sanding his floors. His chin jerked at my request and he looked at me funny, like I surprised him, but he agreed.
He patiently showed me what to do and we spent the afternoon in the living room sanding his floors. Him using this big sander thingie and me on my hands and knees using a small handheld sander close to the wall and in the corners. Other than doing dishes, laundry and cleaning my house once in awhile (I had a cleaning lady, what could I say? I was rich), I’d never done manual labor in my life and even if it made me a freak, I didn’t care…
There was nothing better than sanding Hector’s living room floor with Hector.
Nothing.
Okay, maybe there were some things but those involved Hector too.
At that point, I was beyond “the moment”, I was living the dream and I fell into it, letting the warm, lovely, snugly, comfy waters sweep over my head, sucking me down.
Happily, gratefully, I let myself sink.
We finished sanding the floor and took another shower (yes, together!), got dressed and Hector barbecued pork chops outside on the grill while I made a salad (I could cut up vegetables, no problem), boiled some new potatoes (boiling! easy!) and baked Pilsbury crescent rolls (they ended up perfect, absolutely delicious, all you had to do was follow the directions!).
Since it was still warm(ish), I put on his flannel and we ate in the backyard at his outside table by his huge hot tub with YoYo sitting on one of the other chairs and me feeding her tidbits with my fingers.
When we were done eating, I was rinsing the dishes and loading up Hector’s rickety old dishwasher, Hector was outside at the grill again, YoYo with him, racing around the yard and I watched through the window as the flames went high.
Then he came back inside, disappeared into the house, reappeared with a wire hanger and a tool and grabbed some stuff out of the cupboards. Then, without a word, he tagged my hand and pulled me back outside.
He positioned me by the still flaming grill and started to cut the hanger with some wire clippers.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He picked up a bag of marshmallows and tossed them to me.
I caught them but kept looking at him.
“S’mores,” was all he said.
My breathing went funny (so maybe I was slow, he bought the stuff with me at his side in the grocery store but how was I to know what he had planned, I just thought he was a man who liked marshmallows, chocolate bars and graham crackers in the house, I’d, personally, never had all three in my house at once but each item individually, sure!).
I decided not to make a big deal of it like burst into tears, throw myself in his arms and declare my everlasting love for him.
Instead, I asked, “Did you ever go to camp?”
He grinned and it was a new grin, an effective new grin because it was so wicked, it made my belly melt. “If you count three months in juvie when I was fourteen then, yeah. But we didn’t have s’mores.”
My mouth dropped open.
Then I asked, “You, Agent Hector Chavez, did a stint in juvie?”
He was straightening out the hanger and still grinning. “Yeah.”
It was too much, I couldn’t help it.
I burst out laughing.
My eyes were closed so I didn’t see him move until his arm was wrapped around my neck, I was yanked against his body so hard, I slammed into him and he kissed me, hot, wet, open-mouthed and long enough for me to melt into him (and then some).
Then his mouth broke from mine, he touched his forehead to mine for a nanosecond before he moved away and I felt my breath catch at the sweetness of it.
“Like it when you laugh, mamita,” he said quietly and I stared at him then I swallowed.
He didn’t wait for a response, maybe didn’t need one. I didn’t know and I didn’t ask. Instead, he handed me the hanger and took the marshmallows from me, opening the bag with his teeth.
“What’d you do?” I asked.
“Probably better to ask what I didn’t do.”
I let out another small laugh as he made me hold my hanger up to his hand and he fed some big, fat marshmallows on it.
“Okay, what didn’t you do?”
He gave me one of his glamorous smiles. “I never killed anyone.”
My body started shaking with laughter.
Through my laughter, I said, “So I take it you’re one of the ones who fucked around enough to cause your parents problems.”
He guided my hanger over the grill and dumped the bag of marshmallows on the side shelf but kept his arm wrapped around my neck, his eyes trained on my marshmallows.
“Carlos, Rosa and Elena were the good kids, Eddie, Gloria and me… not so good.”
I felt this somewhere deep and the laughter left my body.
Hector’s arm gave my neck a squeeze. I knew he wanted my attention so I looked up at him.
He was watching me closely.
“Now what’s in your head?” he asked softly.
“She loves you all the same. The good and the not so good,” I whispered, referring to Blanca.
“Always has,” he replied.
Immediately I replied, “You’re very lucky.”
At my words, he curled me so my front was against his and his face dipped to mine.
I saw that look in his eyes, the warm, intense, eyes-soft, face-hard, signifying-possession look but something else was there. Not pity but maybe understanding that he had something beautiful that I had not. I knew instinctively he didn’t feel sorry for me but he felt something.
