Covet the Curves: a Romance Collections Anthology

by Morgan, Nicole

  I can’t get my head around half of what they’re saying.

  She continues. “The one that was most popular was that you went to Florida with some hottie who picked you up. Ricky said you blew off prom to hang with him and his boys, help with some big sale. Then you guys went to a bar where you hooked up with some stripper. She wanted to go back home to Miami and you went with her.”

  Nodding, Amanda gives me the evil eye. “So why come back, cabrón?”

  I lean against the sink. My gut is a whirlwind of twists and turns. I'm stuck on the top deck of a boat during a storm. “I’m confused. I wrote her a letter explaining everything. I gave it to my Gran. She promised me that she gave it to Kitty's mom.”

  The two girls rush to my sides. “You don’t look so good. Right, Zoe?”

  “Yeah. Here.” She rips off a paper towel, runs the tap, wets it and gently places it on the back of my head.

  Amanda holds my hair out of the way. “Wow, it is as smooth as Catie said it was.”

  If I wasn't sickly, I'd be uneasy with them touching me.

  “Devie, there was no letter. Maybe your Gran lost it—”

  “No!” I yell out, then rein my anger in. “She promised me. She told me when she visited, said she handed it over. My grandmother doesn’t lie. Not for something that important. I had to let Kitty know—”

  “Let Kitty know what?”

  Zoe and Amanda’s hands drop. Footsteps hurry across the linoleum.

  “Lo siento,” Zoe says.

  Amanda adds in, “Sorry, Catie.”

  They must leave. In the window, I see Kitty approach, fire in her eyes.

  “What did they do to you? Threaten to cut your balls off? You didn’t take them seriously, did you?” One hand holds the wet paper in place. With the other, she grabs a small hand towel off the hook by the sink and wets it down, replacing it against my skin. That, and the slow, comforting circles she rubs across my lower back, begin to help calm my stomach down.

  “You never received the letter I sent you?” I whisper, now understanding. Where did it go? Did Gran even hand it over or had the dementia begun interfering? I should have asked Annie instead.

  The pieces slip into place. The odd looks. The cold shoulders I received from so many around the neighborhood.

  Her sharp intake of breath is my answer. “Hey, why don't we get you downstairs?” An arm slips around my waist. I let her help me over to the stairs. She flicks the switch to bath the space below in a soft, white glow. No one comes in while we head down. Having her so close feels great, I just wish this chasm hadn't been created to divide us.

  Kitty guides me over to the bed, and I drop down, dizzy. Maybe I’m getting sick.

  “How was your day?” she asks, moving the towel to my forehead.

  The coolness is refreshing. “I worked until six on a special job in the shop. Then I went for the final suit fitting which had been postponed from earlier. There are some minor adjustments needed.”

  She pushes some hair off my face. “Anything else?”

  I follow her every move. No wonder she's training to be a teacher. She looks at me and listens. “On the way home, I grabbed a gyro from that little diner by the bus stop.”

  “You could have texted me to pick you up.” Her voice soothes, her touch soft.

  “Nah, I knew you were getting ready.” With her massage, my eyes begin to drop.

  “You can sleep now, Dev. Hopefully, you didn’t eat anything bad or are coming down with something. You need to be well.” The mattress creaks as she moves.

  I reach out to stop her. “Kitty, I need to talk to you about that night.”

  “I know. Not now. I’m not ready yet." My arm is released, and I draw it back to my side. She removes my work boots and tucks the comforter around me. “Let’s get through the shower and wedding. I have to focus on my cousin right now.”

  There’s a tiredness throughout my body. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, Catalina, where you at?” A masculine voice shouts from above.

  Kitty curses under her breath.

  I turn my head on the pillow. Her fingers smooth my hair. “I'll take the towel upstairs. Good night, Dev.”

  “Is that your brother?” I don’t bother opening my eyes.

  “No. That’s Emilio. My boyfriend.”

  As I drift off, I think she said something about a boy. I’ll ask her about it when morning comes.

