Concealed - A Hiding From Love Novel #2

by Laurence, Selena

  “In the bathroom at the restaurant.” She looks somewhat embarrassed.

  I raise one eyebrow. “Neither of you was bruised afterwards, so I guess no one took a shot?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not that kind of a talk, Mr. Modesty. But I did advise her to get her head out of her ass and talk to you because you’re still madly in love with her.”

  “Yeah, well, guess she took that about as well as she takes any advice ever,” I mutter.

  Carla laughs then, and it feels good to know I can make her happy instead of sad.

  “So, is friends out of the question?” I ask carefully.

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s not, but give me a little time to recover here, okay? I’m tough, but I’m not made of stone.”

  “I understand.” I put my fist to my heart. “C. You’re it for someone really fucking lucky. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  She smiles a little. “Well, I’d better get out there and find him then so he’ll figure it out.”

  With that, she stands up and walks away, leaving me alone in a park on a beautiful sunny day with nothing to stop Alexis and me from being together except each other.

  Luckily, Carla convinces Mike not to beat the crap out of me when he finds out we’re not seeing each other anymore. It’s a close call though.

  “I told you not to do it, dude. You’re a fucking asshole.”

  I shake my head. “I know. You were right, okay? Honestly, I wasn’t thinking straight. I should have listened to you.”

  He snorts. “You haven’t been thinking straight since Alexis took your balls two and a half years ago. You need to sort your shit.”

  I lean back against the car I’m working on and scrub my hands over my face. “You know, a few months ago I would have punched you for that, but I give up. You’re right. She owns me. Fuuuck.”

  Mike smirks as he walks over to the cabinet with the extra rags in it. “So what’s the problem? Just admit it to her and be done with this crap.” He takes out a couple of rags and tosses one to me so I can wipe off the grease that is now covering my face where I touched it.

  “Man, what do you think I’ve been doing for the last few months? Telling her over and over again she’s got me any way she’ll take me. I can’t beg anymore. She has to decide what she wants.”

  “Don’t get any more innocents involved in your crap at least.” He scowls at me like he still wants to take a piece out of me.

  “Yes, sir.” I snap him a salute.

  “You owe me, you know,” he answers as he scuffs with his shoe at some mud on the floor.

  “Okay, name it. If it’ll prove how sorry I am, I’ll do whatever.”

  “You’re going to teach me how to surf.”

  “Uh, dude. No ocean. Just in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Uh, dude. Corpus Christi. Three hours away.”

  “Really? You want to drive to Corpus and learn how to surf?” I’m surprised he’s never mentioned this to me before.

  “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf.” He pulls a broom out of a nearby closet to sweep up the mud he’s now chipped off the concrete.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? Pick a Saturday, I’ll rent us some stuff, and we’ll head down there. But you’ve got to drive. I gave Alexis my truck.”

  “You what?” he nearly shouts, his voice cracking at the end of the question like he’s a teenager.

  “I gave Alexis my truck. I found her walking along Congress at eleven at night…alone. She’s got a job waiting tables and doesn’t have a car. There was no way I could let that one slide.”

  Mike nods his head. He’s a guy. He gets it. “Truth.” He pauses. “What the hell was she thinking anyway?”

  I shrug. “You’re asking the wrong man. I never seem to know what she’s thinking.”

  He slaps me on the back and gives me a sympathetic look, because really, that’s all he can do.

  Alexis

  El movimiento se demuestra andando.

  Actions speak louder than words.

  IT still takes me a few more days after my talk with Beth to get up the guts to go see Gabe. I should probably try to talk to him at home where we won’t be interrupted, but when the courage hits me, it’s eleven thirty on a Thursday morning, and I know I have to go with it or I may not be brave enough again.

  I pull up to the garage and I can see him inside talking to Ramon and pointing to the engine in front of them. Ramon’s a good-looking guy. He’s in his thirties but still in really great shape, with thick black hair, and startling green eyes that contrast with his dark skin.

