Love in the Lineup

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  “Hey, Papí. What are you doing?” Angel asked, taking the seat beside his father.

  Israel wrapped his arms around his son’s shoulders in a quick embrace. “I was just talking to the peoples here,” he said, fighting his first desire to respond in Spanish. “Just talking while I wait here for you. How was your practice, hijo?”

  Angel nodded. “It was good.” He reached for the cocktail glass sitting in front of his father and lifted it to his nose. “What are you drinking?” he asked.

  The man smiled. “My friend, Lisa, she make me a fruit punch. Not as good as home, but good,” he said, gesturing toward the bartender at the other end of the bar.

  Angel waved as the woman headed in their direction.

  “Your regular, Mr. Rios?” she asked, a wide grin spreading over her face.

  “Not tonight, Lisa. I need to go rest. We’ll just have the check, please.”

  She gave him a bright smile, tossing her red hair over her shoulders as she spun back to the register and her computerized order pad.

  “Did you eat, Papí?”

  The older man nodded. “Sí.”

  After drawing his signature across the check, Angel and his father rose from their seat and headed toward the elevators to their second floor room. Once inside, Angel dropped to a chair and pulled the folder from his gym bag. He sat quiet as he perused its contents.

  “What is that?” his father asked, taking the seat across from him.

  “Just some papers they need me to sign,” his son answered. “Mr. Chen’s assistant brought them to me at the ballpark today.”

  “Oh, she’s a very nice girl,” Israel exclaimed. “She is having her third baby. Her husband, he must be very proud. He has two sons and another on the way.”

  Angel shook his head. “Not her. She’s not working for him for a while. Not until after she has her child. A new woman is working for him now. Her name is Roshawn.”

  With mention of her name, a strange expression crossed his face as Angel remembered his reaction to her, every fiber of his being turned sensitive to her presence. The look was not lost on his father who eyed him curiously.

  “She is pretty, this new woman?” the man asked.

  His son nodded. “Sí, muy bonita, Papí.”

  “Tiene un esposo?”

  Angel shrugged, cutting an eye toward his father. “I don’t know if she has a husband. I don’t know anything about her.”

  “But you’d like to?”

  He turned to face the older man. “She’s a woman. There’s not much else I need to know.”

  The old man shook his head, slipping into his native language to lecture his son. “You need to settle down, son. A wife will be good for you. Someone to keep you warm at night. To be with you during the day. You need a woman like your mother, God rest her soul. Someone to love you and give you sons of your own. “

  Angel sighed. “One day, Papí, maybe.”

  The man tossed his hand up in exasperation. “One day, yes! These women you keep taking to your bed aren’t good women. You need one who will challenge you, make you be a better man. A good woman will do that for you. But you will not find a woman like that if you don’t take time to know her heart. You have to invest your time.”

  “All I have time for right now is the game, Papí. Nothing else. Nada!” Angel came to his feet, indicating the conversation had ended as he wished his father a good night.

  His father watched as Angel disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Sitting back against his seat, Israel clasped his hands in prayer, his elbows resting against his upper thigh. He thought about his son, and that look, a mixture of confusion and interest, that had spun across his face. Whoever this woman was, she had touched a nerve, he thought to himself, suddenly curious to know more about her. He would have to meet this woman for himself and maybe help his son find his way to love.

  Chapter 8

  Roshawn had only promised them two hours of her time and had already given up half a day when the youth director of the Phoenix Children’s Center asked if she wouldn’t mind staying for just a little while longer. Marshall Tucker, a blond and blue-eyed college student smiled at her brightly, the length of his sandy-blond hair swaying back and forth against his thin shoulders.

  “We could really use you, Roshawn,” Marshall implored, pointing at a group of young boys who were kicking a rubber ball back and forth in the playground of the center’s grassy yard. “Two of our volunteers cancelled on us at the last minute and we’re not expecting any of the ball players to fill in until this afternoon. I promise you can take off the minute they get here.”

