by Tiffani Lynn
Once I’m settled he closes the door and crosses around the front of the car to join me. He passes me his phone and says, “You choose the music. If I don’t have something you want, just download it.”
“I’m not adding music to your phone. What if you hate it?”
“I won’t.”
“Really?” I say it like it’s a challenge and I’m already thinking of the most annoying music I can, just to mess with him.
“Okay, let me preface that with…no opera, no classical, no hard rap and no speed metal. Anything else I can live with. Does that help?” He grins at me and I melt into the seat.
“Yeah, that helps.”
I open his music and see that he does indeed have a variety of music to listen to and I select a Journey album and let it play. Then to be a little silly I download a Swiss yodeling song and set it up in the cue to hopefully play when he’s in the car without me.
“Your dad is a good guy,” Victor says, glancing at me.
“He’s the best. Rough and gruff on the outside, but a total marshmallow on the inside. He’s never done that before—come to meet one of my dates, I mean. I didn’t even realize he knew I had a date tonight.”
Victor says nothing but reaches over to take my hand.
“Red Warriors?” I ask, wondering what that was all about.
“Nickname for the 1st Battalion, 12th Infantry Regiment. They had more troops deployed in Vietnam than any other regiment. They saw some crazy stuff over there.”
“How do you know that? Do they make you memorize Army history when you go in?”
“Nah. I read a lot while I was over there. Sometimes fiction, sometimes non-fiction. I like history so at the time I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to learn what the guys before me went through. When you’re in the thick of things it’s easy to think that no one before you had it worse than you. I hate that mentality so I read to see what those guys really went through.”
“What did you find?”
“I found that war sucks no matter what country you’re in and what terrain you’re fighting on. The guys who go through it never come back the same and some are worse than others. My desert dust and mountain passes were no worse than their rainy, mosquito-infested rice patties and jungles. Just different.”
There’s a long pause and I’m not sure what to say after that. How’s the weather seems lame after talk of war.
“How long have you guys owned the auto shop?”
“Pop bought it a few years after he came back from Vietnam. When we kids graduated and came to work for Pop, he gave us each 25% ownership. He said if we got more than a paycheck out of the shop then we’d work with more pride. He was right. Shaunda and I always seemed to understand and work hard at everything, but Marshall is a bit of a wild card and needed that to help him focus and be more business-minded, I guess. The rest of his life might be in constant turmoil, but his contribution at work is never questionable.”
When we arrive at Hector’s, Victor is greeted with a chorus of hellos in both English and Spanish from the entire staff, and halfway through our meal a short, round Mexican-American woman comes out of the kitchen, followed by a slightly taller Mexican-American man with a fluffy mustache and a huge grin. Victor rises from his seat and wraps the woman in a hug as she fires off rapid Spanish at him and glances at me repeatedly. The man turns to me while she’s talking to Victor and says, “Hola, I’m Hector and this is my rude wife, Rosa.”
She turns to him and smacks him on the arm. “Shut up! I’m just happy to see Victor here with a smile and a beautiful woman.”
He frowns at her. “You see Victor a couple times a week.”
“Not with a pretty woman and a smile.”
“Tía Rosa, I always smile when I see you.”
“This is different.” She pinches his cheek and he groans.
Inside I’m doing a happy dance that he frequents this place and they haven’t seen him with a woman here. “Hi, I’m Colby.” I stand and put out my hand to shake with her and to my surprise she pulls me in for a tight hug, knocking me a little off balance and I practically fall on her.
Victor laughs over her shoulder while Hector chastises her for hugging me too tight.
“Mi hermana, my sister, tells me you fix cars with your family for a living?” Rosa asks with a huge grin on her face.
“Yes, ma’am. My family has an automotive shop. My sister is the bookkeeper and receptionist, and my father, brother and I work on the cars.”
“That sounds like hard work. You need to eat to keep up your strength. Sit, finish, enjoy. I will bring you more!” she exclaims with undisguised delight. I panic a little since I’m already full and my eyes must show it because Victor says, “Tía, she’s a small woman. If you feed her too much, she’ll explode. I like my dates to be all in one piece.”
Another round of rapid-fire Spanish comes at him and he shrugs at me as if to say, I tried but you’re going to have to eat it.
I turn to her and say, “Could I have it in a to-go box? I could eat it a little later when I get hungry again.” Her scowl softens and she pats my cheek affectionately.
“Sí, yes, I can do that.” Before another word can be said she pushes past Hector and into the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
Hector chuckles and says, “It made her day to be able to feed you. I hope you have plenty of room in your refrigerator.”
Throughout the rest of dinner we laugh and talk about how Victor became part of the Suarez family. Apparently when you go to Diego’s family home for the Saturday dinners and you pass the test with the Tía-Firing Squad, as he calls it, you are automatically in the family for life. He was a hungry little boy—starving for attention and food—when he started showing up so he was pulled in immediately with open arms. They sound like a crazy and lively group and I’m as nervous to meet them as I am excited. That’s assuming I make it that far.
