Cubanita

by Gaby Triana

  Where’ve I heard that before? “Now you sound like my mother.” Behind him I catch a glimpse of the clock, high on the wall. 5:45. “Damn, I didn’t realize it was so late. I didn’t even finish this.”

  I think Andrew stopped listening to me after I said “your place.” Without another word he pulls me to him, and I can feel that I was right. His kiss is more intense than ever. There’s something behind it, raw and simple, something out of a human sexuality textbook. He doesn’t need to say anything. I feel it too. I don’t know how far we’ll go on Friday, but this much I know—

  I want him. Bad.

  Fourteen

  Andrew’s apartment is right near UM. It’s also dangerously close to the Big Cheese, the best pizza place in the history of pizza places. Andrew and I eat there, splitting a ham and pineapple, which is cool because Robi never liked anything but plain cheese. After talking about my mom for a while, we head to the video store and rent a DVD, although we probably won’t be watching it anyway.

  He pushes his key in and unlocks the door to his apartment. Slowly he swings it open. When the lights come on, I get my first look at his place. Nice and neat. The carpet has vacuum cleaner marks. There’s a sofa, a love seat, and a dinette next to the kitchen, complete with fresh flowers just for me. Of course, there’s also a basketball hoop on the wall in the living room.

  “Welcome to my underground lair,” he says in a Dr. Evil-like voice.

  Let’s just hope his bedroom doesn’t look anything like Austin Powers’s. If I see one psychedelic anything, I’m outta here. “Very nice, Coach,” I say, stepping in. “I like the hoop.”

  He throws the DVD onto the sofa. “Gotta have a hoop, right?” He gestures to the room with open arms, then lets them fall to his sides. “This is it. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.” He walks across the living room and opens the door to his bedroom.

  I feel weird just standing here, so I stroll around. On the walls he’s got some framed posters of the Dolphins and Panthers. No photos of family, as far as I can see. There’s a chenille throw on the sofa, which looks extremely comfy, not to mention girly. That and the flowers. Otherwise, anyone wondering if the apartment belonged to a guy or girl need only look at the basketball hoop. Or the five remote controls on the coffee table.

  Five remote controls. I laugh to myself. I wonder which one brings the lights down and the slow jams up. I sit on the edge of the sofa.

  Andrew comes back, closing the bedroom door. “Sorry. I was checking messages. Want something to drink?”

  “Nah, thanks.” My hands are slippery. I blot them against my shorts.

  “If you get thirsty, I’ve got whatever. Coke, Sprite, Bacardi, vodka…a full minibar,” he says with a laugh.

  I fight the urge to pull my earlobe. I don’t want him thinking I’m nervous, because I’m not. Not really. I’m not nervous. Okay, a little. “Thanks, I’ll let you know.”

  “Ready to watch the movie?” He picks up the case and squats in front of the TV. While waiting for the player to turn on, he glances my way. “All the booze I’ve got is beer, Isa. I was only kidding about the minibar.” He pushes a button, and the disc tray ejects.

  “I know!” No, I don’t. But how does he know that, that I took him seriously? It must be all over my face. Relax, Isa.

  The disc tray slides back in. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to corrupt Mami’s little girl and send her home drunk. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize being with you, señorita.”

  “I know.” I’m extremely witty tonight with all these I knows. Still, corrupting me a little won’t hurt anyone.

  He comes and sits next to me, picking up one of the remotes and pushing all kinds of buttons. If I had to repeat what he’s doing to save the world from a comet collision, we’d all be dead. Why don’t they make remote controls with only one button? Turn on, turn off. Okay, and volume buttons, too.

  The movie comes on, warning us about the FBI and copyrights. His arm reaches around me to grab the throw on my other side.

  “’Scuse me,” he says, pulling the end of it from under my butt. He smiles and kisses my cheek.

  Sigh.

  I sink into the sofa. Immediately my muscles relax. I have to admit, the thought of Andrew being twenty-three makes me nervous sometimes, like I’m doing something wrong. I know Mami wouldn’t like it, which is exactly why I’m not telling her, but otherwise, she seems to tolerate him just fine. Even though it’s only been less than a month since we’ve been going out, I can’t imagine not being with him right now.

