by Lush, Tamara
Who is this woman? I never acted like this with any guy in New York that spent the night. I turn down the heat on the eggs and peer into the toaster.
Diego sits and checks his phone, which reminds me of something.
“I’m hoping we can get my email situation worked out today. I have lots to do. I checked my emails on my phone, and the server still seems to be down.”
A frown crinkles Diego’s forehead, and his dark eyebrows draw together. “I’ll make sure it’s fixed. Oh, and hey. Please don’t let me forget to double-check my car insurance today, okay? I switched carriers and need to make sure the direct deposit is coming out of my account.”
I set the coffee in front of him – black, as he likes it – and run my hand through his wet hair. It’s like we’re life partners now, sharing the adult details of our lives.
I love it.
“Oh!” I’m suddenly flustered. “Thanks. You made me remember something else. My mom told me to keep a lookout for a letter from the city. Taxes or something. She wanted me to send it to her. I haven’t gotten the mail in days. Be right back.”
I hustle outside to the curb and grab the fistful of crap that’s jammed in the mailbox. After I toss the mail on the kitchen counter, I slide Diego’s eggs onto a plate, remove the toast and butter it.
“You’re not eating?” he asks when I set the plate in front of him.
I shake my head and turn to the mail. “Just coffee for me this morning. Well, maybe I’ll have a bite of your toast –”
My words stop when I see a big, yellow manila envelope with my name on it. It’s in handwritten cursive, and I wonder what’s inside. Odd. I rarely get mail and haven’t received anything since I’ve been back in Florida. I mentally run through a list of people who know I’m back.
“What’s this?” I rip it open. There’s a single page inside.
I freeze.
It’s a photo of me on a thick, eight-by-ten piece of photo paper. One of the photos from high school. I had used the timer on my camera phone. The one where I’m on my knees on my bed, back to the camera. The one where I’m sweeping my hair up in my hands and where you can see my naked ass. It would be artistic, I suppose, if it was in black and white, or if my labia weren’t visible. Or if it wasn’t me.
“Diego…” I whisper. My mouth is suddenly parched. Bile and humiliation sear my stomach and bubble up my esophagus.
“What …”
I glance at him and notice that he’s gone pale. He snatches the photo out of my hands. Which are shaking. My whole body’s shaking.
He also grabs the envelope, turns it over and over.
“Who the fuck did this?” He opens the envelope and looks inside.
“Um, if I knew, I’d tell you,” I say, weakly. I take a few paces and slump into a chair. This is unreal. “I thought the photos were destroyed.”
Diego kneels at my feet, and I can’t help but eye him suspiciously. I hate myself for doing so, but it’s second nature. Of course he’s not behind this, but I also don’t know why the photo has surfaced now.
“Do you still have these photos?” I ask, my voice thick and dull.
“No.” He sounds pissed.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I deleted them six years ago.”
Sighing, I close my eyes. He takes my hands and threads his fingers through mine, then squeezes. But I don’t squeeze back. All of the energy, all of the positive vibes from the weekend, have left my body and I’m back to being a hollow shell. Someone who’s ashamed and self-doubting.
“Cata. Cata?”
I open my eyes and stare at Diego. His eyes narrow as he slaps the photo face down on the table next to me.
“We’re going to find out who sent this to you. Okay? We’re going to the police. This is harassment.”
I nod, weakly.
“And since this person knows where you live, you’re coming to stay with me.”
“No, I can’t. That’s not right. I don’t want to interfere with your life.”
Diego rises and pulls a chair next to me and sits. He smooths my hair.
“It is right. And you are my life. You’re not going to stay here alone. You can’t stay here. What if this person, this maniac,” Diego smacks his hand on the photo, “wants to threaten you in person? While you’re here alone?”
I sigh. He’s got a point.
“Unless you want to stay with your brother. That’s okay, too. I don’t want you here alone.”
My index finger goes to my mouth, and I chew on a hangnail. I remember how angry my brother was when the photos first circulated. The last thing I want to do is tell him that someone still has them and has sent one to me.
“No. I don’t want to stay with him. I’m ashamed to bring this up again to anyone in my family.”
“Then you’ll come to my house?”
I nod.
“Okay.” He exhales. “Let’s go pack a bag for you. Then we’ll call police.”
My entire body feels heavy as we walk to my room. “No.”
“No what?” We’re in my bedroom, and Diego folds his arms around me.
“I don’t want to call the cops. I remember when my dad called them six years ago, and that officer questioned me. He made me feel like a whore. No. I don’t want to relive that.”
“But Catalina, this is a threat. To you. What if it's that politician guy?”
“Let’s wait. Don’t you remember how the cops treated us back then? Christ, Diego, you could’ve been charged with possessing child pornography. Remember how the cop told you that if I wasn’t 18, he might have charged you?”
He pushes out a sigh and rakes a hand through his hair.
“I know. And I’ll always love your dad for talking to the cops and explaining our relationship. He saved me.”
He holds me tight. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
I can't stop crying, and he won't stop holding me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
DIEGO
“Dude, where’s Cata now?”
