Flirting with Disaster

by Jane Graves

  “I bet you’ve met a lot of people,” Dave said. “Seen a lot of places.”

  “Yes. And it’s been wonderful.”

  Dave flipped out the light and relaxed against the pillow with a weary sigh. Downstairs, the music grew louder, as if the Lozanos were gearing up for one hell of a party.

  “Where family’s concerned,” he told her, “you have to think of it as trading one good thing for another.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You trade a little of your freedom to have people to come home to who love you. People who’ll stand by you no matter what. People who worry about you.”

  “Yeah, it starts with worry,” she said. “Then they ask where you are. What you’re doing. Who you’re with. When you’ll be home. In my case, it’s, ‘Why do you have to spend so much time flying?’ And pretty soon, if that keeps up, I’m not flying anymore.”

  “Who’s done that to you?”

  “Men. Always.”

  “So you resent the fact that they expect you to cut back on your schedule to spend more time with them.”

  “Yes.”

  Dave shifted, tucking his arm behind his head. “Maybe they just weren’t the right men.”

  Lisa thought about that, wondering if it was true. “Let’s put it this way. I have yet to find a man who makes coming down out of the clouds as exciting as going up.”

  Several moments passed during which the only sound in the room was the reverberation of the music downstairs. Then Dave turned to look at her, his face barely more than a silhouette in the moonlit room.

  “Someday,” he said, “you will.”

  His voice was softer now, slipping down into a lower register, like a lover’s in the dark, and the very sound of it made her heart rush. In the few months after she left Tolosa, she’d had the most irrational daydreams, her mind making up a hundred wonderful fairy-tale scenarios that might bring him back into her life again. Not for a moment, though, had she actually believed that it would happen, and most certainly she’d never conceived of it happening like this.

  Suddenly, even in the king-size bed, she was acutely aware of Dave lying next to her. She thought she could even feel the heat of his body, hear his soft breathing. She didn’t want commitment. She didn’t want forever. She didn’t even want tomorrow. She just wanted this moment to edge into something more. She imagined him reaching for her, here in the darkness of this hotel room where they were a million miles away from their real lives. He would pull her into his arms, say sweet, intimate things to her, and then—

  “Good night, Lisa.”

  He shifted. Turned away. He took a deep breath, exhaled softly, and was still.

  Oh, you are such a fool.

  She let out a silent sigh, reminding herself once again why childish fantasies were dangerous things.

  “Good night, Dave.”

  Thirty minutes later, Dave’s eyes were still open.

  Wide open.

  He thought he was so tired he could sleep through anything, but not this. No way could anyone sleep through this. He swore he could feel the bed bouncing in rhythm with the undulating bass of the music downstairs. Not three minutes after he and Lisa stopped talking and started trying to sleep, the Lozanos kicked their party into overdrive.

  Dave and Lisa lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling, listening to one explosive song after another.

  “What the hell is going on down there?” Lisa asked. “Did Ricky Martin stop by with three thousand of his biggest fans?”

  “No. That would be tame compared to this.”

  Lisa flipped to her side, buried one ear in her pillow, and put her palm over the other one. “I know what it is. Before the dead can come back, they’ve got to wake the dead.”

  A few more minutes passed. Another song began.

  “Oh, God, no. ‘The Macarena’?” Lisa threw the pillow aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Where’s the gun? Gimme the gun.”

  “No, Lisa,” Dave said. “No homicide.”

  “Why not? It’s the Day of the freakin’ Dead, isn’t it?”

  “Not that you couldn’t get away with it. With that noise, nobody would even hear the gunshots.”

  Lisa fell to her back on the bed and pulled the pillow over her face. “I’m going to have permanent hearing loss. I swear I am.”

  Dave sat up with a weary sigh. “I’ll go down there and see if I can get them to drop the noise level a few thousand decibels.”

  “Now, wait,” she said, sitting up again. “I know I was talking about hauling out the firearms, but really, you have to be diplomatic. Manuel was nice enough to give us this room, you know.”

  “Of course I’ll be diplomatic. I’m a cop. I handle this kind of thing all the time.” He stood up and shrugged into a shirt, buttoning it half-assed and not bothering to tuck in the tail. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  He ran a hand through his hair a few times, thought about putting shoes on, then decided what the hell and simply left the room. He trotted down the stairs and rounded the corner into the huge gathering room, astonished at what he saw.

  Twenty or thirty people were dancing and tossing down alcohol as if this were the 1920s and prohibition had moved south of the border. Husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends, acquaintances, total strangers—hell, he didn’t have a clue who all these people were, but boy, did they like to party.

  In the next room, Dave saw the bluish glimmer of a big-screen TV. He couldn’t see the screen itself, only the glow of it on the faces of a dozen drunk and disorderly people sprawled on the chairs and sofas around it. The only exception to the frivolity was an old woman sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the room, holding what looked like a photograph. Just rocking back and forth and staring at it, as if the party of the century wasn’t going on all around her.

  Manuel came up beside him. “Hello! Good party, yes?”

  Oh, hell, yes. These people made Mardi Gras look like a church picnic.

