Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series)

by Moss, Brooke

  “I, uh, what?” I had to walk quickly to keep up with him. He was a man on a mission, as he plucked two paper plates off of a table and started loading them with meat. “Did you say goat?”

  Demo nodded, a proud smile splayed on his face. “Marisol, this is my cousin, Pirro. He’s the best cook in the whole family.”

  The balding man wielding a giant pair of tongs waved. “Don’t tell Yiayia he said that.”

  Demo shook his head. “She’ll kill me.”

  “It’s true,” his cousin agreed.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I watched as Demo filled my plate with more Greek delicacies than I ever realized existed. Dolmades, feta, mousakka, taziki, souvlaki. All piled high and dripping over the edges. “Whoa. Slow down. I’m not going in the electric chair.”

  Demo nudged Pirro. “What do we think of women who refuse to eat, cousin?”

  Pirro waved his hand. “No good. Find a woman who will eat with you. Nothing’s sexier than a woman who eats.”

  A laugh bubbled up in the back of my throat. I could get used to that kind of attitude. “Well, then throw another baklava on. Did Yiayia make those?” They both nodded. “Make it two.”

  “Atta girl,” Pirro said.

  Demo looked at me with a wide, happy gaze. “You’re really somethin’, aren’t you?”

  “That’s what they tell me.” I winked.

  We ate. And ate, and ate, and ate. Athena brought me a bottle for Christopher about halfway into the amazing food, and I fed him until he’d fallen asleep on my shoulder, with a string of drool dripping into my hair.

  I didn’t even care. Demo and I danced to the music until the moon was high in the sky, with Christopher between us. Every few minutes or so, we would be interrupted as a relative came over to be introduced to me, and I’d had to step back to allow Demo to dance with his mother and Yiayia a time or two. But I didn’t mind. It was great to watch him in his element. With his family around, Demo was witty and fun, smiley and jovial. He played with his young nieces and nephews, giving them horsey rides on his back on the grass, and chased the older ones on the dance floor until they were adequately humiliated doing the jitterbug with him.

  And as far as Demo’s family go? Well, I was sunk.

  They were by far some of the nicest people I’d ever met. Each and every relative at the block party—I’d lost count after thirty-eight—came up to me, hugged me, and welcomed me into the fold. Many of them said they were relieved to see Demo had finally stopped acting like a middle-aged playboy. I didn’t share the fact that until I’d kissed Demo, I’d been quite the player myself. They didn’t need to know that. Or the fact that my uterus contracted every time Demo bent down to press a kiss to Christopher’s head, making his now messy brown hair tickle the side of my face.

  I wanted him. And not just in the usual do me against a wall and make me scream obscenities in Spanish sort of way (though I did want Demo that way, too.) But rather, in a when can I move onto Lincoln Lane and wake up next to you every morning way. And I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. I felt like a teapot filled with boiling water, on the verge of blowing the whistle. I wanted to tell Demo what I was feeling. No, I actually had to tell him, otherwise I was going to burst… and leave a giant mess all over the pavement.

  “Hey,” I said, pulling Demo’s neck to bring his face closer to me as we danced to a slow song. The night was winding down, and most of the neighbors and family members had gone home to put their kids to bed. Athena had taken Christopher inside, leaving Demo and I to dance closely for the last few songs before the deejay packed it up for the night. “I need to tell you something.”

  Demo looked at me, the wrinkles on either side of his eyes deepening. “Want to go inside my house?”

  Mother of God, YES. Pressing my lips together, I smiled coyly. “Sure.”

  He led me up the walk and into the front of his house. It was decorated exactly like I’d expected it to be. Not much color, minimal furniture, and a giant flat screen the size of a ping pong tabletop hanging on the wall. But the dark woodwork shone, and the floors creaked delightfully underneath our feet as Demo led me from room to room.

  “And this is my bedroom.” He flicked on a light, illuminating a large room with French doors that led out to the backyard. His bed was big, and covered in a thick blue and white quilt I was pretty sure had been designed to resemble the Greek flag. Demo shrugged embarrassedly. “Yiayia makes them for each of her grandkids.”