At the end of the night, I invite him in and the already simmering pot of sexual energy that seems to flow between us, barely concealed by politeness and the newness of dating, boils over. It doesn’t take us long to graduate from small talk to me on my back on the couch with him laying on top of me in a hot and heavy make-out session where my glass of wine gets knocked to the floor and ignored, mainly because the man can kiss like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. With each press of his lips along my mouth, jaw and neck, I’m arching into him, my body practically begging him for more while wishing for our clothes to magically disappear. His calloused fingers are rough, but move gently along the skin of my face, neck and finally—thank God, finally—under the fabric of my shirt and along the swell of my breasts. My whole body quivers at his ministrations.
My legs are wrapped around his waist and I’m grinding against him, sending the most delicious sensations throughout my body. My nipples peak, practically pleading for his attention and he carefully avoids them, frustrating me and simultaneously stoking the fire within me higher. When I can’t take it anymore I slide my hands under the waistband of his jeans and boxers to run my fingers first over the two little dimples at the base of his spine that are like God’s stamp of perfection above his perfectly muscled and smooth ass. As soon as I get my hand full of his perfect butt, he flexes his hips into me and groans. His head drops to my shoulder and rests there as he remains pressed against me, my hands still on the smooth skin of his butt.
“I have to go,” he growls into my neck.
A weird jolt of unease settles in the pit of my stomach. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”
I remove my hands from his skin and out from under his clothes and release my legs from the lock my ankles had behind his back. Now I’m afraid to touch him. Maybe he thought I got too aggressive. How embarrassing.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just know that I won’t be able to control myself much longer if I don’t step back now.” He pushes off the couch and stands, adjusting the enormous bulge in his pants. He gestures to his zipper. “Does this lo
ok like you did something wrong?”
“Um…no. But I’ve never had a man walk away when we were at this point.” I’m not only confused, I’m a little hurt.
“First of all, I don’t think I could handle it if I had to listen to you talk about being at this point with another guy, so please don’t mention that. It makes me feel irrational and I’m not that kind of man. Second, I respect you and want to give you a little more time to get to know me before we jump into bed. My body says something different, but my mind knows I’ll feel bad if we go that route before we’re ready. I spent several years when I was younger satisfying my base needs and that didn’t fulfill me. At my age, I want the real thing and feel like there’s no need to rush it. Does that make sense?”
My feelings are still a little hurt. It seems like if I were more desirable or attractive to him, he wouldn’t be able to hold out. He would need me right now and be unable to walk away.
“Hey,” he reaches out and cups my chin in his hand, “don’t make that face. I’m going to have to go home and take a seriously cold shower and think about Diego’s abuela, grandma, in a bikini to settle things down. Please trust me. I want to do what’s right with you. I don’t want you to look back and think I wanted one thing. I want to be a man whose actions match his words.”
Victor’s words make me feel better. Who can argue with that logic? I’m not used to having someone think of me and a future with me like that. It seems strange, but good at the same time.
I walk him to the door and before our kiss can get out of control he slips out to his car, waving as he pulls out of the driveway.
Twenty minutes later I’m curled up in bed looking for an old movie to watch so that I can fall asleep when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. Who is texting me this late?
I lean over and grab it, smiling when I see it’s from Victor.
“I miss you already. My week is crazy with work, but I’d like to take you out for dinner and dancing on Friday evening. Seven o’clock?” Dancing? He dances?
“I don’t really know how to dance,” I type, grinning at my phone like an idiot as I picture Victor dancing.
“I can teach you.”
My smile is huge as I type my reply, “Yes, I’d love to. What do I wear?” I wonder if we’re going to another place like the first one. My insides shiver a little thinking about how out of my element I’ll feel if that’s the case. So far my only complaint about him is the people he works with. Everyone but his assistant seems to be an asshole. I watch the dots bounce on my screen, waiting while he replies.
“It’s the Spanish-American Club and the women usually wear dresses and heels. That’s about all I can tell you. Women’s clothing isn’t my thing.”
Giggling, I reply, “Good to know. I’ll be ready at seven.”
“Goodnight, sweet Colby.”
“Goodnight.” I hold the phone to my chest and sigh. I feel a little like a teenager who just got asked to the prom. I’m going to have to raid someone’s closet for the right thing to wear, but I’m excited.
Chapter Seven
Victor
It’s been one hell of a crazy week. I got to work at five this morning to make sure I had enough time to finish my work and get home to shower before I pick Colby up for our date. I ended up working 65 hours so far this week and will probably have to put in a few more over the weekend. Despite being exhausted I’m more than ready to see her.
When she opens her door, I’m at a loss for words. Standing in front of me is the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. Colby’s pretty in anything she’s wearing, even her mechanic coveralls, but this…this is like some kind of fantasy come true. Her golden hair is down in soft waves over her back and her fire-engine red lipstick matches her sexy dress perfectly. The top is kind of blousy, dipping low into her cleavage. The bottom is short and tight, showing off her shapely thighs, and I can’t wait to see what it looks like from behind. The strappy black high heels she’s wearing are so hot I’d love to see her wearing nothing but those.
“Do we have to go out?” I ask, my voice automatically dropping an octave or two. I’m only half joking.