“I know,” he murmured and there was a great deal of feeling in his soft words.
Perhaps sensing I’d had enough, perhaps wanting a s’more, he showed me how to make them and we ate them. Then we made out by the grill in the now-chilly Autumn air, our mouths tasting of s’mores (Hector’s kisses were amazing but when he tasted of s’mores, they were simply heaven).
After s’mores, we walked upstairs and lay, fully-clothed (but shoeless) on his bed and watched a movie (The Big Easy, I hadn’t seen it in year
s and forgot how good it was).
Then, likely inspired by the movie (thank God), Hector played out a certain part but his effort lasted longer, was a bit more creative, included more than just fingers (moving on to lips and tongues) and it finished a whole lot differently.
Before he snapped out the light, he put balm and a new bandage on my tattoo.
Then he tucked my back to his front, YoYo snuggled close into the crook of my lap, Hector held me tight and I laid there, listening to him breathe (and YoYo snort) until I knew he was asleep.
Then I rewound my day from start to finish.
Then I rewound it again.
Then I did it again.
Then I felt the wetness slide silently down the sides of my eyes, soaking into the mound of pillows I shared with Hector, I put my arm on his at my waist and linked our fingers.
In his sleep, his fingers tensed until they held mine tight.
Only then did I fall asleep.
* * * * *
Hector
Hector felt Sadie’s fingers relax in his and he knew she was finally asleep.
He took in the scent of her expensive perfume, knowing and liking the fact that it was on his sheets.
His arm wrapped tighter around her waist, pulling her deeper into his body.
Her head tilted forward, his went with it, he buried his face into her hair but he felt the wetness her tears left on the pillow against his cheek.
His eyes opened in the dark.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered.
Chapter Twenty
Bon Bons
Sadie
Art was filled, shoulder-to-shoulder, with people.
I’d never had an opening this huge.
Even before my father was arrested for trafficking drugs and half my contacts shunned my openings (the other half only continuing to come to drink my champagne, look down their noses at me and feel superior), no opening had been this popular.
My artist, Lisette (who painted unbelievable watercolors), was beside herself with the turn out.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was not prospective buyers but the ever ready to party Rock Chick/Hot Bunch crew, complete with Hector’s entire family, Indy’s Dad Tom, Tod and Stevie, Tex and Nancy and Duke and his wife Dolores. Even the Zano clan came, Uncle Vito and Angela, Dom and Sissy and Ren and some woman I didn’t know.
Indeed, every single Rock Chick and their respective Hot Bunch Guy was there. All the girls looking glamorous, all the men looking knockout gorgeous wearing suits and shirts with collars opened at the neck.
That said, Duke had dressed up how I guessed any Harley biker guy would dress up, he still had the bandana around his forehead and the leather vest but his black t-shirt had long sleeves and no saying emblazoned on the chest and he’d switched to black jeans. Tex, on the other hand, didn’t look any different and was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt.
I didn’t even know they’d been invited (Ralphie’s doing, no doubt). But I had to admit, I was happy they were there.
It felt different with them there. Good. Safe. My openings had not only never been that crowded, they’d never been that filled with laughter.
“I told you pigs in a blanket would be a hit,” Shirleen said from beside me, nabbing (at my count) her fourth gourmet “pig in a blanket” off a passing tray and shoving the entire thing in her mouth.
She wasn’t wrong; the blanketed pigs were going down a treat. Everyone seemed to love them.
“You were right Shirleen. I promise I won’t have another opening without pigs in a blanket,” I assured her, crossing my heart and putting up two fingers so she’d believe me.
“Damn straight,” she replied, her tawny eyes smiling then her gaze moved across the room and she went on. “Hector sure cleans up good.”
I looked at Hector.
She was not wrong.
I’d gotten ready at his house that morning and he’d dropped me off at Art. The day had been busy, hanging the paintings and going over everything one last time even though I didn’t have to. I was obsessively organized, never procrastinated, always checked and double-checked every detail and was a list maker. The entire thing was ready to roll with no hiccups days in advance (as usual). Even the installation had gone easier than normal because Daisy, Roxie, Stella and Ava came to help.
Hector had stayed away all day, he didn’t even call. It felt weird being away from him that long. Since Ralphie let him in the brownstone over a week ago, it seemed like he was always around or, at least, never far away.
When I said it felt weird, I meant I didn’t like it.
At all.
I liked having him around.
And that meant I was seriously in trouble.
After we were done with the hanging and everything was ready, Ralphie took me home so we could dress for the opening.