  I suppressed a smile. “I see.” Walking over to the bed, I perched demurely on the side and put my hands on my knees. “Come and sit with me.”

  Demo stared at me with eyes that could only be described as hungry. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and furrowed his brow. “Are you sure?”

  Grinning, I patted the quilt next to me. “Come on. I won’t bite.”

  He tilted his chin upward, his stature defiant. “What if I want you to?”

  I swallowed. Hard. “Then you wouldn’t have to ask twice.”

  “I want you, Marisol.” His voice was rough around the edges. “Make no mistake of that.”

  Demo was so beautiful, standing there in the doorway with a narrow stripe of light running across his face. I had to remind myself to blink. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Sit. Stand. Fold my arms. Tear off my shirt?

  I used to say things so bold and crass, men almost swallowed their tongues. Now I couldn’t get the simplest of terms out.

  Finally I cleared my throat. “I want you, too, Demetrious.”

  “I want to make this right,” he told me, his chocolate brown eyes shining. “I should be honest with you.”

  The cloud of sexual tension thickened between us as straightened my back and faced him. “Okay. Hit me.”

  “I want to stay on this street, near my family. Forever. My mother’s getting older, and needs us kids around. And Yiayia—”

  “It’s fine,” I interrupted him. “They’re amazing. I… I wouldn’t want to leave them, either.”

  He smiled. A small, tiny smile that lit his face up like Christmas morning. “I want kids.” When I raised my eyebrows, he added, “Someday. I mean, I know I’m going to be an older parent, but I don’t care. I’ve always wanted them. And I don’t care if they’re mine or somebody else’s. I just want to raise a family someday.”

  My eyes filled. “I do, too. I mean…” I sniffled. “I don’t want a family band, or anything. I don’t want to have a whole soccer team. My vagina’s not a clown car. But one. Or two… would be nice.”

  Demo laughed. “Has anybody told you that you’ve got a way with words?”

  One of my shoulders rose and fell. “Maybe. Once or twice.”

  “I was engaged once.” His mouth turned down in the corners. “She left me the night before the wedding. I beat a guy up and went to jail.”

  “I know. Yiayia told me.” I stood up and stepped closer to him. “My father left my mom and me when I was a little girl. I was raised by nannies after that. That’s why I’m such a cold bitch.”

  Demo reached out and stroked my cheek. “Not so cold to me.”

  I shuddered when he touched me. Yes, I said shuddered. And I was aware of how pathetic that was. But holy crap, Demo’s touch was otherworldly. “I have another confession.”

  “What’s that?”

  Here goes nothing.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. It felt like ten minutes, but in all actuality, it was probably closer to ten seconds. But when Demo drew a long breath, then let it out slowly, I prepared myself for the worst.

  I was moving too fast. This is why he’d dumped the ever-available Stacia. Soon it would be me throwing myself at him in the Triple D’s parking lot.

  “I love you, too, Marisol.”

  I released the breath I’d been holding. “Gah! Oh, thank God, because I was afraid you were going to tell me to buzz off. Do you know I’ve never said that to a man before? Well, my
father, I suppose. But I’m not even sure I meant it. Because I’ve been infatuated with a man before, but I’ve never wanted to, like, give myself to someone before. You know? Inside and out, you know? I don’t—”

  “Marisol, shut up.”

  I looked up at him and blinked. “I, uh, okay.”

  His gaze was heavy. “I’ve haven’t said that to anyone since Belinda.”

  “Do you mean it?” I gulped, suddenly insecure. “You’re not trying to—you know—get into my pants or anything?”

  Demo shook his head. “No. Are you trying to get into mine?”

  Giggling, I leaned back onto my elbows. “Baby, I’ve been trying to get into your pants since I met you.”

  “Well, then I’m out of here.”