  6

  Catalina

  All six feet of muscle and attitude await me as I open the basement door. Emilio stands beside the stove, stuffing a plate with ziti, cold cut wedges, and various pasta salads. The girls each brought something to give Abuela the evening off. “Whatcha doing down there?”

  “Putting something away. Why are you here?” My voice sounds rougher than I intend. Or maybe that’s the idea. I didn’t expect to see him tonight. I hang the wet towel on the rod to dry.

  “I got off work early and already went to the gym.”

  That explains the clean jeans and blue button-down shirt. He usually lives in black athletic pants or shorts and black tees. The strong smell of his favorite cologne is overbearing in this room. “Okay, but why come here?”

  He replaces the spoon back into the potato salad bowl. “I figured we’d catch a movie and then park by the water.”

  When he asked me out three months, I accepted simply to appease my friends. To shut them up. I’d grown tired of hearing the digs about dating again. They've been on my case about getting “back out there,” not that I know exactly where “there” is. At first, he was cute, sweet even, but we have nothing in common.

  And he never answers my question about his job. I know he's always around Ricky. That's what I hear from everyone in the old neighborhood. Oh, Emilio gave me some story about his good friend finding religion and turning his life around. That's why Ricky, Emilio, and Thiago all drive black SUVs and carry guns.

  But trying to break things off with him hasn’t been easy. Every time I bring up the subject, something else more important comes up.

  He puts his plate down and grabs a beer from the fridge. Twisting the top, he turns and gives me the once-over. Everything seems fine until he notices my jeans. His lips twist, and his stare becomes a glare. “Why you wearing ratchet pants? You work.”

  If he bothered to take his attention away from his phone whenever we're supposedly together, he'd know I was a student teacher and not paid. I work at my college’s bookstore, part-time. The issue isn't about money and buying the right clothes. It's about control.

  “Are you a wiz in women's fashion? These jeans are trendy. The company rips them.” I pour a glass of water and linger by the closed basement door. Even though I turned off the light downstairs, I wouldn't put it past him to sneak a look. He doesn't need to know about Dev. At least, I know the girls will keep their mouths shut. None of them like Emilio, except for Dulce's friend, Yvonne.

  “That’s stupid. Ripping clothes. Aren’t you cold?” Now he’s openly studying my jeans.

  “Should I give you a ruler to measure the length of the tears?” I meant it as a joke but something dark comes over his deep brown eyes. He runs a hand over his closely cropped black hair and smoothes over his goatee. Here it comes—an insult.

  “Nah, but chicks with big hips shouldn’t try squeezing into something meant for skinny chicks like Yvonne or Dulce.”

  This is reason number one why he is toxic to me. “You know, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve wanted to talk to you.”

  Zoe runs in and grabs a pitcher of margaritas from the fridge. “Why are you here? C’mon inside, Catie. Dulce wants to start on the wedding favors next. Emilio, finish eating. We don’t need your help.”

  He’s busy chewing but answers anyway. “I ain’t helping.”

  Taking that as my cue, I follow her into the dining room. The girls are seated, four of the seven surround Dulce who's showing them something on her phone. The others are eating, lost on their own phones. I sit at the other end
where the table top is clear of boxes and goods.

  Emilio plops down in Abuelo's chair. His weight makes the wood creak. Clueless, he shovels the food in, eyeing everyone. Yvonne is the only one who bothers to wave to him. He clears his throat and chugs his beer.

  Amanda walks by him carrying a container of glue guns and supplies. “Yo,” he says. “Grab me a beer.” Her glare is response enough. I go get it to keep the peace.

  After I toss the cap into the garbage, I spin around and crash right into him.

  “Hey, baby.” Grabbing my forearms, he pulls me against his body, squeezing my ass.

  “Here.” I shove the bottle at him.

  “I didn’t mean anything before.” He lets me go to sip. “It’s just some women don’t look good in some clothes. Same thing with guys. People are mean, Catalina. I’m just trying to save you from the meanness.”

  Would Dev ever say anything like that? Insult me and then try to get over by adding that he only wants to “protect” or “save” me? I shake my head, eyes tearing until I force a smile. “I wear what I like. It’s my body.”