Hector told me that morning he’d meet me at the gallery. He showed up half an hour after the festivities started wearing a suit. One look at him and my heart stopped.
His suit, at first, I thought was black. But, on closer inspection, I realized it was a very dark gray. He also had on a tailored, collared shirt that was one shade lighter than the suit and black cowboy boots. That’s it. It seemed simple but, on Hector, it was highly effective.
Sometime during the day he’d had his hair cut though, he’d had it cut in a way that now it looked sexy, messy, long-ish and still in need of imminent cutting but it looked good on him, way good, too good.
Honest to God, he never looked better.
However, he was very far away from me and over the last two hours, had stayed that way. When he arrived, he’d come to me and kissed the top of my head but that was it.
At first, this weirded me out.
I was still living the dream, the dream of Hector and Sadie together, sanding floors and making s’mores and owning a pug that raced around the backyard.
Him staying away made me think I’d done something wrong.
I’d reverted to my designer armor (it was an art opening and I did own the gallery, I couldn’t exactly wear flannel, like Tex). I was wearing a slim-fitting, brush-the-knees, ecru skirt that was covered in opalescent beading. My top was stretchy, ecru, knit silk, long-sleeved and off the shoulders but very snug. I had a velvet ecru ribbon tied as a choker around my neck, pointed-toed, spike-heeled, ecru satin mules with bugle beads stitched on the toe and my hair pulled back severely from my face and fastened with another velvet ribbon at my nape. It was definitely an Ice Princess outfit.
I knew Hector didn’t like my armor and I thought it pissed him off.
But even though he stayed away, I knew he knew where I was at all times (don’t ask me how, I just did). Sometimes, when my eyes would stray to him, I saw he was watching me. Sometimes, his face would grow soft. But other times, he looked like he was trying to figure me out (those times were not my favorite times, I didn’t want to be figured out, no way).
I tried not to think about it and instead did my job making sure the champagne flowed, the trays of hors d’ouevres were plentiful and, above all, I mingled.
It was about an hour after he arrived that I understood why he stayed away. He stayed away because I was working and he was giving me space.
And, at that thought, I quit panicking and I also quit sinking down in the warm, comfy water where the possibility of a “Hector and Sadie” had taken me and instead, I executed a below the surface back flip.
I turned away from Hector, who was now standing talking with Tom and Hank, and looked at Shirleen.
“Hector’s the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life,” I told her bluntly and I didn’t even care what she thought about me saying it.
“Mm-hmm,” Shirleen agreed, her eyes still locked on Hector. “Never fancied me a brown boy but, given the chance, I wouldn’t say no to Hector Chavez. No fuckin’ way.”
After she said that, she tore her gaze from Hector, looked at me and I grinned at her. She grinned back then her
eyes flicked over my shoulder and her grin died.
“Shit. Society bitch, three o’clock and closing in. Gotta go,” Shirleen whispered and then, poof, she was gone, disappearing in the crowd.
Dazed at her quick disappearing act, I turned around and watched Monica Henrique bearing down on me.
Oh no.
What was she doing there?
She’d hated me since the whole Nanette thing went down!
And she was definitely not on the guest list and hadn’t been since The Daisy Incident.
And there was no way Ralphie would invite her, she’d come before and Ralphie instantly loathed her.
“Sadie!” she screeched, fake smile on her face, throwing her arms out straight in front of her like we were best friends reunited after years apart.
Before I could escape, she grabbed my upper arms and pulled me in for air kisses, first one cheek then the other then she leaned back, still with her hands on me.
“Oh my God!” she continued to screech (loudly), her eyes on my cheek. “What happened to your face?”
Someone, please tell me she did not just say that.
I felt people turning to look at us and I wanted to cut and run.
Of course, I did not.
My back went straight, my chin jutted out and I ignored her unbelievably insensitive question.
“Monica. Lovely to see you,” I said in a voice that made it clear I felt the opposite.
She ignored my tone and let go of my arms but only to get close to my side and link her arm with mine.
“Sadie, I don’t know if you know this,” she whispered conspiratorially. “But Daisy Sloan is here.” And she said Daisy’s name like it tasted bad.
My body stayed frozen stiff but my head turned slowly to look at her.
“I know,” I said. “Daisy was invited.” I stressed the last word to make my point but it flew directly over Monica’s head or, more likely, she ignored it because she was a bitch.
A look went across her face like she was thinking about this then she came to a conclusion and carried on, “Well, her husband is loaded. And you’ve got paintings to sell, now that your situation has, um… changed.” I stared at her, shocked even further that she brought up my father but she didn’t notice it and went right on talking. “We must do what we must do.”
Rock Chick Regret Page 36