  I’ll see how far we get tonight. Not as far as he might hope, no matter how randy I feel. That, I’ll save for a couple weeks from now, if I can take it. Tonight I just wanna see what’s under those clothes, even if it means there’ll be no tab-A-into-slot-B.

  “Andrew.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “You know, with all our talking, I’ve never asked you something.”

  “I’m twenty-three.”

  “No, dummy.” I laugh, pinching his side—his hard side, the one with not an ounce of fat on it. “I’ve never asked you about girlfriends.”

  “Girlfriends?” He readjusts himself.

  “Well, yeah. I’m assuming you’ve had a relationship before.”

  He lifts a finger, and in a college professor voice, says, “Ah, but to assume means to make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’”

  Oh, jeez. I need no funniness for just a minute. “Coach? I’m serious.”

  He lets out a sigh. “Sorry. Why do you assume?”

  “Because! What girl wouldn’t want to be with you?”

  “Well, maybe I haven’t wanted a relationship.”

  Something in his eyes…Yes, he’s joking, the stupid nerd. “Yeah, right.”

  He smiles, but then his gaze drops to his lap, and he straightens the bottom of his shirt. “I’m just kidding. Yes, I had a girlfriend once. We were together for three years, but she left me. She was a bitch anyway.” He laughs again. It’s not a real laugh, though. His eyes glint of hurt.

  “You don’t mean that, right?”

  “Nah, she was a nice girl. I guess I wasn’t right for her.”

  Which suddenly makes me feel guilty. Why? Because I’ve done the same? Is Robi sitting somewhere tonight, telling some girl how much he hates me because I thought we should move on?

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry about that,” I say, almost as if I was the one responsible for their breakup. “Was she the only one?”

  “Pretty much. She was my first. I was nineteen when she left.”

  Which means he’s been solo for four years. “So…”

  “I’ve seen other people since then.”

  People. He says people instead of girls, like that would hurt me. “Girls.”

  “Yes, girls. Women.”

  Hold up. “Women?”

  “Isa…” He tilts his face and takes a good look at me. “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m sorry, am I being nosy? We talk about everything else; I didn’t think you’d mind. I just wanted to know.”

  “Well, there’s not much to tell. I just haven’t found the right girl yet.”

  In the meantime, though, he’s been having the time of his life. He must have. He can’t look the way he does and not get it on a regular basis. I must find out. “You can talk to me, Andrew. You know that. Don’t think I’ll be hurt by anything you have to say. I know you’ve probably had sex a million times—it’s all right.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “I haven’t had sex a million times. I’m only in the hundred-thousands.”

  I laugh. On the outside. Yeah, that’s hilarious. But inside, scenes of Andrew with different girls invade my mind. For some reason, I don’t see their faces, just girls, on their backs, on top of him, and Andrew pleasing them till they scream. On one hand, the thoughts make me cringe, while on the other…Whoa, Isa, slow down.

  At least with Robi, I knew what I was getting. He’d been with one
girl before me, and that was it. But Andrew…who knows. The hundred-thousand estimate is probably not that far off. Maybe I really don’t want to know how many girls he’s been with.

  There’s an awkward hush. Andrew knows what’s on my mind. He tries changing the focus. “What about you, missy? Who’ve you been with, besides Pool Boy?”

  “Pool Boy.” I remember Robi stepping back, his napkin and plate flying everywhere, and the splash. I can’t believe some people actually thought I did that. That was all him and his klutzy ass. “Before him, I only went on a few dates, but that was it. I was young.”

  I was young, I say, as if I’m ninety years old, remembering the glory days.

  At this, Andrew coughs a laugh. “You were young! God, that’s too cute.”

  Great, now he thinks I’m a sweet little girl with stupid things to say. I pull my earlobe.

  He must feel bad for laughing, because he grabs my hand and gets serious again. “So you’ve only been with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And was that good or bad?”

  Good or bad. “What do you mean?”

