Sombra

by Leslie McAdam

  The windows are cracked, letting in a cool fall breeze that has an even colder edge to it. The door opens, and Tavo walks in, wearing a Pearl Jam T-shirt and jeans with a belt. His usual leather cuff and bracelets are on one hand, and he’s got the most delicious scruff going on his jaw. He smells clean like he’s just got out of the shower. Coming up right beside me, almost too close, he asks, “Everything going okay?”

  “Yes,” I say, quieter than I intend.

  He watches me cut for a moment. “I think you need to hold the knife like this.” He stands behind me, his breath on the back of my neck, his hands over mine. Positioning my fingers farther down the knife, he arranges my hand so that my third finger hooks in the cut out part below the blade, my index finger on top. It feels better that way. I don’t want him to move away, but he does, loping over and getting garlic for the dish.

  His mom’s cell phone rings. “¿Diga?” She listens intently, rattles off some words I don’t understand, and then says, “I need to go talk to Señor Molinero. Can you two work on this until I come back?”

  “Por supuesto, Madre,” says Tavo. She gives him a look I can’t interpret, wipes off her hands on a towel, and goes out the door.

  As I chop carrots, Tavo peels garlic and sings in a low voice while he does it. It’s mesmerizing, his voice is so seductive and calming. When he finishes, he washes his hands and comes over to me.

  “You’re holding the knife better.”

  “Thanks. At home, my mom just uses food from her company, and my dad has no interest. So we don’t cook much from scratch.”

  “This is sad. Everyone should know how to cook. Food is one of the pleasures of life.”

  I smile, turning to slice some red peppers, and can’t help thinking of some other pleasures.

  He stands behind me again, watching me cut the peppers. It’s not too close. It’s not close enough. I give an involuntary wiggle, and he places a hand on my waist.

  I sigh. I wish I could allow this. I wish he could touch me like this. Because it feels good. So achingly good. I like him dominating me in the kitchen, and this fact scares me more than a little.

  “My little conejo,” he murmurs. “You’re quite the chef. These look beautiful. Not as beautiful as you, though.”

  “Conejo? A rabbit?” I set down the knife and turn toward him.

  “Your nose curls up. It twitches like a bunny.” He runs his finger down my nose.

  And he leans down as if he’s going to kiss me. It’s driving me absolutely insane. He’s driven me insane since he stepped in the room.

  We need to stop it. Right now.

  “Tavo. We can’t do this. What about your novia?”

  A perplexed look crosses over his face. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “I saw you, Tavo. I saw you kissing Sonia. I don’t know why you have to deny it.”

  “I’m not deny—” He sighs and puts his hands down. “Kim. Let me tell you something. Come here.” Pulling me over to the kitchen table, he gets a chair out for me and sits down in one on the opposite side, facing me. With earnest eyes on mine, he begins to tell me how the girl next door has gone from being a kid who followed after him to one who has told her father to foreclose on the house if she doesn’t marry him.

  And now my heart aches even more for him.

  “She’s not my girlfriend. I don’t feel anything for her. I’m trying to figure out how to save my mother and our heritage without compromising my soul.”

  “I saw you kiss her—”

  “You saw her kiss me—”

  “And Guillermo said you fucked her.”

  My words ring out and hang in the air, echoing through the kitchen.

  He spits out a curse. “Yes. Once. About a month before you got here.”

  “It wasn’t the other day?”

  “No, guapa.”

  “Then why did Guillermo make it sound like you were doing it? He told me way too much. He told me you were mirando pa’ Cuenca.” Tavo shudders. “I didn’t know what that meant and I had to Google it. How does your brother know you were doing it doggy-style?”

  “Whatever he says, guapa, nothing’s happened since you’ve been here. He likes Sonia. For some reason, she has her sights on me, and he’s jealous.”

  “She’s beautiful,” I offer. “You could do a lot worse than her.”