  “Pretty, pretty, please?” a bespeckled twelve-year-old begged, an expensive pair of sunshades perched on the end of his nose. “We can eat lunch together,” the boy grinned.

  Roshawn smiled back. “I usually like my lunch dates to be a little older,” she said jokingly as she tousled his thick curls.

  “I got an older brother,” the child said, his infectious grin filling his round face, “but he’s not as cute as I am.”

  Roshawn shook her head as Marshall pointed the child in the opposite direction. “Joshua, go play. Miss Bradsher is not interested in dating you or your brother.”

  The boy winked at her as he eased off. “Don’t know what you’re missing, pretty lady,” he chimed, laughter pulling at his thin lips.

  “Oh, I know exactly what I’m missing,” Roshawn said, laughing with him. She nodded her head at Marshall. “I’m out of here as soon as my relief shows up.”

  The young man smiled broadly. “You’re a lifesaver. Thanks, Roshawn.”

  She watched as he scurried back to the main office to report that an extra pair of hands would be around for just a little while longer. This was the third time Roshawn had volunteered at the center. Ming had brought her the first time, excited for her mother to share in the experience.

  It had taken the girl less than a week after her arrival to secure a part-time job as a youth counselor, mentoring a group of girls ages nine to thirteen. Both Roshawn and Chen had been duly impressed with their only child, and after spending that initial afternoon, Roshawn had understood Ming’s attraction to the place. The kids were great, happy and good-natured as they bantered back and forth with one another, and the staff was just a wonderful mix of college students, parents and adult volunteers, many of them affiliated with the Titans organization, who genuinely liked being of service to the community. Roshawn had readily agreed to come back to volunteer during her spare time. With her daughter being gone for the weekend and nothing else to do with herself, Roshawn had figured this Saturday morning would be as good as any other.

  Making her way to the center of the play area, she jumped into the fray of arms and legs battling for possession of the ball. An impromptu game of soccer ensued with Roshawn racing down the field shuffling the ball with her feet and the youngsters cheering and yelling excitedly as they raced after her in hot pursuit. Thirty minutes later, Roshawn fell to the ground, panting for air, as her playmates fell down beside her.

  “No fair,” one boy protested, his face skewed in a tight pout. “I didn’t get to shoot a goal.”

  “Is too fair,” another professed, his head bobbing up and down excitedly. “Isn’t it fair, Miss Bradsher?”

  She nodded. “Very fair. You’ll get to shoot next time, Charlie.”

  “Can we play again?” another child asked, coming to wrap his arms around Roshawn’s neck. “Please?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you tired, little bit? I think we should rest for a minute.”

  “Then can we play again?”

  Roshawn smiled. “We’ll see. Right now, I need you to go check with Marshall to see if he’s ready for you guys to eat lunch.”

  “I’ll go,” the boy named Charlie said as he and a companion both jumped up and raced toward the main building.

  The child with the kung fu grip around her neck peered around to look in her face. “Why you cut all yo
ur hair off? You look like a boy.”

  Roshawn laughed as she peeled his fingers apart and guided him to sit in her lap. She rubbed a palm against his own closely cropped hairdo. “I cut it all off because I like the way it looks. Don’t you think it looks good on me?”

  “Girls is supposed to have long hair.”

  “Yeah,” the group of them echoed.

  She shook her head. “Girls and boys should have hair that looks good on them and makes them feel good about themselves.”

  The child persisted. “Girls is prettier with long hair.”

  “What? Are you saying I’m not pretty?”

  The boy grinned, a goofy smile spreading across his chubby cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders. “You looks okay, I guess.”

  Roshawn began to tickle the youngster, inciting a rush of giggles. “Just okay?”

  “Yes, you’re pretty!” he exclaimed, fighting to catch his breath, still laughing hysterically.

  “How come you don’t act like no real girl?” another boy asked. “You play ball and stuff and you like to have fun.”

  “Girls play ball and they like to have fun. That’s just not a boy thing.”

