He hit the cue ball and it bounced off the side and flew down in triangle formation to knock the orange stripe into the corner pocket.
Someone behind him cursed and the tension in the room thickened. There was a lot of money at stake.
“Yellow, corner pocket, and then green in the side pocket.”
“Hell no,” Ronnie’s hype man said.
“Want to put money on it?” Diego asked.
The guy shut up real quick and fell back.
Diego sat on the edge of the table and held the pool stick almost perpendicular. This was a tricky shot better done with his own stick, but he was confident he could do it.
The white ball knocked in the yellow, and spinning rapidly, circled around to the green and tapped it in. The room erupted.
“Whoa!”
“Holy shit!”
Diego shot a look at Ronnie. She silently observed him, confidence swept from her face. He cleaned off the table and called the last shot. “Eight ball, side pocket.” He hit the cue ball low and hard. The eight ball sank into the hole and the white one rolled back toward him.
Noise erupted in the room, a mixture of cheers of disbelief that someone had finally beaten Ronnie, but also low groans at the money they’d lost.
He and Ronnie stared across the table at each other. Her features appeared decidedly grim, all emotion wiped away.
“You tricked me,” she said.
He almost felt bad for her. Almost. But not quite.
Diego grinned. “Somebody owes me a kiss.”
Chapter 8
Ronnie’s heart trembled against her ribs and clammy hands held tight to the stick in her hands. Diego didn’t just beat her—he whooped her ass. She couldn’t ever remember being whooped so soundly by anyone before, and with such style. That last trick shot had been a thing of beauty. She admired him while simultaneously she was disappointed in herself for the loss.
“I’ll gladly give you the money,” she offered, a last-ditch effort to renege on the wager she’d never wanted in the first place.
“Told you I don’t want your money,” he said.
She bit her lip and resigned herself to her fate.
A kiss. From Diego. A man who annoyed the living daylights out of her.
A man she wanted.
A man who flaunted his sex appeal and was absolutely not her type. Ugh. If he wasn’t her type, why did her heart flutter so fast, like a flower petal tossed in hurricane winds? Why did she remain glued to the spot, excited but terrified, feet practically bolted to the floor?
All around her, money changed hands. The few who’d wagered against her collected a considerable sum.
One guy patted Diego on the shoulder. “Thanks, pal. Never thought I’d see the day Ronnie got her ass whooped.”
She glared at the turncoat before shifting her gaze to Diego. “Let’s get this over with. But not here.”
His eyebrows rose. “You want to go somewhere private?” The question sounded like an intimate invitation.
“Somewhere less crowded,” Ronnie corrected. If she had to kiss him, she’d do so without a bunch of onlookers watching their every move.
He gestured at the door. “Lead the way.”
He was gloating. Smug. Loving every minute of his victory and her loss.
Ronnie marched ahead out the door, turning down the hallway near the bathrooms. She swung left at the backdoor exit, an area quieter than the loud, raucous poolroom.
Balling her fists, she took a deep breath and swung around to face Diego. He stepped closer, and her skin heated. Considerably taller than her, he seemed to take up much of the space in the hall.
She flexed her fingers in preparation.
His eyes narrowed on her. “Is it true what that guy said back there?”
“Is what true?” she asked.
“You don’t like men?” He actually seemed concerned.
“You won. What difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable either way, she knew what he meant. He’d offered a way out, and for a few seconds she wavered, tempted to seize the opportunity and escape from this predicament.
But she didn’t. She lowered her gaze to his mouth, and then wished she hadn’t. He had a fleshy bottom lip and a curved upper lip. Truth be told, she was curious. What would his kiss be like? Firm or soft? Dry or wet? Was he a good kisser or a bad one?
Looking the way he did, she couldn’t imagine he was bad, but it was possible. That didn’t stop her heart from racing, though. Nor her stomach from tightening in anticipation.
“It’s not true,” Ronnie answered, her voice unnaturally hoarse. “I like men.”
Her cheeks burned. Admitting her preference out loud sounded weird, but over the years, she’d overheard all types of comments and should be used to them by now. People guessed all sorts of reasons why she couldn’t get and keep a man.
“If she’d just be a little more feminine.”
“She’s just so boyish.”
“Poor thing. She’s too short and too skinny. Men like real women with curves.”
“She knows a lot of men. Why can’t she get one?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Ronnie said. Back rigid, she closed her eyes, puckered her lips, and waited.
Nothing happened.
She peered through the slits in her eyes at Diego, who simply stared at her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Getting ready for the kiss,” Ronnie explained.
He licked his lips, and she watched the way his tongue slid across his full bottom lip, moistening the thick flesh. She inhaled deeply and ran a hand along the outside of her shirt-covered hips.
“Are we going to do this or not?” She’d expected to sound a lot meaner, but a faint tremor had crept into her voice, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
He considered her with narrowed eyes and cupped her jaw with one hand, the calloused thumb of the other hand moved along the length of her throat. Sparks flew across her skin.
“We’re going to do this,” he confirmed. His voice had lowered a bit to a sexier tone—one that washed over her with unexpected sensuality. “But not tonight.”