  He shrugs. “We going out?” Leaning into me, he licks the side of my neck. “We don’t have to see a movie. We can make out in the back seat of my ride.”

  That might work for some. Not me. “You do realize I’m maid of honor? The shower is this Saturday, followed by next weekend’s wedding?”

  Stepping away, he merely looks at me. “Yeah.”

  “You should’ve texted. We’re putting together all the souvenirs and things.”

  “Oh.” His phone buzzes, and he retrieves it from his pocket.

  Yvonne enters, taking in how close we stand, and she stops by the stove. “Hey, I’m gonna leave. I have a bad headache.”

  I hurry over to her. “Did you take anything? I have painkillers in the medicine cabinet.”

  She shakes her head. “I did. It’s period stuff.”

  Emilio puts his phone away. “I’m heading out.”

  “Hey, can I get a ride?” she says.

  He looks from her to me and back again. “Yeah. Ok.”

  Good, I get rid of both at the same time. I’ve never been close to Yvonne. There’s always been something about her.

  He chugs the rest of his beer and tosses the empty into the garbage can. A recycling can is beside it if he’d bothered to notice. “See you.”

  “Bye.”

  Yvonne goes first. Emilio follows. I trail behind. By the doorway, he stops. “Did you wanna talk?”

  I take a sip of my water and quickly swallow. “It can wait.” Once they depart, I lock up and glance out the living room window. Emilio opens her door and helps her up into his SUV. She’s a few inches smaller than my 5”7 and skinny. Hmm, he never opens the door for me.

  Dulce comes up beside me. “Did you finally break up with that loser?”

  “Not yet, but I don’t think he takes us seriously anyway. I don’t.”

  We watch as he drives off. “Glad he left his piece in his car.” He knows I don’t like guns.

  “Let’s go. We have pretty things to make.” My cousin kisses my cheek. “I’m happy I have you. I saw you take Dev downstairs. He okay?”

  “Not sure. Hope it’s not the flu. I need him healthy.” We walk through the living room.

  “Zoe told me something about a letter. You believe him?”

  I stop. “Yeah. I told him to hold off. Your wedding is the most important thing now.”

  She yanks me towards the table. “See? You have your priorities right. Te amo.”

  We spend the next two hours gluing and filling little gift bags and attaching ribbons engraved with their names and wedding date to various cute favors. Occasionally a finger will get hot glued to the netting or someone will eat a bunch of almond candies instead of placing them into gift bags.

  Glasses are filled and emptied. We run out of strawberry margaritas. Desserts are eaten. We laugh. And laugh some more. There's gossip. These are some of my closest friends and family.

  None of them make comments about my hips or choice in clothing. We accept and look out for one another. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  * * *

  In the middle of the night, I wake up feeling nervous about something.

  The few seconds it takes to adjust to the moonlight pooling in through the blinds, I remember what or who it was. Devlin. I never checked on him before turning out the lights. Abuela returned around ten and went straight to bed. The girls had all departed by one a.m. Dulce helped me put the food away and pack up the shower and wedding favors.

  Climbing out of bed, I pull on a pair of socks and put my robe on over my gown. The numerous night lights I installed to help Abuela get around, guide me as I pad down the stairs. I’m careful to step around the squeaky spots. In the kitchen, I stop to take a bottle of water from the fridge before opening the basement door. I listen. Total quiet except for the low hum of the heating system. I flick the switch for the light farthest away from where his bed is and take the wood steps slowly.

  The basement is split into four ‘sections’: the laundry in the middle, exercise equipment and storage directly in the back, and living space consisting of a bed, dresser, and bookcase to the left. Abuelo installed a makeshift open closet with shelving directly under the staircase. He used to be in construction and there are signs of his various ‘projects’ all around the home.

  From a streetlamp outside, light filters in through a curtain hanging from the rectangular window above the bed. Dev is on is back, his body stretched across the queen-sized bed. The comforter’s pushed to the side and the sheet is wrapped between his legs. He must have gotten up to change after I left. All he’s wearing are shorts.