  “Well, my big brother says girls need to stay home and cook and clean and do girl things and they need to stop acting like us boys all the time,” one young man said, the comment coming in a rush out of his mouth.

  Roshawn laughed. “Well, your big brother is wrong and you can tell him I said so.”

  They were still laughing and chatting as Marshall and Charlie made their way back to the group.

  “Lunch is served,” Marshall said, gesturing toward the main building. “And Roshawn, your relief has arrived.”

  “Yeah, food!” the kids exclaimed, all of them jumping up to race back inside.

  “Everyone needs to wash their hands first!” Roshawn shouted loudly. “And I’m going to check each and every finger!”

  Marshall extended a hand to help pull her back onto her feet as the gathering disappeared from view, racing to beat each other into the dining hall. “You’re really good with them. They all adore you.”

  She smiled. “They’re sweet kids and I enjoy being with them.”

  The man grinned. “I think a few of them even have a little crush on you. Charlie was just inside telling Angel Rios and two of the other players how much he likes you.”

  Roshawn cut her eye in his direction. “Mr. Rios is here?”

  Marshall nodded. “He’s volunteering this afternoon. They’re in the kitchen helping to serve. Do you know him?”

  “We’ve met.”

  Marshall tapped her lightly against the shoulder. “Well, thank you again. There’s plenty to eat if you want to hang out and have lunch with us, otherwise we’ll see you next time.”

  “Thanks, Marshall.”

  As Roshawn made her way inside, she smoothed a hand down the front of her T-shirt, tucking the garment neatly into her denim shorts. Although she knew she didn’t look bad, she also knew she didn’t look good enough to want to run into Angel Rios. She’d had every intention of ensuring Angel Rios not only gave her a second look the next time they had run into each other but a third and fourth glance as well. Her casual attire was hardly worthy of being remembered, she thought as she eased her way into the ladies’ room and stood before the mirror. She ran a quick palm across her head and then a finger beneath her eyes. A damp paper towel against her neck and over the length of her arms and legs cooled her body temperature and rid her of the grass stains and flecks of dirt she’d garnered from playing outside.

  With any luck, she thought as she made her way out of the restroom and down the corridor toward the main office and her purse, she could bypass the lunchroom and Angel Rios altogether. As she passed the entrance to the cafeteria she hurried by, almost racing to reach the other end of the hallway. Thinking she was only a few feet from getting away without being seen, she didn’t notice the man standing on the other side of the office door as she pushed her way inside. Angel Rios turned abruptly as Roshawn pushed her way through the entrance, and the duo smacked straight into each other.

  “Excuse me,” Angel said as the woman crashed into his chest, the whole of her small body brushing up against his. Instinctively, he cradled a protective arm around her torso to catch her.

  “I’m so sorry,” Roshawn apologized as she stood staring up at him, recognition flashing in her dark eyes. The sudden rush of warmth from his body was disconcerting and she wished for a hole in the floor to drop herself straight down into. “Mr. Rios. I…didn’t see…you,” Roshawn stammered. “Sorry about that.”

  “No. It was my fault. I should have been looking.” He smiled seductively as he tightened the grip he had around her waist.

  Roshawn could only imagine the possibilities as she became aware of her pelvis and legs pressed to his, the spread of his fingers burning hot against the cotton fabric of her T-shirt. Her flesh felt as if it had been caught on fire. Without thinking she stepped in even closer, her palms moving to his broad chest as she looked up into his face. Heat surged from the apex of her feminine quadrant into every nerve and muscle that ran through her body. Roshawn felt herself shudder as she struggled to catch her breath.

  Angel grinned. “How are you, Ms. Bradsher?”

  Roshawn flashed him a quick smile. “Well, thank you. How about yourself?”

  He shrugged, nodding his head at the same time. “I am very well, thank you.” His hand danced against her lower back, the urge to let his palm glide down and across the round of her buttocks tempting.