  But as attractive as Ramon is, he’s nothing compared to Gabe. He’s got on a pair of faded jeans that fit loose but are so worn that they mold around his perfect butt. His work shirt is a button-up and it fits snug across his shoulders. Under the short sleeves I can see his rounded biceps and the tips of his tattoos. His hair is finally long enough to curl up a little at the collar, and it’s a total mess. I know he’s been running his hands through it because he’s not used to having it this long.

  As I approach, my shoes make a clacking sound on the pavement of the parking lot and both men turn to see who it is.

  Ramon leans in and says something to Gabe before looking back at me. “Hey, mija. It’s good to see you.” He strides over and gives me a hug.

  “It’s nice to see you too,” I say, meaning every word of it.

  “I’m sure you’re here to visit the guëro, but don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

  I smile as he holds on to my hand for a moment before he walks away. “Sure thing,” I answer.

  Gabe has walked over now and is squinting in the bright sun. “Are you having trouble with the truck?” he asks, looking at it.

  “No, it’s great. You might not be so happy though. I’m sort of driving the hell out of it.” I grimace in anticipation of his response.

  “Not at all. That’s why I gave it to you. I want you to use it. You’re doing exactly what I asked you to.”

  “Good.” I nod. “I have to admit that after not having a car for so long it’s really great to be able to go where I want when I want. It’s a whole new world.” I laugh.

  He smiles at me. “So what’s going on?”

  “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Sure.” He gestures toward the truck and we walk over. I stand by the driver’s door and he faces me. The tall cab blocks us from view of the garage.

  He stands, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and waits for me to start. I take a moment, collect myself, and plunge right in.

  “I made a huge mistake that night. We both know it, but I’m starting to realize it’s about more than that. It’s about me letting things come between us. I let the distance come between us, I let Marco come between us, and then my parents. I let my fears and my insecurities and my doubts come between us.

  “You’ve never let anything come between us, and I get it now. You were always better at saying it, and you’ve been so much better at showing it. Love, I mean.”

  I look up, and Gabe is watching me with this look on his face. It can only be described as longing, and it tears at me inside. Places so deep I didn’t even know they were there.

  I clear my throat, trying to control the emotion. “I love you, Gabe Thompson, but I know saying it isn’t good enough now. I’m going to show you, and I’m not going to let anything…or anyone come between us ever again. So put your girlfriend on notice. I don’t care how nice she is or what the hell you think you’re doing with her. I know you love me, and I love you. I’m going to show you until you know I mean it, and she can’t stop me.”

  Gabe’s left eyebrow is raised so high it looks like it hurts, and his mouth opens and then closes as though he wants to say something but just can’t get it out. I step forward, putting my palms on either side of his face, relishing the feel of his stubble on my tender skin. I pull him to me and give him a hard kiss on the lips. Then I climb in the truck and drive away before he can re
spond.

  I spend the next couple of days planning. I talk to Mike, I talk to Ramon, I talk to Beth. I’m surprised Mike is so willing to help me, since it’s obvious he knows Gabe’s girlfriend, but I don’t mention her and neither does he, so I go with it. I decide to start off with the little things. Ramon tells me what nights Gabe has after-hours work scheduled over the next two weeks, and I start cooking.

  The first night I show up with a plate of tamales. I see him outside talking to a customer, so I quietly sneak into the office and leave the plate on the desk. Then I send him a text: Check the office. Dinner’s on me.

  When I get up the next morning there’s a note on the truck that says, I missed your tamales. I smile my way through the whole day.

  I continue to leave dinner for him every time he has a late shift. The fifth time I stop by, he sees me and intercepts as I enter the office.

  “Making another special delivery?” he asks as I walk in the front door and he walks in the back.

  “It’s chicken tandoori tonight. I got the cook at the restaurant to show me how to make it.”

  He grins. “Seriously? You can cook Indian now? Wow.” He looks like a little boy who just got a new toy, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Don’t get too excited until you taste it. I might have messed it all up.”