  He turned to leave the room, and I jumped to my feet to grab his arm. “Come on, Demo, don’t leave me now. I’m just getting started with this whole opening up thing—”

  In a flash, he’d turned around, swept me off of my feet, and placed me down on his Greek flag quilt. Once his shirt had been peeled up over his head—and dear heaven, he was every bit as glorious beneath his shirt as he was from the neck up, and you can take that fact right to the bank—he started to pepper the skin on my neck and collarbone with kisses.

  I dug my hands into his hair as he started to unbutton my blouse. “Demo?”

  “Hmmm?” He lifted his head and gave me a heavy lidded gaze. I could feel his heart thudding through his chest, and his fingertips were leaving a trail of heat across my ribcage underneath the thin silk of my shirt.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “For bringing me to life.”

  “I think you’re the one who brought me to life, Mar.” He brought his mouth back to mine, opening my lips with a warm swipe of his tongue.

  Closing my eyes, I let the sensation take over my body, setting it on fire and lifting me off of the bed. The only sound in the room now was our baited breath, our bodies moving across the worn quilt, and our hearts thrumming in unison.

  Maybe we’d brought each other to life?

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Demo brought me home early the next morning, my feet didn’t touched the front walk as I wandered into my house. In fact, I don’t think they’d touched the floor as I fed Cocinero, watered my plants, walked upstairs, or started to fill the bathtub.

  Yup. I was in love. And walking on air.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” I said out loud to Cocinero as I undressed. All these years avoiding falling for someone, avoiding commitment like the flu, and sidestepping any man that had deeper feelings for me than the desire to screw.

  I’d been missing out.

  Going to bed to someone you love is so much better. There’s connection on levels that I hadn’t even realized existed. Being with Demo was like coming home after years and years of travelling. And waking up that morning, wrapped in his arms?

  The safest place in the world.

  And the sex?

  A hysterical giggle burst from my throat, and Cocinero meowed.

  “Shush,” I scolded him, covering my mouth and leaning against the counter. Images scrolled through my mind, the night before playing out like a vividly colored, slow motion film. Arms, legs, eyes, lips, skin, sweat… too much to process again. I felt weak.

  The sex was amazing. Ah. Maze. Ing.

  I looked at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. My lips were still swollen from hours and hours of kissing. The skin on my neck was pinked and raw from Demo’s early morning whiskers. And my hands? My hands still smelled like him. Gasoline, soap, and… something so undeniably male, it made me dizzy.

  You have no idea, Marisol…

  Standing up straight, I touched my lips and stared at my reflection with wide eyes.

  When a man loves you, it’s the most incredible feeling in the world…

  Gasping, I stepped away from the mirror and ducked into the shower. I looked just like my mother twenty years ago. Before all of her plastic surgeries. Before all of her marriages. Before she became the bitter, money-hungry, plastic shell of a woman that she is now.

  I remember the day she’d said that to me like it was yesterday.

  It was eleven in the morning, and I’d been torn away from Saturday morning cartoons by the sound of the front door shutting. When I’d crept into the foyer and looked out the window, a man wearing dress slacks, and carrying his shirt in his hands was walking down our driveway to a waiting cab.

  I’d gone up to my mother’s bedroom, which was usually off-limits, but that morning her double doors were wide open, and I’d wandered in to find my mother laying on the bed with a dazed grin on her face. The sheets and blankets were everywhere, twisted and sweaty, and a lamp had been knocked over. Gasping, I ran to her.

  “Mommy, are you all right?” I asked, climbing onto the bed next to her.

  She’d rolled over, and I realized she was naked under the corner of her sheet. “Good morning, Marisol,” she’d said lazily. Her hair was loose and wild, tumbling over the pillows in thick waves; and her lips were red and swollen. “How are you this morning?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, looking away. It embarrassed me that she didn’t have one of her fancy nightgowns on. “How are you?”

  “Perfect,” she purred, reaching out and playing with my hair. “Oh, kiddo, just you wait.”

  “Just I wait for what?” I asked, bringing my eyes back to hers. She looked so pretty that morning. So much prettier than when she wore makeup and fancy clothes. I wished I could see her like that more often—except maybe with clothes on.