  “Actually, I was just wondering if maybe you could hold the noise down just a little. The music. It’s a little loud.”

  “Eh?”

  “The noise!” Dave shouted. “Could you knock it down just a little bit?”

  “Oh!” Manuel said. “It is loud?”

  “Yes,” Dave said, thrilled to have finally broken the sound barrier. “But just a little.”

  Manuel waved his hand. “Ah. This is not a problem. Come with me!”

  Dave wondered what was up, but he followed Manuel across the room to a table, on top of which resided a bottle of just about every kind of alcohol known to man, alongside a gigantic plastic bin filled with ice and beer bottles. Manuel reached into the bin, extracted a Dos Equis, and popped the top off. He held it out to Dave.

  “Celebrate with us,” he said with a big grin, “and the music is just right!”

  Dave slumped with frustration. He held up his palm. “No. Really. I can’t. We were just trying to get some sleep, and—”

  A sudden roar went up from the next room where people were huddled around the television. Shouts. Whistles. Beers were held up, then drained.

  “Ah!” Manuel said. “Touchdown! Cowboys sixteen, Redskins zero.”

  “Cowboys?” Dave said. “The Dallas Cowboys?”

  “There is a different Cowboys?”

  “How do you get the games down here?”

  Manuel grinned. “Satellite. A miracle, yes?”

  “What quarter is it?”

  “Second. You will watch?”

  He thought about Lisa up there in that room, trying to sleep. Damn. He had a problem he had to take care of here. He’d promised her.

  But really, though, when he thought about it, going back up to the room was probably the worst thing he could do. What if she’d fallen asleep? As tired as she’d been, she’d probably dozed off the minute he left. If he went back up there now, he’d just wake her up all over again, wouldn’t he?

  Of c
ourse he didn’t want to do that.

  And thinking a little more about it, if it weren’t for her calling him to come down here to Mexico, right now he’d be planted on his sofa at home, watching this very game with John or Alex and having a Dos Equis right out of his own fridge. That entitled him to watch at least a few downs, didn’t it?

  He grabbed the beer from Manuel’s hand. “Maybe for just a minute,” he said, and followed him to the television.

  chapter ten

  Lisa looked at the clock on the nightstand. Dave had left the room fifteen minutes ago, and the music was as loud now as it had been the moment he walked out the door. So loud, in fact, that it had apparently paralyzed his nerve endings, leaving him unable to stumble back up the stairs.

  It better have, anyway.

  Lisa tossed off the covers, grabbed the only jeans she had—her dirty ones—and pulled them on. She yanked the door open, trudged down the stairs, and came around the corner to find the room filled with smoke and laughter and bodies moving with the music. She saw Dave across the room, his back to her, standing beside an ice-filled barrel. Unbelievably, he was popping the top on a bottle of beer.

  As he tipped the beer up and took a long drink, she came up behind him. “Dave!”

  He choked hard, coughing, then spun around. “Lisa?”

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally he shrugged weakly. “I’m . . . uh . . . just, you know, having a beer, I guess.”

  “You’re having a beer, you guess? While I’m up there trying to sleep? Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?”

  “Come on, Lisa! It’s only been, like, five minutes!”

  “Try fifteen!”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Now, it couldn’t have been that long. No way.”

  “Oh, yeah? I watched the digital clock click by, Dave. Fifteen times!”

  “Oh,” he said sheepishly.

  “Did you talk to them about the noise?”

  “Yes. Now, I did do that. I mean, I tried, but—”

  “But they stuck a beer in your hand and you forgot all about why you came down here? I thought you were an expert at handling this kind of thing!”

  “I am, but—”

  “When you break up loud teenage parties do you let them bribe you with alcohol?”

  “Oh, all right!” Dave gave her a look of total disgust. “The Cowboys are playing, and I wanted to see the game. Which, of course, I’d be watching right now if I were at home. But I’m not at home, am I? See, I got this phone call late one night. There was this woman on the other end, wanting me to come to Mexico—”

  “What did you say?”

  Dave stopped short. “Uh . . . which part?”

  “You said the Cowboys are playing? Is it the Redskins game?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lisa glanced toward the TV. “Which quarter?”

  “Second.”

  “Is there room for one more in there?”

  “You want to watch the game?”

  Was he kidding? If she hadn’t gotten stuck in Mexico, she’d be planted on her sofa in her apartment in San Antonio, watching this very game alongside a couple of friends from her apartment complex, having a Dos Equis right out of her own fridge.

  “Maybe for just a minute,” she said, hauling a beer out of the barrel. When she turned back, Dave was smiling, a broad, brilliant smile that made her heart lurch.

  Suddenly she didn’t feel the least bit tired after all.

  A couple of hours and a couple of beers later, Dave wondered why in the world he’d wanted to sleep in the first place. The music was loud. The beer was good. The game was better. And when the refs made a bad call Dave got to learn a whole bunch of Spanish expletives he’d never heard before. Outside of his family, he’d had very little social life lately, and he was surprised at how good it felt just to relax with a bunch of people who were hell-bent on nothing more than having a good time.