“Wh-what?” Ronnie said, voice awash in dismay.
“I’ll kiss you when I’m ready.” Diego dropped his hands and took a couple steps back.
“You will kiss me now!” The words flew past her lips before she could stop them. Ronnie inhaled sharply, mortified at the angry demand.
The right corner of his mouth ticked up and amusement filled his eyes. “Now, now, I won the bet. I get to decide when I collect.”
“How long do you plan—”
Diego pressed a finger to her lips. Resting a hand above her head, he leaned in and Ronnie backed into the wall. “I’m in charge, and I don’t have to tell you anything. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for my kiss.” He blew an air kiss, and the quick smacking sound triggered the tightening of her nipples.
He was only doing this to annoy her, but now he held the power, able to approach her at any time and demand a kiss at will. Ronnie balled her hands into angry fists.
“See you tomorrow, mami.” Diego strutted off and left Ronnie behind to fume alone.
“What happened to you?” Tomas asked when Diego walked up.
“Saw someone I knew.”
“We thought we were going to have to send a search party after you,” Ryan joked.
“No need for all that.” Diego shoved aside his watery Coke and signaled for the bartender. “Another one of these, please.”
“Coming right up,” the bartender said.
“Are you okay, primo?” Tomas asked.
“I’m fine.” Diego grinned to allay his cousin’s concerns.
When the drink arrived, he took a few swallows and focused on the NBA game, but the men running back and forth down the court held little interest for him. Even when his beloved Miami Heat expanded t
he lead to eleven points, he couldn’t conjure his earlier enthusiasm.
All he could think about was how he turned the tables on Ronnie. Recalling the fierce look in her eyes and the demand to kiss her now—oh damn, how he’d wanted to slam her against the wall and devour her mouth—he laughed softly to himself.
Diego sipped his soda.
He had her right where he wanted her.
Ronnie pressed her hands to her head. What was happening? An hour ago she was playing pool and not thinking about Diego’s lips anywhere near her. Now, the thought of his mouth consumed her. Denying her only made her want the kiss more.
She went into the ladies’ bathroom and, bracing her hands on the sink, stared at her reflection.
She didn’t want this queasiness in her stomach. The tightness in her breasts. The longing for more. The last time she felt anything close to these sensations had been with Leonard.
A slice of pain twisted in her chest, and she closed her eyes.
Sighing, she opened them again and saw anxiety reflected back at her.
Friends since high school, she and Leonard did everything together—attend sporting events, play basketball, and he often spent time at her house on Sundays when her father fired up the grill. Friends to lovers. What could be better? It never occurred to her he would break her heart, but that was exactly what he did.
He snuck around behind her back with a woman the complete opposite of Ronnie. Even her name, Dahlia, conjured images of flowers and sugar and spice and all things nice.
Ronnie saw them one evening while out to dinner with her cousin, Anika. Dahlia wore her long hair down and a figure-hugging dress, while Leonard looked downright dashing in a suit and tie.
Unnoticed, she watched Leonard help Dahlia into her chair. When he sat down, they held hands across the table. The sight of him gazing so tenderly into another woman’s eyes filled her with jealous rage.
He never helped her into her chair. He never held her hand or looked at her like that.
She made a horrible scene in the restaurant, and Anika forcibly dragged her out. Later, in addition to being mortified by her behavior, she’d felt like such an idiot thinking about all the times she worked on his car and his family members’ cars for free, and how he’d insisted she wasn’t “like other girls.” Back then she thought the words were a compliment, but came to learn they were anything but.
Ronnie splashed water on her face and straightened her shoulders. She couldn't stay in the bathroom forever.
She left and went to the front of the Dilligan’s, catching sight of Diego at the bar, in conversation with two other men. She made a beeline for the door and, once outside, trotted to her Nissan 4 X 4.
Gunning the engine, she squealed out of the parking lot.
Desperate to escape Diego Molina and everything he made her feel.
Chapter 9
On Saturday, Ronnie left work early and went to Deluxe Barber Lounge to get a line up. When she pushed open the door, the barbers and regulars called out a greeting.
“Hey, Ronnie!”
She waved hello and plunked down in one of the chairs along the wall to wait for Jacob to finish a teenager’s haircut. She scanned the magazines on the table. Passing over a tattered, well-handled copy of King with the picture of a scantily clad Melyssa Ford on the cover, she picked up the latest issue of Sports Illustrated.
Sometimes Ronnie stopped in even if she didn’t need a cut, to shoot the breeze with the men and listen to the old heads talk about how they’d “seen some things,” as they liked to say. The best stories came from first-hand accounts of major events she’d read about in the history books. Civil Rights marches. The Vietnam War. Fascinating stories emerged each time she visited.
The all-male atmosphere included men of all ages. From Tarik, the eight-year-old who came regularly with his father, to Buck, a relic from the Civil Rights movement who’d participated in demonstrations with the likes of Ambassador Andrew Young and Congressman John Lewis.
