“See you there,” Eric said, cursing under his breath as he left the building. Why had he made such a stupid promise? He didn’t want to hang out at the beach with a bunch of drunk, belligerent surfers.
Cristina followed him out the door, watching while he unlocked his bike. “You aren’t going to tell Junior, are you?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “No.”
“Good,” she said, relieved that her big brother wouldn’t be showing up to spoil her fun. Eric didn’t want Junior there, either, for personal reasons. His best friend couldn’t be trusted not to start a fight.
As soon as he straightened, Cristina leaned in and kissed his cheek, letting her fingertips linger where her mouth had been. “Al rato.”
Meghan came through the back door just in time to witness the exchange.
That kind of kiss was no big deal, but Cristina had a suggestive way about her, and she’d put him in an awkward position. It would be rude not to return the gesture. “Al rato,” he said, brushing his lips over her cheek.
Meghan looked away, uncomfortable.
“Later,” he said to her.
She gave him a tight smile. “Bye.”
On the way home, he told himself it didn’t matter what she thought. It was better not to get involved with her. In fact, he should skip the bonfire altogether.
He weaved through traffic, torn by indecision. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees, and the humidity had eased off, making his ride more pleasant. A light breeze rippled through his white T-shirt, drying the sweat on his skin.
The city pulsed with heat and energy on Friday night. Traffic lights lit up the streets, radios were on full blast, and car horns blared. The neighborhood seemed like a living, breathing thing, a monster awakening from sleep.
Eric hadn’t felt this alive in a long time.
Meghan had a strange effect on him. Her presence made him realize how unsatisfied he’d been lately. He did whatever it took to get by, and he wasn’t ashamed of that, but he was more aware of the consequences of his actions now. If he had only himself to consider, he might leave Chula Vista.
Sometimes he wished he could just … run away.
At home, the volume on the TV was turned all the way up. He quieted the noise, greeting his grandmother with a kiss on the cheek. “Is your hearing aid on?”
Chuckling, she adjusted it. “Se me olvidó.”
“What do you want for dinner? Tomato soup?”
“Sí, m’ijo. Gracias.”
He put the groceries away and heated a bowl of soup for both of them, adding a quesadilla on the side. He devoured his meal in record time and went to take a shower, eager to get ready for the bonfire. Wiping away the condensation on the mirror, he checked his face for stubble.
After slapping on some deodorant and gargling mouthwash, he wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom.
Junior was sitting on his bed, flipping through an old issue of Lowrider. “Damn,” he said, studying a picture of a girl bent over a tricked-out El Camino. Her metallic silver bikini bottoms left nothing to the imagination.
“Do you mind?”
Junior waved his hand in the air. “Nah, bro. Go ahead.”
Eric was the one who minded, of course, but not enough to argue about it. He grabbed a pair of boxer shorts from his top drawer and put them on, along with his newest pair of jeans. Tugging a sleeveless undershirt over his head, he opened his closet and stared at its contents. After a brief hesitation, he chose a dark-green polo.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Junior asked. Normally, they dressed alike. Tan pants, white T-shirt, brown bandanna. “I thought we had plans.”
“Sorry. Something came up.”
Junior narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to get on a chick.”
Eric glanced at his reflection. “Nah.”
“Yeah, you are.”
He wasn’t going to admit it. First of all, he didn’t plan on hooking up with anyone. Second, he wouldn’t tell Junior if he was. Third, he couldn’t explain how he felt about Meghan. There was no shame in trying to get laid, but hanging out with a cop’s sister because he liked her company—well, that was social suicide.
“Is it April?”
He frowned at Junior. “Hell, no.”
“I’d try to get on her if I was you. Holy fuck, she is hot.”
Eric had heard that before, so he didn’t bother responding. April was his niece’s mother, and he wouldn’t disrespect Raul by hitting on her.
“This sucks, dude, because I stopped by the craft shop on my way here.”
He watched while Junior pulled two black cans of spray paint from his backpack. They were professional quality, for graphic artists. A grin broke across Eric’s face. “Hell, yeah. How much do I owe you?”
“Nada, güey. I ganked them.”
Eric laughed, giving him a CVL handshake and a one-armed hug. “We’ll go out tomorrow night and put these to good use.”
As soon as his friend left, Eric stashed the cans in his closet. When he wasn’t home to help his grandmother into bed, she often slept in the recliner in the living room. Before he said goodbye, he put her walker by the chair and placed a blanket within reach.
On his way out, he stopped by the garage, deliberating. His ’72 Chevelle was a pretty sweet ride, but he drove her on special occasions only. Most of the time he could get around faster on a bike, and he preferred that anonymous method of transportation.
For a date, he’d take the car. But—this wasn’t a date.
Running a loving hand along the side of the car, he whispered, “Hasta la vista,” locked the garage, and walked down to the bus stop.
“I’m not wearing that,” Meghan said, pushing the shirt at Cristina.
“Just try it on.”
“I can’t. It’s too …”
“Sexy?”
“Slutty.”
Cristina squinted at her. “Do you want to look like a girl or a boy?”
Meghan grabbed the black tank top Cristina had brought for her and went back into the bathroom, slamming the door. She changed quickly.