  And sitting next to Lisa wasn’t half-bad, either.

  Ever since he’d seen her come out of that bathroom earlier wearing his shirt, he hadn’t been able to think about much else. Now they were sitting on a sofa populated by a couple more people than it was really designed for, which had shoved him and Lisa right up next to each other. Knee to knee. Thigh to thigh. Hip to hip.

  She’d pulled her dirty jeans back on, which was all she had, but that didn’t matter to him in the least. Not one woman since Carla’s death, no matter how sexy she dressed, how beautiful she smelled, how clear she’d been about her intentions to move to the bedroom, had affected him the way Lisa did right now. All he could think about was touching her anywhere he could get away with in polite company, then leading her back upstairs to move his hands into places polite company would never allow.

  The final two minutes of the game ticked off, and with every second that passed Dave grew more restless. Pretty soon they were going back up to that room. Did he really want to draw a line down the center of that bed?

  In the last seconds of the game, the local Cowboys fans let loose with a barrage of cheers that the Cowboys themselves probably heard all the way back in Dallas.

  Manuel, who’d been sitting in a chair beside the sofa, leaned over and spoke to Dave and Lisa: “A victory. Time to celebrate!”

  Before Dave could do a lot of pondering on what that might mean, everyone was getting up and he found himself being dragged into the middle of a group of men moving into the other room to the table full of alcohol bottles. Lisa was likewise being herded along with the women to a spot about ten feet away beside a table. On it sat a bowl of lime slices and a saltshaker. This family was so nuts that squirrels had to be circling the house, so God only knew what was coming next.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Manuel.

  “Tequila shots,” Manuel said with a big grin. “Lozano style.”

  To Dave’s utter amazement, a woman grabbed a lime out of the bowl, then gyrated forward in time to the music. She tilted her head to the left, simultaneously squeezing a slice of lime over the side of her neck. Another woman picked up the saltshaker and sprinkled it over the spot where the lime juice was. Then all the women turned in unison and zeroed in on a man standing next to Dave. The wedding ring he wore said he was probably the first woman’s husband, or at least Dave hoped he was. The man’s grin grew bigger with every second that passed.

  Manuel grabbed a shot glass from the table, filled it with tequila, and handed it to the man. With a big, provocative smile, he started walking toward the woman. She smiled back at him, making little “come on over here” signs of invitation with her fingertips. When he reached her, he dipped his head and licked the salt and lime off her neck. Then he put the shot glass to his lips, downed the tequila, dropped the glass to the floor, and kissed his wife long and hard amid an explosion of rowdy whistles and cheers.

  Dave just stood there, gaping at the spectacle. Animal House, Mexican style.

  He glanced at Lisa, and she was wearing one of those “what in the hell have we gotten ourselves into?” looks. His sentiments exactly.

  Another woman limed and salted herself, and the group enticed her partner to step forward. He licked, drank, and kissed. The crowd went wild.

  Then, as that couple stepped aside, a woman moved up behind Lisa and squeezed a lime slice over her neck. Lisa spun around, brushing her hand against her neck, shaking her head wildly. The women laughed. A second or two passed during which Dave actually wondered what these people had in mind.

  Then Manuel held out a shot of tequila in front of Dave.

  He glanced back at Lisa. The moment their eyes met, she stopped all the neck brushing and stood frozen in place. The women around her giggled. One grabbed another lime slice and dribbled it over the curve between Lisa’s neck and shoulder to replace what she’d swept away, the open collar of his shirt leaving plenty of bare skin for the lime juice to slither over. The woman foll
owed with a sprinkle of salt.

  Through it all, Lisa didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. All she did was stand there, motionless, speechless, watching Dave watching her, as if she couldn’t believe that he would even consider doing anything as outrageous as this.

  He couldn’t believe it, either.

  Just being around Lisa set him on fire, which meant that right about now he ought to be running for a fire extinguisher. Instead, all he wanted to do was crank up the heat.

  He took the shot glass and started toward her.

  He moved slowly, deliberately, his gaze never leaving hers, her green eyes widening more with every step he took. The noise level around him shot completely off the scale with the crowd egging him on, tossing out provocative comments, as if this were the best entertainment they’d had in ages.

  Finally he stopped in front of her, standing so close that he could see the rise and fall of her chest with every breath she took. Glancing down, he saw a drop of lime juice slither down her neck onto her collarbone, dragging a few granules of salt along with it.

  As he leaned in, her eyes drifted closed. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and when he caught that single droplet of lime juice with the tip of his tongue every muscle in her body seemed to contract. He moved upward to the hollow between her neck and shoulder, found the salty spot, closed his mouth over it with a soft, sucking motion of his lips and tongue. Beneath the rough texture of the salt, her skin felt satin smooth.

  With one last sweep of his tongue, he rose again, put the shot glass to his lips, and downed its contents in a single swallow. He dropped the glass, tucked his hand around the back of Lisa’s neck, tilted her face up, and kissed her.

  The moment he dropped his lips against hers, he sensed her surprise, but only a second elapsed before she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. The tequila tasted like fire, but her mouth seemed hotter still.