Ronnie had been coming here since her teens, when she cut off her hair and adopted a maintenance-free hairstyle. At first the men were careful around her, refraining from cursing and using code words to discuss sexual topics or avoiding them altogether. After joining a heated argument and quoting sports stats that even some of the men didn’t know, she’d impressed them. Nowadays, they didn’t see her as the typical woman. She was one of the guys, and as such, was treated with the same indifference as any man who walked through the door.
“What’ll it be today?” Jacob asked when she sat in the chair. He was older than Ronnie, somewhere in his late forties. Good-looking with a full beard that showed a little bit of gray and gave him a distinguished appearance.
“The usual. Neat and tight, please,” she said.
“What’s the latest with your pop?”
“He’s doing fine. Eating right, like he’s supposed to, which is not easy to get him to do.”
Jacob chuckled. “When you get to a certain age, like your pop, a man ought to be able to eat what he wants.” He snapped the black cape around her neck. “I could create a nice design for you,” he offered hopefully. He’d been trying to put a design in her hair to show off his skills for the longest time.
“I’ll leave that for the younger set,” she said, smiling at him in the mirror.
“You ain’t too far from the younger set yourself,” Jacob pointed out, picking up the scissors.
Ronnie relaxed in the chair and, after joking with him and the other men, mentioned having to take off from work to drive her father to and from cataract surgery.
“I’m worried,” she admitted. The doctor had assured her and Ezekiel they had nothing to worry about, but Ronnie still harbored some fear.
“Don’t worry,” Jacob said. “It’s routine surgery.”
Several of the men spoke up and reassured her. They pointed out that either they or their parents had gone through the same surgery with no problems.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Their answers put her mind at ease.
“Poppa Ezekiel still beating off the old ladies at church?” an attractive, twenty-something barber across the room asked.
“Yes, and that will never change,” Ronnie answered. “As far as my father’s concerned, no one holds a candle to my mother.”
Jacob gently twisted her head so he could taper the hair at her left temple. “Rosie was something else, but that’s a long time to go without a woman.” The clippers buzzed softly as he worked.
“You knew my mother?” Ronnie asked. She didn’t talk about her mother much since she’d been dead for a long time, so it took her by surprise that Jacob knew her.
“Not well. Met her a couple of times, long before your time, from back in the neighborhood. I remember when she and your daddy started dating. Hey, Buck, you remember when Rosie and Ezekiel were dating back in the day?”
He called out to a man seated on one of the chairs, wearing an Irish flat cap and glasses. Buck looked over large, black-framed spectacles from the newspaper. He was an old head, always dressed sharp in a button-down shirt and a sweater vest from what must be a larger collection. Winter, spring, summer, or fall, Buck wore the same uniform, only different colors.
“Sure do. Best girl in the neighborhood. Rosie was sweet as could be, fine as wine, and way too good for him, with his old ass.”
The men around him chuckled and Ronnie smiled. “Hey, you’re talking about my daddy. With your old ass.”
“Just telling the truth.” Buck snapped the newspaper and went back to reading.
“Everybody was jealous of Ezekiel for landing someone that fine couldn’t nobody else get. Her parents brought her up real strict.”
Ronnie’s grandparents, long dead, had been devout Christians, and their protectiveness over her mother came as no surprise. At thirty-six, her father had been fifteen years her mother’s senior. He told her once about how he’d pursued her, carefully at first, proving himself to her parents with his work ethic and p
olite manners. He’d sealed the deal with them by regularly attending church services.
“Rosie was sweet as could be, but she wasn’t no pushover, and pretty and prim and proper.” Jacob twisted Ronnie’s head to work on the right side. “Damn shame she died so young.”
Pain pricked the middle of Ronnie’s chest. She wished she could remember something, anything, about her mother. A heavy knot from missing mother/daughter bonding reared its ugly head in her stomach. Her father did a great job on his own, and whenever moments of uncertainty arose—such as around the time she started menstruating—the women in the family helped him. But Ronnie knew there was nothing like having a mother in her life.
“I firmly believe your daddy will find somebody else one of these days,” Jacob said.
“You think so?” Ronnie looked at him in the mirror.
“Absolutely. One day you’ll be gone, and he’ll be by himself, and the Good Book says it’s not good for man to be alone. Thing is, your daddy’s old school. Gotta let him pursue. Not pursue him. That’s why those women at church don’t stand a chance. Besides, mean and ornery as he is, he’s got to find someone to change his disposition, or he’ll never make it past the Pearly Gates.”
Ronnie thought about her father and Miss Loretta, wondering if their neighbor could be what her father needed to change his disposition.
Smiling to herself, she got an idea of how to get them to spend time together.
When Ronnie arrived at home, she saw Miss Loretta bent over the open hood of her car.
She walked across the lawn to her neighbor’s side. “What’s the problem?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. When I try to start the car, it makes a strange sound and won’t start.” A frown wrinkled Miss Loretta’s brow. “Don’t ask me why I have the hood up. I don’t know what I’m looking for.” She laughed, placing a hand on her chest and looking a little embarrassed.
Ronnie smiled. “Crank it and I’ll see if I can figure out the problem.”
One of the Guys Page 5