  “But I could do a lot better. Unfortunately, you’re not available.”

  My mind stutters, and my heart takes a leap. “What?”

  He’s so earnest. So beautiful. So close. “You know.”

  “I know what?”

  “You know I’m attracted to you. And you’re attracted to me. But you’re taken by another man, and—”

  “Another man I broke up with,” I mutter, standing up to go back to cutting peppers.

  Now Tavo rises. It’s his turn to say, “What?”

  My back to him, I start slicing the vegetable again. “If he’d only answer the Dear John email I sent, I’d be running after you.”

  No sooner are those words out of my mouth than the knife clatters to the floor, and Tavo lifts me up to an empty part of the counter. His lips on mine, his hands on my lower back, and mine are on his ass, pulling him between my legs. He kisses me with red hot passion and power I can feel down to my bones. Irrevocable. Life-altering. His kisses are deep and fervent. Body to body. We’re tongue-wrestling in the most electric way possible.

  And I am lost in his kiss. I am nothing. I am one with him. We’re creating something new together.

  We are dancing with our tongues, our hands grasping each other, clutching to each other like we’re scared the other one will let go. I never want to let him go. This is where I belong.

  Where we belong.

  I pull back and slap him. Hard. “I can’t!”

  Oh my God, I just slapped Tavo. I’ve never slapped anyone. I’m out of control. I can’t handle this. I can’t, I won’t, I must … I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt him, he just surprised me, and I’m mad that I want him.

  The hurt in his eyes is so scary, not because he’s dangerous, but because he’s turning me on. And it’s dangerous that he’s turning me on. “Why did you slap me?”

  “Because I want you. I want you so bad,” I whisper-yell, holding him to me, wrapping my legs around him.

  Tavo’s beautiful face is in mine, his lips so close and swollen from our kiss. “Kim. I want you, too. Since the moment I saw you. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel how good we are together?”

  “Yes.” A tear runs down my cheek, and I turn away from him. “But what if the rest of the world won’t let us be together?”

  His finger wipes my tears, and his lips are against the top of my head. I press my cheek to his chest and almost have a heart attack, he feels so good. “The rest of the world doesn’t have to know.”

  I’m breathing so hard. “We can’t do this.”

  “I couldn’t … I can’t stay away,” he mutters.

  My hands fold behind his neck, pulling him closer to me, his mouth inches from mine. “My parents wouldn’t like this.”

  Dark eyes lock on mine. “Neither will my family.”

  I’m searching for a reason not to do this. “I’m promised to another, still. Technically. Since he hasn’t said anything back, I don’t have closure.”

  “My family wants me to be with Sonia.”

  “Everything is messed up,” I whisper.

  He kisses me again. This time I’m scrambling to hold every part of him.

  “It’s not messed up. It’s perfect.”

  I’m licking his lips, my hair messed, wanting to do nothing else but touch him. Touch every part of him. He’s kissing the soft part behind my ear, murmuring, “I want you. I want you so badly.”

  “I want you, too. But we can’t. We need to … we need to do something about the other people—”

  “Yes.”

  Against his skin, I can’t help but ask, “This isn’t just because it’s f
orbidden, right? I mean, would we still want to be together if nothing prevented us from doing so?”

  “Yes. That’s my answer. What’s yours?”

  “Yes.”

  He kisses me yet another time in response. When we break away, I say, “Tavo. I feel like we’re going to the edge, and we’re pushing ourselves off. What’s going to happen?”

  “It’ll either crush us, or we’ll fly.”

  I press my lips to him. “How does that feel on your conscience?”

  His eyes go the ceiling full of dried herbs and garlic, and then to mine. “I’m happy. How does it feel on yours?”

  “All I know is that I’m tired of living my life for everyone else. It’s time for me to listen to myself.”

  He leans in and kisses me fiercely.

  We’re in the shadows. I never liked having secrets, but I don’t want to share Tavo with the outside world yet either. I like this secret corner only he and I share. Right now, all I feel is finally belonging. I belong in his arms always.