The thin black top had a low, scooped neckline edged in lace. It wasn’t as revealing as she thought it would be. Her boobs weren’t falling out, and her bra didn’t show. “Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Much better,” Cristina said with a nod, finishing her makeup. She was wearing a red tube top and skintight jeans.
Meghan had to admit, her friend had a great figure. Walking up beside Cristina, she scrutinized her own appearance in the mirror. With her smoky eyes and shimmery lip gloss, she hardly recognized herself.
“We look hot,” Cristina declared.
Anticipating Eric’s reaction, Meghan felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach. “Come on. I have to leave my brother a note.” Downstairs at the kitchen counter, she paused, pen in hand. “When do you think we’ll be back?”
“Just say you’re spending the night at my house,” Cristina suggested. “If I get too drunk to drive, we can sleep in my car.”
Meghan smiled, scribbling a vague message about staying with a friend. She’d never done anything like this before. The idea of having no set plan for the evening, of doing whatever struck her fancy, was both frightening and delicious.
She indulged in a brief fantasy of walking down the beach with Eric, spreading out a blanket on the sand …
“Oh, my God. Is this your brother?” Meghan glanced at Cristina, who was staring at a framed photo of her and Noah. “Yes.”
“He’s cute.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said, her mind elsewhere. “Have you and Eric ever …”
“Hooked up?” Cristina turned away from the picture. “No. But it’s not for lack of trying. Maybe tonight I’ll get lucky.”
Her heart sank. Earlier, when she’d seen Cristina kiss Eric on the cheek, she’d wondered how her friend felt about him.
“Watch out for Jack, by the way. He has a total boner fo
r you.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. But it’s a small one, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Consider yourself warned.”
Meghan laughed, shaking her head.
“From what I hear, Eric doesn’t have that problem.” They walked outside together, where Cristina’s Ford Fiesta was waiting. As she drove to the beach, she continued to chatter about boyfriends and penis size, sharing a wealth of information.
Meghan found it all very fascinating.
Cristina glanced at her sideways, frowning. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“No,” she said, blushing. “My ex-boyfriend and I did it … once.”
“Only once? Did he break up with you right after?”
“No. I broke up with him.”
Cristina winced. “Was it that bad?”
“It wasn’t good,” Meghan admitted.
“Oh, honey. You need a real man. How long has it been?”
“Almost a year.”
“Oh, my God. Don’t you get tired of doing it alone?”
Meghan covered her face with her hands. She was going to die of embarrassment. “I can’t breathe.”
“Say no more,” Cristina said, giggling. “We’ll find you a cute guy. And one for me, too. Eric might not go for it because of my brother, but no worries. Jack has a bunch of good-looking friends, surfer types, so we’ll have plenty of choices.”
Meghan hoped Cristina would set her sights on anyone but Eric. Over the past week, she’d come to like him more and more. She watched him put produce away, his biceps flexing. The tattoo around his upper arm made her curious. She wondered what it said, what it meant … if he had others.
Every time he smiled at her, her tummy jumped.
Cristina parked in the pay lot at the south pier in Imperial Beach. It was full dark now, and a bonfire was already blazing. They brought a multicolored blanket with them, approaching the lively circle. About thirty young people were gathered around the fire, mostly guys in their early twenties.
Jack greeted them in his typical fashion, with a too-loud voice and a too-wide smile. Reggae music was blaring from a radio. His eyes were red, and he smelled like something sweet and a little acrid. Meghan scanned the crowd, realizing that they were smoking marijuana.
She’d never done that before.
“Get your drink on, ladies,” Jack said, pointing to a blue cooler. Inside, there were a couple of jugs of fruity liquid.
“What is it?” Cristina asked.
“Jungle juice,” he said, handing them both a cup.
Meghan accepted the drink easily. She might be inexperienced with pot, but she’d had alcohol before. Even Noah had given her a beer once.
It was no big deal.
“Whoa,” she said, tasting the juice. It was like fruit punch—with a kick.
Cristina took a healthy swig. “Go slow, amiga. It’s too early to get crazy.”
While Jack wandered back to his equally loud friends, Meghan sat down on the blanket with Cristina, about ten feet away from the fire. A cool night breeze drifted in from the Pacific, ruffling through her hair. It was a refreshing respite from the day’s heat.
None of the other girls at the party came over to say hello. The boys also continued to talk among themselves, having boisterous conversations that Meghan couldn’t follow above the lilting music and crashing waves.
Although she felt self-conscious, the atmosphere wasn’t unpleasant. The evening air seemed charged with energy, almost electric. Meghan sipped from her cup, stared at the licking flames, and waited for Eric.
It wasn’t long before the space around the fire became crowded with revelers. Someone started to pass a joint around. When it came to Cristina, she took a quick drag and handed it to Meghan.
Meghan stared at the burning cigarette pinched between her fingers. A couple of lame excuses filtered through her mind, ways she’d been taught to “say nope to dope.”
“Puff it or pass it,” one of the boys said. She passed it.
“I have to pee,” Cristina said, tugging on her arm.
