by P. Dangelico
“Malibu,” the nut-crusher replies.
A deep chuckle. “Don’t start.”
“The kid’s bad news, babe. I’m telling you.”
Glad we got the false pretenses out of the way. At least Evan seems like a cool dude.
“He seems perfectly nice to me.”
Tell him, Evan.
“Nice?” Jay scoffs. “We busted a kid who seemed just as nice last month for distributing three kilos of coke at his local high school. These rich kids always think they’re above the law.”
“Don’t ruin this for me. I’m begging you. He’s the first friend she’s ever brought home––you go on a campaign of terror and it’ll be another twenty years before it happens again.”
“Friend, my ass,” Jay mutters. “Have you seen the way he looks at her?”
“He’s young, Jay. You remember being young, right?”
“I remember that’s the same way I looked at you before we slept together.”
That’s my cue to split. Before I get clear of the hallway and enter the bathroom, I hear Evan Ramos speak again.
“He can sleep in the basement.”
The knock on the guest room door has me glancing at my phone. Two a.m. and right on time. I hop out of bed, but the door opens before I can reach it.
Dora steps inside and hisses, “Are you dressed?”
“You’re inside the room already. Seems pointless to ask, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yeah. Hahaha.” She smiles so wide those sexy-as-fuck bedroom eyes of hers turn into slits.
That’s when I notice the black tank top she’s wearing. It make her breast look like a thirteen-year-old’s wet dream. Strike that––it makes them look like my wet dream. On the bottom she has pajama pants on, but those barely warrant a second glance in comparison to what’s happening on top.
I went to bed in shorts and a t-shirt. You know, just in case her dads tried to kill me in my sleep, and I had to bug out in the middle of the night.
Her eyes do a quick and furtive assessment of me. They move over my chest and up to my face. She can’t help herself any more than I can. “Are we gonna crime, or are we gonna stand here all night so you can keep checking me out?”
She squints up at me, a mocking glance. “Oh my gosh, I w-was not checking you out.”
“Admit it, babe. Your eyes were gobbling me up like a bear eats honey.”
“A b-bear? S-So you’re the honey and I’m the hairy b-bear in this scenario?”
“A cute, snuggly red bear.”
She giggles and my chest gets tight. Then her voice drops. “Honey is s-super s-sweet and sticky.”
Fucking A, it is. My dick stands and starts to lean into my shorts, reaching for her. Now is not the time. We gotta stop this or the only theft committed tonight is the innocence I steal under her fathers’s noses.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t ever say the word sticky to me again.”
With a hand to her lower back, I shove her out the door. Two minutes later we’re in Jay the barbarian’s office doing some crime. Dora is bent over the desk with her trophy-winning ass sticking out while I’m leaning against the bookcase watching her, or more precisely watching her ass. I figure I’m here for moral support anyway.
She hits the mouse and the computer screen lights up her face and the adorable baby V etched into her forehead. She gets that same look when she’s concentrating in class or driving and it makes me want to kiss her there and take away everything that has ever made her worry.
“Please tell me you have the password.”
“Of c-course I do. It’s my birthday.” She types, hits return…and the icon bounces.
“It’s locked,” I remark out loud. “At least someone in your family has the good sense to protect their personal stuff.” Glancing over her shoulder at me, she rolls her eyes. “Just sayin’”
She types again, pressing the keys harder this time, hits return…and nothing.
“Maybe you need to capitalize?” I tease, knowing he probably resets it regularly.
Her expression grows increasingly more worried, but she tries again anyway. Still locked. “Nuts!” she whisper-hisses.
“Hey, watch the language, dirty bear.” When I don’t get even the semblance of a smile out of her, I know she’s close to a full-fledged freak-out.
The light comes on and we both freeze. Chief Ramos is standing in the doorway in a t-shirt and sweatpants with a look on his face that says we’re fucked.
Dora
This couldn’t possibly have gone worse. I’m literally frozen in place, hands all over the evidence, caught right in the middle of doing a crime as Dallas keeps joking.
And Dallas…bless his gorgeous heart. He moves to stand next to me, squares his shoulders, and lifts his chin. He meant it when he said he was here to support me and the hand that squeezes mine is a testament to that. I’m sure this was not the impression he wanted to give my parents. He pretends he doesn’t care what other people think of him, but it’s thinly disguised.
Dad on the other hand…Dad doesn’t pretend. His face is stone cold, his hard gaze shuttling between me and Dallas. He’s furious. Thankfully, Daddy comes around the corner to bail us out. He won’t let anything bad happen to Dallas.
“You want to tell me what’s going on here?”
“Sir––”
“Not you,” he says, leveling Dallas with a deadly flat glare. “You don’t talk.” Then he turns on his heels and walks out. “Living room, Dora. Now!”
We all scramble, Dallas bringing up the rear. “Sit,” Dad orders, pointing to the couch. Dallas and I sit side-by-side. Dad plants himself in the armchair opposite us, and Daddy in the one next to his. He gives me a sympathetic smile.
“What were you doing on my computer? The one owned by the U.S. Federal Government.”