  “Well, you’d better stay and try it with me then. I’m not going to be the only one who gets poisoned.”

  We sit down at opposite sides of the desk and I unwrap the plate. He pulls the fork out of the bag. I always include stuff like utensils, napkins, salt, pepper, salsa – whatever he needs to go with the meal. Tonight it’s got some naan from the restaurant, and he tears off a piece and gives it to me.

  There’s only one fork, so he offers it to me and says, “Ladies first.”

  I take it and have a bite. I don’t say anything. I just give the fork to him while I’m chewing. He takes it from me, never dropping his eyes from mine. He dips it down onto the plate, spears a piece of chicken, and brings it to his mouth. For a moment, I’m assaulted with memories of what that mouth does to me, the places it’s been, how I feel when it touches me.

  Gabe’s lips close around the food and he moans. “Oh, man, that’s good. It tastes exactly like the tandoori at the restaurant.”

  I smile, feeling my breath quicken.

  “Seriously,” he says. “How’d you do that? It’s fucking perfect.”

  I finally remember to swallow the mouthful of food I’m chewing into purée. “It’s the secret recipe, but the cook will do some sort of ancient, ritualistic beheading if I ever share it.”

  “Well, I don’t need to know the recipe, just someone who can cook it. It really is fantastic.” He turns the fork toward me, offering me another bite. I shake my head.

  “You go ahead. I’ve had dinner. I’m really glad you like it. It makes me happy to make you happy…for once.”

  “Alexis,” he begins, looking like he feels guilty for something.

  “No,” I stop him. “Don’t do this for me, Gabe. I need to do it myself. I need to show you. It’s my turn.” I stand and get my purse from the floor beside my chair. “Enjoy your dinner and don’t work too hard, okay?”

  He nods. “Hey,” he calls as I’m partway out the door. “Will you stay? Next time. I mean, if there is a next time. Will you stay and eat with me? That’d make it even better.”

  I turn to look at him, his features softening with hopefulness. “Yeah,” I answer. “I’d really like that.”

  “Good.” He digs into his food again. I smile and leave, thinking blondie better watch her back.

  Some of the other parts of my plan aren’t as easy as bringing Gabe dinner. It takes me forever to convince the super of our building to let me into Gabe’s apartment so I can get his laundry and clean his place. I choose a Friday when I know he won’t be working late, and I clean the place top to bottom, do all of his laundry, and leave him another dinner. I’ve always liked to cook, but I never thought it’d come in handy at a time like this.

  I have to admit that part of my motivation in fixing up his place is pure female bitchiness. I can’t help but want to see if there’s evidence of her there and also leave my mark for her to see. I’ve never competed with another woman over a man, but this is war, and I find that nothing’s beneath me at this point.

  I’m sort of surprised to find absolutely no sign that she or any girl’s been there at all. No used condoms in the trashcan, no perfume smell on the sheets, no long blond hairs on the pillow. I’m thrilled. Of course, it could be they spend all of their time together at her place, but a girl can always hope.

  I leave all of his clean laundry stacked on his dresser, a plate of his favorite enchiladas on the counter, and a six-pack of Fat Tire in the fridge. Then I take my lipstick, write ‘I heart U’ on the bathroom mirror, and go to Beth’s because I promised her I’d help sort through some of the records of Juan’s case. I hope my presence in Gabe’s apartment sends blondie running for the hills. I’m a bitch, but I don’t care. He’s mine.

  When I get home from Beth’s, it’s after midnight. I’m getting out of the truck when Gabe’s door opens. He’s standing in the dim light from his apartment, and he’s in grey sweats and no shirt, his hair mussed like he’s been asleep. I can see the TV flickering inside.

  “Hey.” His voice deep and rough.

  My heart flutters and I try not to look at his incredibly toned chest and arms as he leans against the door jamb.

  “Are you the girl from Merry Maids?” he asks with a grin.