Meghan’s cup was already empty, so she left it in the sand. She staggered sideways a few times on the way to the restroom, which struck them both as uproariously funny. She realized, with some chagrin, that she was already intoxicated.
It felt … great!
Still giggling, she used the facilities and trudged back down the beach with Cristina. The trip took several minutes, and walking seemed like a chore. When they returned to the bonfire, Eric was standing near the cooler with Jack.
“Hello, Mío,” she said, hugging him. The polo shirt he was wearing felt soft; the body underneath, anything but.
“I’m Gusto, remember?”
She laughed at her silly mistake. “Right.”
He had an odd look on his face, as if he didn’t quite recognize her. Then his gaze drifted south, settling on the lacy edge of her tank top. Rather than feeling embarrassed, she experienced a shiver of pleasure.
“Maybe you should sit down,” he said.
“Good idea.”
The four of them went back to the blanket, sitting boy–girl, boy–girl. Jack brought a half full jug with him. “Need a refill?”
Meghan lifted her empty cup. “Sure.”
Cristina also partook in the spirits, but Eric declined. He cracked open a can of beer instead, taking a long drink.
Meghan stared at his throat, mesmerized.
“Are you having fun?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said dreamily, wishing the crowd around them would fade away.
It didn’t.
Cristina put her arm around Eric, stealing his attention, and Jack lit up another joint. After taking a quick puff, he passed it to Meghan. “Thanks again, man,” he said to Eric. “This stuff is awesome.”
She took the joint from Jack, frowning. “You gave him this?”
Eric shrugged, neither admitting nor denying it.
Meghan had been tempted to take a hit the first time around. Knowing Eric had supplied the pot made her feel safer about trying it. Bringing the joint to her lips, she inhaled deeply and held her breath, wanting to do it right. Coughing a little, because the smoke burned her throat, she exhaled and passed it on.
Eric didn’t look impressed. In fact, he seemed irritated. He handed the joint to Cristina without smoking any.
Meghan started to feel very odd after that. Her skin tingled all over, and the rising flames warped her vision, making the faces around her appear distorted. It seemed like everyone was talking at the same time. She couldn’t distinguish individual voices.
Her heartbeat felt too heavy, her cheeks too hot. And her throat was so dry. She drank from her cup, trying to regain the contentment she’d experienced before.
Jack began to stroke the back of her neck, and his touch confused her further. She wanted male attention—but not his. Instead of protesting, she closed her eyes, struggling to overcome her disorientation.
When she opened them again, the world tilted on its axis. She straightened, trying to right herself. Beside her, Cristina had climbed on top of Eric, straddling his waist. Laughing, she pushed him down on the blanket, pinning him with a kiss.
Meghan turned away from the sight, nauseous. “I need some air,” she whispered in Jack’s ear.
He rose immediately, helping her stumble toward the shore. “Keep walking,” he said, putting his arm around her waist. “It’ll clear your head.”
She nodded and leaned against him, focusing on the task of putting one foot in front of the other. Her legs didn’t seem to work properly. Her mind was as sluggish as her steps. A few minutes ago she’d felt sexy and confident.
Now she felt like crying.
The pier loomed before them, monstrous stilts of treated wood jutting up toward the night sky. When the sand beneath her feet shifted, she sank to a sitting position.
Jack sat down beside her. “Drink this.”
It was bottled water. She gulped it eager
ly.
“Go slow.”
After another, smaller sip, she handed it back. “Thanks.”
“Better now?”
“Yeah.”
They were silent for a few minutes. Meghan couldn’t get the awful image of Cristina kissing Eric out of her head. Despite her current state of inebriation, which was considerable, she knew she didn’t want Jack. She didn’t like him—not even as a friend.
But he was being nice to her, and she was hurt and angry and confused. So when he leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, very gently, she allowed it.
He slanted his mouth over hers, trying to deepen the kiss. She lifted her hand to his chest, hesitant. She meant to stop him, but her balance was off. Before she knew it, she was flat on her back in the sand, and he was stretched out on top of her.
At that moment, Meghan felt totally disconnected from reality. The only thing she could think about, while he skimmed his hands over her breasts and thrust his tongue into her mouth, was what Cristina had said about his small boner.
Instead of pushing him away, she turned her head to the side and laughed.
He froze at the sound.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, still laughing. “I just … thought of something funny.”
“Shut up and lay still,” he said in a strained voice, fisting his hand in the lace between her breasts. His knuckles dug into her cleavage, hurting her, while his other hand fumbled with the waistband of her jeans.
Meghan stopped laughing and started to struggle. As she twisted beneath him, her shirt ripped down the front, exposing her all the way to the belly button. He grunted his approval and lifted up, allowing her to enough freedom to roll over.
She tried to crawl away from him on her hands and knees, her head spinning. Was this really happening?
When he jerked down the back of her pants, tearing her underwear in the process, she clutched at the sand and screamed.
8
The mood at Club Suave was tense.
Lola’s murder remained unsolved, and all of the waitresses were on edge. As far as April knew, Tony Castillo hadn’t been charged with the crime, though he remained in jail. The police hadn’t named another suspect.
The Edge of Night Page 9