  “Was he good to you? You know.” His eyebrows go up, and I can tell he’s really asking if Robi did more for me than just write love notes.

  I pause for a moment, remembering the times Robi and I had messed around. He tried. He really did. “He was okay,” I say.

  He nods for a moment, interpreting the answer quietly. “That’s a no.”

  I look down at our hands. Our skin is so different. His is tanned and drier, from being out there all day on the field. Mine’s lighter, from painting indoors and not getting out enough.

  “I guess.” It’s all I can say. I mean, he’s right. I always had to take care of myself after Robi went home, while he left feeling fine and dandy.

  “Let me know,” he says, sweeping a strand of hair and tucking it behind my ear. He looks at my lips.

  “Let you know what?” I ask stupidly.

  His forehead touches mine, his eyes watch me intently. “Let me know when you’re ready for more than okay.”

  A rush of ripples heads straight for the center of my body. They come faster this time. I hold Andrew’s face in my gaze for a moment and check it to make sure he’s not kidding. And because I see nothing more than want, and need, and eyes that’ve done nothing but mesmerize me for weeks, I give in.

  I grab him and pull him toward me, kissing and teasing. Andrew yields easily, and I realize this is what they mean by putty in your hands. He’s doing nothing but kissing back, happily accepting my hands as they move over his chest, onto his stomach, and under his shirt to feel his warmth.

  Almost like he’s not sure, his hand wanders over my shoulder, waiting for some kind of clue, worried of any further feel. Worried about my age. It’s the only reason he’s not searching for more, because his body is telling me otherwise. I can feel it when I lean into him, but still, he’s holding back.

  I stop long enough to whisper, “I’ll be eighteen in three weeks.”

  Breathing quickly, he nods. And that does the trick. Andrew’s out of the hold, gripping my face, moving his mouth harder over mine, tasting and kissing. I push into him, and he slides his hands along my neck, shoulders, stopping to cup my breast softly. My hand moves over his, urging him to squeeze harder. Then he reaches around and caresses my back and butt. There he grips me tight, releasing his kiss and biting his own lip with a sly smile.

  Let me know when you’re ready for more than okay. His words are ringing in my ears. I’m more than ready. I’m way overdue.

  As Andrew softly bites my neck, I glance up long enough to see some guy chasing some other guy on the TV, followed by a loud crash and a huge explosion. And then Andrew’s phone starts ringing. Stupid phone. But he’s a good boy for not answering it. The machine in his room picks up, and I can just barely hear a girl’s voice leaving a message.

  “Aaghh,” he says into my hair. “My little sis.”

  I smile and quickly push the image of his sister out of my head, hands going back to exploring his body, as my mouth searches his again. I can’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction knowing that Susy would love to be in my place right now—running my hand along his thigh, up to the top of his shorts, pausing to feel the sensitive skin underneath his zipper.

  Fifteen

  People without pools always talk about how cool it would be to have a pool. People with pools hardly ever use them. Today I feel like using ours. Not a cloud in the sky, Mami says she’s feeling pretty good, and so am I. When I left Andrew’s last night, I had to think of anything but his bare body to keep from running red lights. Third base is a pretty cool place to be with Andrew Corbin.

  “Isa!”

  Is someone calling me? I’m not sure with this radio blaring.

  “Isaaaa!” Mami hollers from inside the house.

  “¡Aquí, Mami!” I yell back. The water’s great. I think I’ll stay here till I prune up.

  “Allí está.” I hear her telling someone where I’m hiding. She stands at the sliding glass door, waiting for someone to catch up with her.

  Who’s she talking to? Through the glare, I see Robi step onto the patio. He walks up to the edge of the pool, hands in his shorts pockets.

  “Hey, what’re you doing here?” I ask. I mean, really. What the hell?

  “Hi, Isa. How are you?”

  “Fine.” Though I’m not sure why we’re even having this conversation. “Robi, it would be nice if you called first.”

  “Why?” he asks with a fake smile. “So you can hide your boyfriend?”