“I’m s-sorry, Dad. But––”
“I don’t want to hear buts. You know better.”
I do know better. He must have told us a trillion times over the years never to touch his government issued phones or computers. The guns always went in the safe so those were never an issue.
“What were you looking for?”
“You k-know what I was looking for,” I barely get out. I never planned for getting caught. I’m so bummed that my plans are blown I can’t even muster the remorse he’s looking for.
“And how would you know where to find it?”
“Because that’s where I f-found her email address.” Daddy looks shocked. Dad looks ready to bust a vein. “And yes, I emailed her––b-before you ask. And…and she t-told me to never contact her again. But she doesn’t g-get to make that choice anymore––I do. She’s made all the choices up until now…not anymore.”
Dad’s suspicion moves over to Dallas. “Did you encourage this?”
I’m immediately on my feet, anger and frustration over this entire mess finally boiling over. “No! He didn’t, Dad. He’s m-my friend, and he was nice enough to come along for support, and you’ve been nothing but rude to him since he got here. And…and it’s really insulting to even suggest I c-can’t make my own decisions.”
“Okay, let’s all just calm down a bit,” Daddy interrupts. “No one is accusing Dallas of anything. Right, Jay?” Of course Dad doesn’t say boo. “Jay?” Daddy glances sideways and glares.
With a flat stare and an even flatter voice, Dad says, “I retract all unsubstantiated allegations.”
“Jay…”
“I apologize, Dallas.”
“Apology accepted, sir.”
Dad sighs deeply and runs both hands over his short, thick salt and pepper hair. “You’re not going to be satisfied until you do this…”
“No. I-I w-won’t.”
“Honey,” Daddy says. “You saw the email––the only reason why we’ve discouraged you for so long is because we know her very well. We’re just…” he sighs, “no other way to say it––trying to spare you the pain.�
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Tears of frustration well up in my eyes. “But you can’t. Not from this. Because it already hurts. I feel like I’m m-missing the last small piece of the puzzle. That I’ll never be whole if I don’t at least see her and have her see me…I can’t explain it any other way. I’m prepared for her to turn me away. It’s not about her…I’m doing this for me.”
A large, warm hand covers my lower back, his thumb brushing soothingly across my spine under the tank top I wore to bed. And despite the tornado of emotions twisting out of control inside of me, threatening to rip me apart, all my senses take notice of him, converge on that one spot grounding me.
Dad’s head tips back. Then my parents share a look. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”
“You have your credit cards on you?” Daddy brushes my hair away from my eyes.
“Yes.”
“Stay someplace nice and call me as soon as it happens,” he orders, hugging me so tightly I can barely breathe. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” I say, smacking a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. They’re both seeing us off early. I don’t know who’s more eager to get on the road: me or Dallas. Each for different reasons.
“And lower your exceptions into the grave,” Dad grumbles, wrapping me in his arms more gently. “Love you. Try not to break any laws when you’re up there, please.”
It nudges a smile out of me. Before last night I’d never once gotten in trouble for anything. I’ve never even been grounded before.
“And watch your step. That city has officially gone to shit and I mean literally. People are shitting on the sidewalks––”
“Jay––”
“Am I wrong?”
“No, babe.” Daddy turns to face Dallas who’s been standing to the side watching us, expression so serious I wonder if something is bothering him. I can’t tell what he’s thinking and it makes me a little nervous.
“Dallas, it was a pleasure to meet you. Hopefully, Jay hasn’t run you off just yet.”
Dallas smiles softly. “No, sir. It takes a lot more to scare me off.”
“How much more?” is Dad’s quick comeback.
“He’s kidding, Dallas,” Daddy says. “Don’t listen to him.” Dallas and I get in the car. I lower the window down and wave.
“Love you.”
“Drive safely, sweat pea,” Dad says. “And call us when you get there.”
As I back Bernadette out of our driveway, Dad hooks an arm around Daddy. In the rear view mirror, I see them standing, watching…until we’re out of sight.
“You’re lucky.”
It’s the first sentence he’s uttered in an hour. He’s been staring pensively out the passenger side window since we left my house.
“I’m sorry about my dad.”
“He loves you. I would do the same for my daughter.”
I’ve never heard a guy my age talk about having children and it kind of surprises me. “C-Can I ask you something?”
Turning to face me, he says, “Shoot.”
“What happened on T-Thanksgiving? With your mom. W-What did you fight about?”
He blinks, looks out ahead at the highway. He’s quiet for so long I think he’s not going to answer me.
“My ex died.”
“What?” I say flabbergasted. I can’t have heard that right.
“My ex-girlfriend died in September. In a car accident.”
Nothing could’ve shocked me more. Then I think of that night in October. I recall the pain in his eyes and it all makes sense now.
“I am s-so so s-sorry. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” An ugly streak of jealousy slices through me I’m embarrassed to say.
“We haven’t been together since I was eighteen. We started seeing each other when I was sixteen.”
“Oh, your high school girlfriend,” I muse. Weird that it makes me feel a little bit better.
“Beth was my tutor,” he casually announces like he hasn’t just dropped a bomb the size of the Hiroshima nuke in my lap. “She was in grad school when we met…she was twenty-seven.”