  Thirteen

  Tavo - Cuevas

  Before I can rip off Kim’s clothes, mi madre comes back into the kitchen, catching Kim with newly-mussed hair and swollen lips, and me wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and pressing up to the cabinet to once again hide my erection. Her glare would skewer a lesser man, but I’m at the point where I’m not going to let her control me. I can’t. I love my mother, and I will help her sort out the problems from my father’s debt, but I can’t do what she wants in the matters of my heart, because if I do, I’ll be living a lie.

  I’m nervous about the fallout, though, and have been searching for a way to take care of her. I’ve been Googling ways to make a lot of money fast. Real estate. Bitcoin. Multi Level Marketing. Investments. Online gambling. My heart sinks as the challenge mounts. I don’t know how I’m going to fix this. Somehow, some way, I’m going to make the money to save the farm.

  Again, I know who to ask. As I stand trying to get my dick to retreat to normal size, I distract myself from Kim’s Kim-ness by writing an email to my cousin on my phone.

  * * *

  De: Gustavo de la Guerra

  Para: William Thrash

  Fecha: 17 de septiembre

  Asunto: Trouble

  * * *

  My esteemed cousin, Will,

  Unfortunately, I was unable to take your advice. The woman in question has captured my heart. My body. My soul.

  The problem is that my father mortgaged this farm to the neighbor before he died. I do not want to be ungentlemanly. Allow me to say simply that their daughter has much more regard for me than I for her, and if I marry her, I will save my family from financial ruin. I cannot do this, because of the woman of my heart.

  What do I do to save the orchard from this devastating, terrible loss?

  Un abrazo,

  Tavo

  * * *

  By the time I’ve typed my message out, my body’s relaxed, although a single touch from Kim would arouse me again faster than the bulls charge down the streets of Pamplona. I will myself to stay on the other side of the room while my mother instructs Kim—using curt words and jerky gestures—on the timing of cooking paella. I’m using the unspoken excuse that I’m busy sweeping the floor and taking out the trash for them as a reason to observe them. Kim seems to know to hide her feelings from my mother and gives every impression of being the obedient and subservient exchange student rather than the knowing object of my lust.

  I know my mother’s onto me—onto us—but I don’t care.

  Because of Kim. Soft, sweeter than I’d imagined, more addictive, and unlike anyone I’ve ever known. Her cheerful spirit’s as fresh as the sunrise on Ibiza and as fiery as the fallas in Valencia. She’s someone I’ve chosen because she connects with me on a deeper level than anyone else I’ve ever met. It’s not just that she dominates every pore of my body. She’s shaken me out of my stupor. Because of her, I see the world anew. She makes me forget all that I’m supposed to remember. She’s a respite from not only the crippling financial obligations of the farm, but also the expectations of my family.

  But it’s not her function in the matrix of my life. It’s her.

  I’m falling for her, and that frightens me, because I’m running off the map into territory with no guide. It sends me soaring, though, because she’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  When it’s time for dinner, Kim is at my side, gracias a Dios, and she can’t sit close enough. As I eat the delicious dinner she’s prepared under the tutelage of my mother, I’m noticing that while she’s cooked it traditional-style and followed directions, she’s put a dash of herself into it, making the cuisine new. An extra squeeze of lime instead of lemon in the paella. Fresh mint and honey with the carrots. Perhaps never having had the food before is an advantage, because she brightens it up and reinvents it in subtle and profound ways. This is the kind of food she should showcase on her Instagram.

  Everyone else at dinner disregards the seismic shift in my being. While my heart has been accepted by the woman of my dreams, my grandmother tells my grandfather off for eating something that will hurt his digestion. My mother lectures Antonio about studying more and watching less television. I’m seeing them from a distance, and I now understand more how Kim felt coming here. Like she was breaking away from her routine and venturing out on her own.