  I smile back. “Could be,” I answer coyly.

  He pushes off the door frame and stalks over to where I stand, the truck door still ajar. Once he’s right in front of me, he quietly reaches around and pushes the door shut, brushing my shoulder as he does. He draws his arm back very slowly, and I swear I can almost taste his desire to touch me. But he doesn’t, and I’m left with an aching deep in my gut as I’m faced with his bare skin and the tender look on his face.

  “You didn’t need to do all that,” he says softly.

  “I know. I wanted to,”

  “Alexis, there’s something…”

  “Sshh,” I interrupt as I place my index finger against his lips. I hear his breath hitch. “You don’t need to say anything. I know you appreciate it, because I know you. And I also know you don’t ask enough out of me, and the few times you have asked for something, I didn’t come through. I don’t want you to let me off the hook easy this time.

  “I love you so much it’s like my insides are on fire. I look at you and my world suddenly has colors when it was all black and white before. I hear your voice and there’s music where there wasn’t any before. I touch you –” I place my palm over his heart, against his bare skin, and he lets out a hiss – “and I’m warm all over for hours. Let me show you all of that, Gabe. It’s my turn. I don’t want you to ever have to doubt me again. When you can say that, when you can say you have no doubts left, then my turn will be done, but not until.”

  He’s so still and so quiet that he looks like a statue. His eyes are fixed on my face and the intensity of his gaze is stunning. I lean forward, stand on my tiptoes, and place my lips against his gently. A soft sigh comes from deep in his chest almost as if it’s his heart letting go of a tiny piece of pain. Hesitantly he puts his hand on my waist and runs his tongue along the seam of my lips. I open my mouth to him for just a moment and taste his warmth before he pulls away and puts his forehead in the crook between my neck and shoulder.

  “God, babe.” He shudders.

  I stroke his hair for a moment like he’s a little boy. And I realize with more awareness than I’ve ever had just how much power I have over this man – and how abusive I’ve been with it. It breaks my heart to think about what he’s endured in his short life and how amazing he is in spite of it all. He never gives up, he never falters, and he cares for everyone around him. Now I’m going to take care of him, whether he understands it or not. />
  “I’ve got you,” I echo the words he’s said to me many times before. “I’ve always got you.”

  Gabe

  Las aparencias engañan.

  Appearances can be deceiving.

  I’M sitting on a folding chair in the office at work, eating leftover spaghetti with marinara sauce. Mike is eyeing my lunch, drool practically running down his chin. He looks forlornly at his own peanut butter and jelly sandwich then back at my pasta and garlic bread.

  “Dude,” I mumble around a mouthful of food. “You need to learn how to cook.”

  “Screw you, Thompson. You don’t know how to cook either. How long are you going to let Alexis try to bake her way back into your bed anyway?” he asks bitterly.

  “That’s not what she’s doing.” I’m defensive. “She’s rebuilding my trust, and after she left me twice, maybe that’s necessary.”

  He tosses his sandwich down on the desk in disgust before he snakes his hand out and grabs my garlic bread. I let him have it but curl my arm around my plate of pasta and bare my teeth at him.

  He throws his hands up in the air, one loaded with my bread. “Fine, I won’t touch the damn spaghetti.”

  “So, if I tell you something, will you promise not to get all judgmental?” I ask.

  “No, but you’re going to tell me anyway.” He smirks.

  Shit. He’s right. “Fine. Well, Alexis…see… I’m not sure how to say this.”

  “Just spit it out, man, I don’t have all day.”

  “She sort of thinks I’m still seeing Carla.” I duck my head and shovel food in my mouth before Hurricane Mike hits.

  “She what?”

  I look up to see his eyes wide with shock.

  “She seems to think I’m still seeing Carla. I didn’t tell her I was,” I amend quickly. “But every time I try to correct her, she tells me to shut up and let her prove herself to me.” I shrug. “So, I’ve sort of let it go on, and she seems to think she’s winning me away from Carla or something.”