“Why? Do I look weird?” She fidgets as she looks down and fusses with her dress. “Am I dressed wrong? I had no idea what to wear and Dana thought this would work and—”
I kiss her to silence her, not wanting to hear her say anything else that’s not confident. When I pull away I stay close enough to look into her eyes as I confess, “With you looking this fucking hot, I’ll either A, end up in a fight with some dude looking too long at you, or B, try to pull you into a janitor’s closet for a quickie. I don’t think either were on your list of scenarios for this evening.”
Her cheeks flush pink. “You like it that much?”
I nod my head. How can she even ask that? She looked in the mirror, right? “Yeah, I like it that much.” I kiss her again. I’m sure I’m fucking up her lipstick, but damn, I can’t help myself. When I step back I pause for a second because I know if I don’t slow this down we’ll be rolling around on her bed in a few minutes instead of having an actual date. The chemistry in that kiss and the dreamy expression on her face confirm it. Although staying here and exploring a more physical evening sounds like the better deal, I can tell she put some serious effort into looking good and should get a chance to show that off.
“You should probably fix your lipstick and then we should go,” I say.
She licks her lips and nods a little before turning back toward the bathroom to fix her lipstick. When she returns, she grabs her purse and keys. I lead her out the door and wait as she locks up behind us. When I open the door of my car for her to slip inside, she says, “You don’t have to open my door for me.”
“Yes, I do. It’s who I am.” My mom didn’t do a lot for me, but she made sure I grew up with Southern manners. She was born and raised in the South and was determined that I grow up to be a gentleman. It nearly killed her when I went into the Army; she said it made me gruff, but that’s not a comment I get from anyone else so I ignore it.
On the ride to the club we talk a little about her work, and despite feeling relaxed with her I’m a little nervous about taking her here. The last time I took her to dinner it blew up in my face. Of course, the people at the Spanish-American Club are my people. Ones I’ve known for years, who respect me and want me to be happy, not crazy uppity business people who look down on everyone. So that should make things a little easier.
When we walk through the door into the main ballroom I swear all conversation stops. I’d be uncomfortable if I didn’t know it’s because of Colby in the red dress. She’s beyond beautiful in it; she’s sex on heels with a flash of class that doesn’t normally accompany that ultra-sexy look. She glances at me, her eyes wide, like she’s ready to turn and run so I move my hand from the small of her back to around her waist and pull her in close under my arm. “You are stunning and everyone in this room wants to either know you or be you. Smile—it’s going to be a good night.”
“I don’t know,” she stammers quietly, her eyes never leaving mine. Before I can say anything to reassure her, Javier and Valerie approach us. I still haven’t let her go when Javier leans in to place a kiss on her cheek.
“Colby, you look beautiful,” he tells her. Then he steps back and motions to Valerie. “Colby, this is my wife, Valerie.” They shake hands and God-love Val, she looks Colby up and down and says, “Javier misspoke; you look amazing! If I could wear your dress that well, I’d never take it off. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”
Colby’s entire body relaxes instantly. “Thank you. You look beautiful too and it’s nice to finally meet you. Javier has been saying for a while that he needs to introduce us.”
After some brief conversation they invite us to join them at their table. Unsure of how to respond I pause for a second. Although I’d love to have dinner with my friends, I don’t want to do anything to screw up another date with Colby.
“I’d love to,” she answers in my silence and then turns to me. “Is that okay? I mean, if you want it to be just us, that’s fine too.”
My smile is genuine. “I’d like to join them but didn’t want to put any pressure on you.”
She rises on her toes and kisses my cheek. “Such a gentleman.”
“Alright, let me tell our server we’re switching to a four-top. We just got here and only ordered our drinks so it’s perfect timing,” Javier tells us.
We follow them to a table for four next to their other table and everyone has a seat. We spend the next hour in easy, fun conversation and I’m enjoying being relaxed for a change.
“Have you seen Victor dance?” Javier asks Colby.
“No, as a matter of fact I can only picture him doing moves like the sprinkler and the running man.”
We all bust up laughing at that and then I tell her, “No, not quite the sprinkler. More like ballroom dancing. The waltz, cha-cha, swing, foxtrot, salsa, that sort of thing.”
She laughs nervously this time. “Really? Never heard of a Green Beret who waltzes.”
“Val, you should show her your competition routine,” Javier says.
“Competition?” Colby’s head swings back to me and her eyes are as wide as saucers.
“Yeah, when Val was in the middle of her divorce we joined a dance group that met every week and did a couple competitions before she and Javier hooked up.”
“Really?”
I can’t tell if she doesn’t believe it or is trying to figure out our weird dynamic. I don’t want to dive into that story in the middle of a nice dinner so I just nod and say, “Yes, we even won one of them.”
“Oh, I have to see this. I can’t picture it at all. I’ve seen pretty-boy Victor and hiking-badass-medic Victor, tamale-annihilating Victor, super-gentleman Victor, but dancing Victor… My brain can’t even conjure it.”
Javier doesn’t wait to hear the rest of the conversation; instead he leaves us as he makes a beeline for the deejay booth. When he returns, he tells us, “Get ready, you two, because it’s coming on next.”