I shoot Liam a sideways glance.
“She’s taking the day off. She’s reading and napping. In my room.” I hope my glare stops any further questions about her.
I’m in the kitchen with Liam and Sawyer. I’ve declared a Gamerhouse state of emergency, and we’re broadcasting a video that we took a month ago when we went grocery shopping. It’s an hour long video of us cracking jokes and Sawyer walking around the store, high – I don’t smoke that shit, so I was the sober one – and I hope that fans will be entertained enough not to notice we’re absent from the live stream.
“She’ll be staying with us for a while. With me.”
“Look, you’ve got to give us more to go on here. You need to come clean. Are you two together?” Liam asks, serious.
I nod.
“We might be able to help more if we knew the whole story. Why did you want her email disabled? Why did you go dark all weekend?” asks Sawyer.
I sigh. “Fine. This stays between us.
Sawyer shoots me a puzzled look.
"I'm fucking serious, Sawyer."
"I got it. Between us."
"We grew up together. I was her brother’s best friend and practically lived at their house. Cata and I used to game together when we were kids. Then we graduated, and we started …” My voice trails off.
“Started to what?” Liam prods.
“We dated the summer after graduation. And things were cool. Really cool. Until she texted me some photos. I accidentally left my phone at work, at the game store. I never figured out who stole the phone, if it was someone at that store or a customer or what, or who spread the photos around. The phone was found in the trash outside the store.”
Both Liam and Sawyer sigh and look at the floor.
“We broke up after that. Well, I kind of broke up with her. It was complicated, I thought she should go to New York without me, try to start a new life away from the scandal. And me.
I felt responsible for her shame.”
“So the first time you saw her was when she delivered pizzas here?” Liam asks.
“Yep.”
“Wow. Dude.” Sawyer sounds incredulous. “Well, it’s got to be someone from your past, or her past, who knows about the photos. Unless you still have the photos somewhere on a server and someone hacked in.”
I shake my head vigorously. “No. I deleted them years ago, right when I got my phone back after it happened. I was scared shitless. The cops almost arrested me and charged me with a sex crime because I was eighteen and she was seventeen, technically a minor. I mean, I don’t know what’s floating around out there, but I assumed that interest in them died down after she left Palmira.”
“So they could be out there, on some forum, though. Is there anyone in Catalina’s past who wants to get even with her?”
I drum my fingers on the kitchen counter. “She was fired from her job at a gossip website for posting a story about a politician. The idiot sent photos of his dick to her. That's why I sent you his name
Liam and Sawyer snap to attention.
“You should have told us all this from the beginning,” Liam says. “I’d say he’s a prime suspect.”
Shaking my head, I take my phone out of my pocket and quickly email both of them a bunch of articles about Cata’s firing and the politician.
“See what you can do, okay? I’m worried about her.”
"Dude, I can tell. I’ve never seen you act like this about a girl,” Liam says.
I start to walk out of the kitchen and pause. “I’m not acting. I can't afford to lose her again.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
CATALINA
There are arms around me. Strong arms. And a nose and a mouth nuzzling my neck. Inhaling Diego’s spicy, citrus scent the minute I wake up makes me smile.
“Nice nap?” he whispers, pulling me toward him.
I nod into his chest and snuggle closer. If only he weren't wearing a t-shirt, then I could rub myself on his skin. I slip my hand under his shirt and feel goosebumps form on his back.
Then reality hits: someone sent one of my naked photos to my house. That’s why I’m at Diego’s in the middle of the day, napping. Shit. I sigh. The depressed, bad funk returns and I take my hand off his back.
“You okay, Cata?”
I wriggle out of his arms and stroke his face. Little lines form in between his dark eyebrows, and I try to smooth them away with my finger.
“I don’t know. Yeah. I think so. I mean, I’m not happy about the photo, obviously. But I’ve got to move on. Right? Try to live normally while this dies down.”
What does normal even mean after being humiliated in high school and in your first job? I need to figure that out. I only wish Diego wasn’t along for the ride. He doesn’t deserve this.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Why are you sorry? You have zero to be sorry about.”
I shrug. “I wish I was perfect for you. I wish I didn’t have so much baggage.”
“Jesus, Cata.” He looks exasperated and flips onto his back. “Don’t you get it? You are perfect for me. But you don’t need to be perfect at all, for anyone. And what is the baggage, really? That we did something stupid six years ago and it’s coming back to haunt us because some sick fuck is dredging up old photos?”
I don’t say anything.
“You were my friend in high school when I was a loser,” he whispers fiercely. “I practically had no family, no money and no future. And yet you took a chance on me. You were my friend, and then you actually wanted to be my girlfriend. You didn’t care what anyone said about me. Do you know how brave you were back then?”
“You were a bit of a dork in high school. I mean, a cute dork, but…” I grin.
He rolls on his side and laughs. Plants a kiss on my mouth. “I was so fugly.”
“Stop. You weren’t. You were different. And so was I.”
“But you hid your geekiness a little better.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. With the glasses and the braces. And the Star Wars shirts. Sure.”