  “Oh, Marisol, you have no idea.” She sat up and looked at me intensely. The sheet was barely covering her top half now. “Just wait until a man loves you. And wants only you.”

  “Loves me?” I squeaked. I knew about boys and girls. One of my nannies had brought her boyfriend over one night, and I’d watched them making out for hours before they made me go to bed. And some of the girls in my class already liked boys. As for me? I wasn’t really sure what I thought about them.

  “Uh huh,” she’d said excitedly. “When a man loves you, it’s the most incredible feeling in the world.”

  “Daddy loves me.” I smiled at her. I wasn’t sure if it was true, because he never called me anymore. But before he’d left he’d told me he loved me. So it had to be true.

  My mother’s face dropped. “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about when a man in in love with you. When he wants to take you to bed with him, and can’t get enough of you. That’s the most incredible feeling in the world.”

  I thought for a moment, looking around the room. There was an empty wine bottle in the trash, and a men’s tie hanging from the curtain rod. I remembered the last time I’d seen this room in a state like this, and nodded. “Like the way Daddy wanted Nanny Hanna.”

  My mother’s face paled, and she looked around the room like she’d just woken up. Blinking, she pulled the sheet tighter around her body, and gave me a push. “Go,” she ordered. “Go on. Go find something to do. Leave me alone.”

  “What did I do?” I asked, sliding off of the side of the bed. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean to talk about Daddy.”

  Her face crumpled. “Daddy never loved me. Or you. He left us, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Shut up!” She yelled, her tears taking her mascara down her face with them. “Get out of here, Marisol. Do as I tell you. I am your mother.”

  I wanted to spend time with my mom. I wanted her to tell me what it felt like to be wanted by a man some more. And why it was so wonderful. I didn’t want our time together to be over yet. “But I want to talk about love some more,” I begged. “Please? I’ll be good. I’ll just listen. Please?”

  My mother stood up, tugging the sheet with her. Patting me on the bottom, she moved me closer to her bedroom door. “There’s nothing to talk about, Marisol. Love is just something men say when they’re screwing you silly.”

  Her door closed
in my face before I could ask her what she meant. Two months later, I’d gotten my first stepfather, and the rest came on average every four years after that.

  I let the scalding hot water soak my hair and run down my face. When Demo said he loved me, he’d meant it. I knew it. I could feel it right down into my soul. There was no way I was going to let the bitter words of my dysfunctional mother under my skin now. Not when I’d finally let myself fall for someone so perfect.

  I heard a buzzing sound coming from my bedroom and chuckled to myself. It was probably either Candace or Lexie, calling to see how my date with Demo went. And as much as I wanted to share all the details—every… single… one—I wanted just a few more minutes to keep it to myself. It felt too personal. Too deep to change into coffee talk while their kids played in the next room.

  Cocinero meowed outside the shower stall when the buzzing sound returned. “Persistent, aren’t they?” I called to him as I scrubbed my hair. I was going to wear it down today. Demo said he liked it loose.

  Sigh.

  I finally understood what Lexie and Candace were talking about when they said their husbands were their best friends. Demo and I had spent the night talking and laughing about everything under the sun. We’re made omelets at three o’clock in the morning, wearing nothing but our smiles as we sat across the table from each other, swapping embarrassing high school stories.

  I knew now how Candace felt when Brian walked into a room and she sighed to herself because of how much she loved him, and how much he loved her. I used to mock her for being so whipped, and now? Now I was the one sighing. What a strange turn of events.

  The buzz sounded again, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Well, they can just wait. Can’t they, Cocinero?” I said, letting the water flush down my back. He yowled as I started to sing a Buddy Holly song from the night before. The ringer on my home phone rang out, making me jump a foot in the air. “Geez. They’re downright pushy today.”

  I climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself as I shuffled to my bedroom. Sure enough, when I picked it up off of the base, it was Lexie’s cell number flashing on the screen. I wiped my ear off with the corner of the towel, then answered. “Fine, you pushy bitch, you. But I’m not telling all of the sordid details, because they’re mine. All mine. Do you understand me?”