  Now that I’ve checked up on him, I should turn around and go back to my own bed.

  I don’t do that.

  Maybe it’s the margaritas I inhaled or my own curiosity. Maybe it’s the fact that despite everything, I miss the hell out of him. He will always be my first love. Or maybe it’s the revelation of this ‘missing letter’ which proves he didn’t abandon me?

  One of these reasons makes me glide across the carpeted floor to his side. Guessing he doesn’t need the water, I sit the bottle on the nightstand beside the bed. There’s a lamp, an alarm clock, and his phone charging on top. Again, I can’t help myself from pressing the home screen. It wakes up, displaying a photo of Dev and me by the Hudson River. He’s got an arm around me and we’re laughing. Oh my god, how happy we look.

  I remember that day. We bought some wedges and had lunch down by the rocks past the Metro-North train station at Spuyten-Duyvil. Our hair is windswept, our eyes bright, cheeks pink from a breezy fall afternoon and we’d just been kissing when he took the selfie. I press the side button to shut it off and sit beside him.

  Foolishly, I reach out and slip some loose strands off his cheek. His lips purse suddenly and he makes a sound, but doesn’t awaken. My pulse accelerates as my view sails across his body, taking in every inch of the skin I once loved to caress. Like an idiot, I reach over to touch him. He’s so warm and inviting that I shift and stretch out beside him. With my head on the pillow next to his, I watch him sleep. Yeah, not stalker-ish at all.

  Loca. Yeah, I am crazy. My conscious is quiet and I let instinct take over. Devlin’s Gran used to have this saying about us meeting people throughout our lives for a particular reason. Is he back in my life to offer me—us—a second chance?

  I snuggle up against him and let my arm rest across his stomach. He’s so firm. Yummy. I can still smell a hint of his aftershave and minty mouthwash. I guess I must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing I know, there’s this delightful tingling all throughout my body.

  This is one of those dreams. My nipples are hard as a tongue lathes over one, then the other. Sucking and nipping, he takes care of both while his fingers circle my clit. The heat of desire and the anticipation of his next move have my hips beginning a slow dance. I whimper, wanting more.

  He ob
eys, sliding one, then two fingers inside me. Beginning a hypnotic motion, those fingers increase their rhythm, taking me along for the carnal ride. His tongue traces a path towards my neck, leaving fire wherever it goes until he finds my mouth and claims it for himself.

  I haven’t had one of these dreams in a long time. So realistic I can feel the heat from his body, the beads of perspiration on our skin, and the smell of our lovemaking in the air. I open my legs more and raise my hips to join in the rhythmic thrust of his fingers.

  The pleasure mounts. Oh, this is incredible.

  “My Kitty,” he murmurs as he licks the side of my neck. “I love you.”

  My dream guys always wind up sounding like Dev. He has the sexiest voice.

  With every thrust, the anticipation builds. I moan. My fingers greedily press into his sides, urging him on. He kisses me again and again, sloppy, wet kisses. And then I find it.

  Release. The spasm ripples throughout my body and I collapse back onto the mattress. My lips break out into the largest smile while he peppers little kisses across my jaw. When he stops, he chuckles. “Imagine how surprised I was to find your mouth on me, baby. What a way to wake up. You happy?”

  I don’t open my eyes. Let me relish the moment a little longer. I shake my head and draw his head back down to mine for one more meeting of our lips.

  When I do look around, it’s with reluctance and a groan. I forgot to close the blinds in my room last night. Bright sunlight floods my bed along with the annoying sounds of a sanitation truck crushing garbage directly outside. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. And feel a cool breeze against my skin.

  Why am I in bed, naked?

  I wore a gown last night, didn’t I? Let’s recount what I did. Woke up. Checked on Dev. He was so cute, I watched him sleep. After that—I must have made it up to bed. Those drinks, I have to blame the alcohol for my brain fog. After the garbage truck moves on, I get out of bed and grab a nightshirt from behind my door. That’s when I notice my robe, gown, and black undies on the floor beside my bed. Maybe I was hot?