Holy effing effs.
“She was twenty-seven? And you were––”
“Underage,” he says, finishing for me. “It didn’t matter. Not then. We loved each other.” He shrugs, seeming lost in the memory. “Anyway, my senior year she just suddenly breaks up with me, out of nowhere. Nothing I said or did changed her mind. During winter break she transferred out of Stanford to Princeton and I never heard from her again.”
I am white-knuckling the steering wheel, my heart hammering inside my chest. It’s a good thing we’re on the Grapevine because all I can do is keep the car straight I’m so absorbed in his story.
“I got a phone call from her husband in September telling me they’d been in a car accident. She died on impact. He sustained serious injuries but eventually recovered…he said Beth had left a letter for me with her lawyer in the event that something happened to her.”
“W-W-What did the letter say?” I blurt out.
“It said that she loved me and didn’t want to leave but that someone in my family had threatened her. She could either take the hundred grand that was offered and leave or get reported.
“Her life would’ve been ruined. Jail time. The sex offender registry. Her teaching career would’ve been over…” He makes a pained face. “Anyway, I was sure it was my grandfather,” he continues in a low, flat tone, sounding even more dejected than ever. “He’s a manipulative motherfucker…I was positive it was him so I went to my Mom’s house for Thanksgiving to confront him, but he was no-show. Turns out, he was in the islands with his new twenty-year-old girlfriend.” He smiles bitterly. “Nice, right?” A dark chuckle.
“So w-what happened w-with your mom?”
“I was telling her about it, about Beth and about what my Gramps had done, and that’s when she confessed. It was her….She’s the one who drove away the only person who ever cared about me.”
I care about you. I care about you so much. The words are on the tip of my tongue and that’s where they stay. He doesn’t want to hear it. He made his feelings about us clear.
“And the worst part is that she was the only one I told. Brenda is a fuck-up of the highest caliber so it’s not like I was getting in trouble. She was barely sober back then anyway. She used to act like she was in on it. Like she was looking out for us…it was all a scam.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes, his anger and disappointment palpable. I steal a quick glance and find his profile perfectly still. Like he’s retreating to someplace far beneath his skin where the pain can’t reach him.
“I got in my car and I got the hell out of there. Then the accident…I haven’t seen or spoken to her since.”
“W-What about winter b-break? Christmas?”
His gaze drifts out the passenger window again, the barren landscape as bleak as the mood in the car. “I stayed home.” With his elbow leaning on the door handle, he drums his fingers.
“Alone?”
“I’m alway alone,” he absently murmurs.
The pain I feel for him is so acute I may as well be hardwired into his central nervous system.
“Get off on the next exit,” he orders. I’m too messed up to question why. I just do as I’m told.
Dallas
“W-Where are w-we going?”
Leaning into the steering wheel with her boobs pressed against it, the girl who’s been starring in every one of my dirty fantasies for the last few months slows the car down to look around. I point to the sign on the side of the road that says Welcome to Santa Cruz.
“I know, b-but where are w-we going?” Glancing sideways, she gives me a shy smile and the hole in my chest fills up.
She took me off guard with her question about Thanksgiving’s “Red Wedding,” as I’ve been calling it in the privacy of my own twisted thoughts. It felt good, though––to share it with someone. Nah, strike that––to share it with her. Dora is everything that is honest and good and real. C
all me an expert of the subject; I’ve been around enough people that were fakes to know the difference.
I don’t have to pretend to be anything I’m not with her. I can just be––with no fear of it being used against me. Novel idea, not having to constantly defend yourself against the people who purport to care about you. There are only a handful of people I can say that about. Which makes me think of Rea. Makes me wonder if he’s found what he’s looking for.
“Do you need to be anywhere this week?”
She shakes her head.
Scratching my chin, I steal a few more glances at those beautiful breasts just because I can. “So technically we don’t have to go straight to San Fran…unless you want to.”
She’s quiet for a while. I watch the wheels turning in her beautiful head. “We d-don’t have to rush.” Her dark red brows draw together. “Now that you m-mention it, I-I’d rather not rush. You know––so I have s-some time to p-ssych myself up.”
Smiling now as an idea percolates. “You want to knock off another item on your list?”
A slow smile grown of her face to match mine. “Depends…w-which one?”
“Number four.”
“The tattoo.” She thinks. She thinks some more. “O-Okay…You know s-somebody good?”
“The best. The artist who did mine.”
Five minutes later I’m strolling into my buddy Astrid’s shop with the girl I’m falling for.
Chapter Eighteen
Dora
I. Am. In freaking pain.
“It stings. T-This little thing s-stings,” I whimper as we amble down the Santa Cruz boardwalk. There’s a lot to take in. The rollercoaster, the eclectic mix of people, the gorgeous man walking next to me. The setting sun casts a romantic glow on everything. Lit by the late-afternoon sun, he looks like a gilded angel. A fallen one, of course.
So much for the mark of courage written in cursive letters on the side of my ribcage. Beauty in Bravery. If words have power, then I want those to be mine.
“Y-You d-didn’t warn me it would sting this badly.”