  The air in the room was suddenly thick, waves of wanting seeming to billow though the atmosphere with an agenda of its own. Both were suddenly aware that it had taken very little for them to fall into the moment with each other, trading easy caresses as if it were the most natural thing for the two of them to do.

  Someone laughing rang out from the other side of the door, suddenly bringing the moment back into focus. Roshawn pulled herself from his grasp as Angel reluctantly let her go. An awkward silence filled the space between them as they both struggled not to stare at each other. Roshawn wasn’t accustomed to being so nervous in a man’s presence and it was obvious as she stood there with him that his being so close was having an effect on her. She took another step back as she shot him a quick glance, her smile widening.

  “Do you volunteer often?” Angel finally asked, breaking the silence.

  “Once in awhile,” she responded. “They needed an extra hand today so I came to play ball with the boys.”

  “The boys?” Surprise painted his expression.

  Roshawn nodded. “Yes. The boys.”

  Angel eyed her curiously. “I would think you should be playing dolls and dress up with the girls. Maybe teaching them how to cook and sew.”

  Roshawn laughed. “I do that when it’s needed, but today the boys needed attention and they wanted to play ball.”

  “But…” Angel paused.

  “But what?”

  He shrugged again, his broad shoulders pushing up toward the ceiling. “I’m a little old-fashioned about things. I just think it would be better if the women volunteers devoted their time to the girls doing girl things.”

  Roshawn met his gaze, staring intently. The man had hit a raw nerve. “Really now?”

  “If the girls see you playing ball and being rough with the boys they may get the wrong ideas.”

  “And what idea might that be? That they can do anything the boys can do and probably do it better?” Roshawn could see the man bristle as he studied her. “Are you a proponent of male and female roles, Mr. Rios?” she asked, eyeing him curiously.

  He shrugged, baffled by the sudden exchange between them and having no idea how the conversation had turned so serious. He answered, sensing that his response would only dig him into a hole that she would want to bury him beneath. “I believe there’s a place for women and there’s a place for men and that is how it should be. I also think the younger we begin to teach children t
his the better.”

  Roshawn nodded her head slowly. “I think you’re a sexist pig. That thinking is so antiquated,” she said, her arms folding across her chest.

  “It’s traditional, but you feminist types always want to disturb the status quo.”

  “It’s archaic, pure and simple, and if it weren’t for us feminist types, men like you would have us barefoot and pregnant without any consideration for what we can actually accomplish.”

  “Women who think like you are why we have so many problems with our family units. I’m sure you think it’s okay for mothers to work instead of being home to raise their children.”

  “I think a woman should do what’s right for her and her family and if that means working a job she enjoys then yes, she should.”

  The man shook his head in dismay. “It would seem that you and I don’t agree, Ms. Bradsher.”

  Roshawn shrugged, her thin shoulders easing slowly upward. “Where are you from, Mr. Rios?”

  “The Dominican Republic. I was born and raised right outside Santo Domingo.”

  “A very traditional country, I take it.”

  “Very.”

  “You’ll find that we’re a little more open-minded here in the United States.”

  “Perhaps, but open-minded doesn’t necessarily mean you are right.” Angel smiled slightly, the faint bend to his lips teasing.

  Roshawn struggled not to stare at his mouth. He had beautiful lips, full, plush pillows that she suddenly longed to press her own mouth against to see just how soft they were. She stared into his eyes, then quickly shifted her gaze. Heat rose for a second time burning through her, the temperature steadily rising.

  Angel shifted his body, displacing his weight from one foot to the other, his own anxiety sweeping through him as he struggled to stall the rise of an erection that was pressing anxiously against the front of his slacks.

  “I should be going,” he finally said, his eyes locking with hers for a second time.

  Roshawn nodded, moving out of his way. “Have a good afternoon, Mr. Rios,” she said as she eased behind the counter to get her purse. “Maybe I’ll see you here again sometime. In fact, perhaps you’ll join me and we can entertain both the boys and the girls. I’m sure the young women could learn much from your influence, particularly what kind of male attitudes would not be in their best interest.”