  Sneaking a kiss before Kim goes to bed is the best I can do for now. My mother’s just down the corridor with the light on under her door, talking to someone. I hurry back to my room and sleep, having much better dreams than I’ve had in a long time.

  The next Sunday afternoon, I drive Kim to Granada and luck out, securing a parking spot at the bottom of the old Moorish neighborhood called the Albaicín. It’s her first time visiting this neighborhood, which is a tourist attraction, but has its danger spots. Best that she go with a local, even during daylight hours.

  I turn off the car, and she immediately asks, “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”

  The entire drive here, Kim’s been about to burst, peppering me with questions about my secret plans for her, and I’ve been thoroughly enjoying her curiosity. And the withholding of information. This tease, this play, is what I like. But knowing when to give into her, give her the satisfaction of knowledge, is also part of the joy.

  “Come on. We’re going to visit a cave.” I open the car door.

  Her slow smile builds, and she blinks. “A real cave? Like, in the ground?” We get out, and I come around to her, giving her a light kiss and tucking her under my arm. “Yes. People have lived in caves on the mountainside in Granada for thousands of years.”

  “Still?”

  I nod.

  She pokes my ribcage in her curiosity and excitement and then gestures to the Sacromonte mountain. “There? Oh my God, I see them! Is it all dark? Do we have to go spelunking?”

  “What is spelunking?” English has some weird words.

  “Exploring in a cave.” Her eyes have an edge of concern. “How far in the cave do we have to go? It’s a real cave? With rocks and darkness and monsters?”

  Chuckling, I steer her toward our path. “There are no monsters. Unless you count Sergio.” He’s been my best friend since we started school together and grew up in one of the famous caves of Granada.

  Her head swivels nonstop as we begin the hike up the hill from the base, and seeing my hometown through her eyes is extraordinary. We pass crowded whitewashed buildings folding in on cobblestone streets that get ever-narrower as we increase in altitude. Some at the top are too close together to pass through by donkey—just a person can squeeze through.

  A block or so in, along the street dotted with tea shops, we run into Trent and Dani exiting one, holding hands. After exclaiming surprised hellos, Trent asks, “Where are you two going?”

  “Almuerzo at Sergio’s,” I answer. “He’s up in the Sacromonte in a cueva.”

  “That’s a great place to take her,” says Dani, looking tiny next to Trent.
“The Albaicín’s so dreamy.”

  Kim leans into me. “I’ve never in my life seen anything like this. It’s out of a movie or a travel poster. It’s just so old and twisty and gorgeous.”

  “Exactly.” Dani grins. “You never know what you’ll come across when you go around a corner here.”

  “I love that!”

  Dani and Trent exchange glances, and then Trent nods. Dani asks, “How long are you in town today? Do you want to come over for dinner?”

  Raising her eyebrows, Kim pleads silently with me to go. “Yes, we’d love to,” I say.

  “Come over around eight, okay? Earlier is fine, too.”

  Trent takes Dani’s hand. “See you then.” We wave at each other and take off in separate directions.

  As we journey up the hill along the twisted streets of the oldest parts of town, Kim points at a house that’s almost a fortress, with high white stucco walls embedded with broken glass at the top. “I wonder what goes on in there?”

  “They probably play chess,” I joke.

  She bursts out laughing. “The mystery is what gets me. They could be playing chess, for all we know. Or they could be doing something illegal. Or seductive.” Her eyes lock on mine, and she sucks in her lip. And while I think she’s teasing me, I’m not taking it as a tease. I’m thinking about breaking into one of these houses and seducing her.

  Goddammit. The past few days have gone by with us only being able to steal kisses when no one is looking—especially in between classes at school. But at home, that’s hard to come by, since there’s always someone around. Even if we’re in my casita, someone always monitors our comings and goings.

  I’m about at the breaking point, though. Her curves are too tantalizing, and I really need to find out if she tastes as sweet as I think she does.