“I loved that Star Wars T-shirt.” He grins, then trails a finger up my bare thigh until it hits the hem of my shorts. Then he trails the finger back down toward my knee, and a familiar zing of lust shoots right between my legs. “I remember that one time your parents were away. Your brother was gone. And we had been making out for hours. Then we got up to make food, and you were in the kitchen, wearing nothing but that black t-shirt and those black panties. You were wearing your glasses, and your hair was all messy. Do you remember? I hadn’t seen anything so hot ever in my life.”
He growls and moves toward me, grabs my ass.
Diego draws me near again and works his fingers in my hair. I peck at his neck with my lips, then kiss it several more times, each time more slow and sensual than the last. His erection is hard and insistent against my thigh, through his track pants.
He slips a hand under my shirt and caresses my waist, and when I roll onto my back his hand instinctively travels around to the front. I’m wearing a t-shirt and shorts, no bra, and his fingers find my nipple. He cups one breast, then the other
His breath is hot on my ear when he scoots his whole body next to mine, biting my lobe. I shiver when I feel his fingers flutter over my stomach softly. He dips a hand down my shorts and groans when his fingers find my core.
He toys with my clit in little circles. Impatient, I undo the button of my shorts then unzip them, and he doesn’t take his hand away. Just lazily strokes me down there as I struggle to get my shorts lower on my hips.
“Do you think I can make you any wetter?” he whispers.
Shaking my head, I inhale deep and close my eyes. When I feel flush and warm all over my body, I can’t take anymore. My clothes need to come off so I can feel the full effect of his fingers, or his tongue or his cock. Or all three. I need him.
Sliding my shorts and underwear over my legs, I strip them off, then sit up and take off my shirt. Diego grins at me.
“Beautiful. God, you’re so beautiful.”
I lie on top of him, naked, and we kiss for what seems like forever. Kissing Diego is the most exquisite pleasure because his lips go from soft and sensual to hard and demanding in seconds.
“Give me your tongue,” he murmurs, and I do, flicking it over his full bottom lip. He clenches my tongue with his lips and sucks on it, then I thrust into his mouth. He grips my hips, and I rock back and forth on his erection, and then several totally unwanted words pop into my head.
Whore.
That’s what the girls in high school called me on Facebook when the photos were leaked. I told myself it didn’t matter, that we’d graduated, that I was on my way to school in New York City.
Slut.
I haven’t thought about that moment for years, that awful day that I received a Kik message with one of the photos attached from an anonymous account.
Ugly.
I freeze up, suddenly not wanting to be intimate with Diego. A chilling thought goes through me: what if Diego was lying about having the photos? What if he had them and someone hacked into his computers? But why would he lie?
Why can’t I trust anyone?
I roll off him and shimmy under the covers, then put my hands over my eyes. I’m so stressed and confused, I’m not thinking straight.
“Hey, baby girl, what’s wrong?” he asks, softly.
“I’m sorry, I remembered…”
Diego scoots under the covers and rolls to one side, propping himself on his arm so he can look at me. He doesn’t say a word, maybe because he already knows. From the look on the face, he knows my memories are upsetting. I shouldn’t explain, but I do anyway.
“I suddenly remembered what happened after the photos were sent around to everyone. How anonymous people messaged me. How dirty it made me feel. Like I’d done the most shameful thing.”
Diego strokes my hair then puts his arm around me. He still doesn’t
say anything. I don’t want him to, really. I want him to keep holding me, as if that will make everything okay.
“I wish I hadn’t ever asked you for those photos,” he says.
“I wish I’d never taken them.”
“But Cata?”
I peel my face from his chest, my eyes burning and threatening to explode with tears. “Yes?”
“They were taken with love.”
I scowl and jerk my head back. “Hunh?”
“The photos. I asked you for them because I loved you. I still love you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. We did it out of love.”
“And lust,” I quickly respond.
“Sure. And that, too. But really, they came from a place of love. We were exploring. We were kids. We were stupid. We shouldn’t let that one mistake define us. Not when we’ve found each other again. We have nothing to be ashamed of. You especially have nothing to be ashamed of and shouldn’t make it an important part of your life. I don’t think any differently of you. You’re still the person I admire and respect. I should have said that six years ago, but I’m not always the best at articulating my thoughts. In case you hadn’t figured that out.”
I study his beautiful face and something inside of me opens up. Something becomes lighter, easier. I trace his mouth with my finger, then replace my finger with my lips. Soon we’re kissing again, slowly and passionately.
Rolling on top of his body, I straddle him and sit up, allowing the sheets to fall away from my body. I want him to see me naked, see all of me. For some reason, he’s keeping his hands on my thighs and not going straight for my breasts, but I take his hands in mine and rub them over my nipples, across my stomach, and down between my legs. It’s like I’m reclaiming my body from the shame, as if I need to direct what he does, what I do, to take back all that’s been stolen from me.
“We don’t have to do this if you feel uncomfortable,” he whispers. “I’m happy to hang out and talk.”
I lean forward, my hair hanging in curtains around us. He grasps my hair with both hands, and I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk. You’re right. We have nothing to be ashamed of.”