  I check my bikini to make sure everything’s in place. It’s so weird to see him. Like he’s a stranger. It’s also weird that he’s seeing me half naked, even though he’s seen me half naked before. “So what’s up?”

  “I heard about your mom. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh. I think she’ll be fine. She’s strong.” Is that why he came by? I stand there, shielding the sun from my eyes. “If you’re going to stay, can you please sit over there so I don’t have to squint?”

  Without answering, he takes a seat underneath the patio table umbrella. My eyes follow, praying he won’t fall in the pool again. I wade toward him, splash the brick border with water, so I don’t burn my elbows. He wants to talk again. The last time was the week after the prom, when I asked that we not talk for a while. I guess he figures a while is over.

  He’s quiet at first. Then, “Isa, what are you doing?”

  I blink. “Excuse me?”

  He looks at me all serious. “Just tell me straight out. Are you going out with that guy?”

  “You mean Andrew?” Yikes, that name alone probably kills him. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. “Yes.”

  He looks away. Why is he torturing himself like this? I’m not going to lie to him. Whatever he asks me, I’m going to tell the truth.

  “Why, Isa?” He leans forward, hands clasped in front of him. “You said you needed to breathe. You said it wasn’t me, it was space you wanted, and now you’re going out with that dude? I don’t understand.”

  “Robi…” How do I say this? “That’s what I thought. But then I met him at work, and I like him, okay? I know that must sound really bad to you, but I’m sorry. It just happened.”

  “You’re sorry.” He laughs. “Yeah, okay, you look real sorry.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “How sorry could you possibly be, Isa?”

  I don’t know where he’s going with this. His tone is freaking me out.

  “I saw you,” he says.

  “Saw me? Where?”

  He bites his lip, leaning back in the chair, trying real hard not to cry. He also looks to see if anyone else is around. “At the freakin’ guy’s apartment.”

  No, he didn’t. “You what?” I yell. “You followed me? What the hell’s wrong with you? You could be arrested for that, Robi!”

  He shoots out of his chair. “Dammit, Isa, I miss you! I…screw it, I love you.�
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  “Oh, Jesus.”

  “Oh, Jesus, what? Why the hell did you end it? There was nothing wrong with us.”

  “There was nothing right, either!” I can’t believe he’s doing this! Why can’t he just let go already?

  He looks down at his sneakers, letting it sink in. “So…how was he?”

  I don’t like his voice. I’ve never heard Robi like this. He’s hurt and pissed, and I know what’s coming next.

  “Was he good? Did he do it for you? Did he make you—”

  “Shut up! Get the hell out of here right now!” My hand flies out of the water, spraying drops everywhere.

  “Answer me!”

  “Get the hell out, Robi. I can’t believe you did such a shitty thing and now you’re asking me this,” I hiss at him, tears brimming at my eyes. “It’s not like you.”

  “Yeah?” he asks. “Well, maybe I haven’t been myself lately. Do you have any idea what it’s like to know that someone else is screwing my girlfriend?”

  “Robi—”

  “That someone who couldn’t care less about you is using you and you don’t even know it?”

  “Stop it. You’re just pissed.”

  “Pissed? No, no, Isa, I’m not pissed. I’m freakin’ falling apart, okay? Every single day, every weekend, every time I check my phone, my e-mail, only to find that you still haven’t called, that you don’t care about me, even though I treated you right.”

  “We’re not screwing,” I say, to use his choice of words. He’s never said that to describe sex before.

  “Well, you sure as hell aren’t eating ice-cream cones at his place at one o’clock in the morning.”

  “Stop it! Don’t follow me again. This isn’t about you.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Shhh!”

  He quiets down and paces the tile in front of me. “You know…if you just would have told me that you wanted someone else or that I wasn’t making you happy, then fine, but you said you wanted to be free. You’re not free. You’re with someone else already, so it must have been me. You were just too chicken to say it.”

  Ouch.

  He didn’t have to throw that in my face. I know I told him that, and I know that I wanted to be free, but things didn’t go as planned. Maybe I should’ve waited longer before finding someone new. Maybe I am the jerk here.