“Who says I have a clean record?” Gloria smiles with pride. She is too much.
We watch the game, though we’re mostly watching the camera guy stationed to our left. Finally, he turns in our direction.
“Time to try again!” Mrs. K. gets to her feet. Gloria quickly follows. “And, Alejandra, whatever happens with the senior center, we know you’ve tried your best and the years we’ve had there with you have been wonderful.”
“Thank you,” I say, too choked up to say anything more.
The cameraman looks out to the crowd for his next fan close-up. I hold up my sign with one hand and wave my other to get his attention. Mrs. K. and Gloria put their heads together and put their “frame” in position.
And then all of a sudden, we’re on the jumbotron. We’re on the big screen with our signs and our smiles for at least five seconds. Holy shit!
The fans around us take notice. This sparks lively conversation and soon the people in our row and those near us are sending me money to help save the center. The camera guy walks over to us, eyes on Mrs. K. “Are you Mrs. Kindred?” he asks.
“I am.” She casts an affectionate gaze at him.
“You were my favorite teacher. A long time ago.” He looks more closely at my sign. “How about we get you three on camera again?”
“That would be amazing. Thank you.”
The cameraman catches up with Mrs. K. for a few minutes before he’s given the signal in his earpiece to record again. He counts down with his fingers. Three, two, one.
I glance up at the giant TV screen to see us before I drop my gaze to look right into the camera and mouth, Please.
“Seniors rock,” someone shouts.
“We got you,” someone else yells.
Sitting back down, I check my phone. My Venmo account is blowing up. The donations are small, but they are numerous. “It’s working,” I whisper, so as not to pop whatever magical bubble we’ve created this afternoon. I doubt it will be enough to save the center, but it will definitely go to something nice for everyone there before our doors close.
We’re on cloud nine when we leave the game. The Galaxy won and so have we, with three thousand dollars in donations. While it’s not enough to save us, it was fun and heartwarming to have so many people take interest. Mrs. K. and Gloria get several high fives on our way to the parking lot. I drop them off at the senior center then drive to the hotel. It’s close to six o’clock and I’m hungry and in need of a shower.
There’s a car parked in my usual spot next to Drew so I valet park. It’s close to impossible to find parking on the street on a Friday night.
“Hi,” I say to the valet.
“Hey. How’s the training going?”
“So far, so good. Thanks for asking.” I’ve seen the valet several times when I’ve left the hotel to go for a run. He’s around my age and totally Gabby’s type. I wonder if he has a girlfriend. “Have a great night.”
“You, too.”
I always get a little tingly when I walk through the lobby, a combination of residual embarrassment over the vase fiasco and butterflies over meeting Drew again. Tonight, through large, shuttered sliding doors, the pool area is hopping. Lounge-style music is blaring. It’s the first time I’ve been around to see the Friday Pool Party so rather than take the private elevator up to the suite, I walk out onto the patio to check it out.
Today’s theme is in keeping with yesterday’s holiday. Classy red, white, and blue decorations are everywhere from umbrellas to lounge cushions and shimmery curtains around the cabanas. Cocktail servers are dressed in all-American swimwear. A woman walks by me holding a drink that’s electric blue.
I people-watch for a few minutes and am about to leave when I catch sight of Drew stepping out of a cabana, a beautiful woman in a barely there black bikini right on his heels. I track their every step to the pool bar. He’s dressed in his usual dark suit pants and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. No coat or tie. The woman stands very close to him. She angles her head to say something in his ear.
Sharp, stinging pain slices through my chest, the likes of which I’ve never felt before. It takes me a few more moments of staring at Drew and the woman to put meaning to this most unwelcome sensation.
I’m jealous.
This is what being jealous feels like.
Seven years with Matthew and the emotion never reared her head. I don’t know what it means to suffer it now, but there’s only way to fix it. Go say hello.
I’m definitely overdressed for this function, and a mess with a ketchup stain on the center of my shirt, but I don’t care. I have to fix this ache.
About halfway to the bar, doubt creeps in. Maybe I should go take my shower and see Drew when I see him. But as I’ve come to learn these past weeks, time drags when we’re apart, and I imagine it would be a thousand times worse knowing the company he’s keeping at the moment.
My decision is made for me when Drew turns to lean his back against the bar. Our eyes meet. He smiles that devastating smile of his from ear to ear, destroying any doubt I had. Turning it into confidence, instead.
He waits for me to come to him. “Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” With one arm around my waist, he kisses me. “How was the game?”
“Amazing.”
“This is my friend, Tracy. Tracy, this is Alejandra.”
Tracy? His ex, Tracy? Some of my jealousy returns and I don’t like it. Not one bit. (The emotion part, not the part where he’s with his ex. He told me they were better off as friends.)
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” I shake hands with her.
“You, too.” She looks at Drew with questions written all over her pretty face.
At my frown, Drew takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He kisses Tracy on the cheek. “Take care, Trace. Say bye to West for me, okay?”
“Will do.”
As Drew leads me back toward the lobby, I wonder if Matthew and I could be the kind of friends who kiss each other on the cheek. “I noticed the way Tracy looked at me seemed to upset you,” Drew says. “Sorry about that. West was in the cabana with some other friends of theirs, and I didn’t want to talk about you with him there. He’s been a little touchy lately. Nothing that won’t smooth over eventually.”
Like when he gets his property.
“You’ve spoken to him about the center, haven’t you?”
“Some, yes. If there’s a solution that can make you both happy, I want to find it.”
“Thank you. I know you’re in a tough position.”
“You hungry?” he asks.
“Starving, actually. I’ve only eaten a burger today.”
He takes me into the hotel’s kitchen where he asks the chef to wrap us up some lasagna, to go. We take the delicious-smelling bag of food to a table on the second floor veranda. The terrace is beautiful with ivy-covered stone columns and iron furniture with sapphire-blue cushions.
“Speaking of the center,” I say once we’re situated and I’ve taken a few bites of my meal. “Something happened today.” I reach into my bag to check the final number raised, but my phone is dead. I wanted to show him the picture someone took of me, Mrs. K., and Gloria, too.
“Tell me.”
“You know how people are always holding up signs at sporting events? Well, I…” I relay the whole story, reliving it all over again with a grin on my face.
“That’s fantastic,” Drew says. “And I wonder…” His stares over my shoulder.
“What?”
“When you get your phone charged, send me the picture and I’ll ask Chloe to share it. She’s got a big following on social media, and a far reach when it comes to promo. Maybe she can do something that gets you even more donations.”
I touch his forearm. “Drew, you don’t have to do that. I completely understand your position on the matter.”
“Thanks, but I want to. West has a whole company behind him. He can’t fault me for having your back with something yo
u initiated.”
“That means a lot, thank you. And I don’t know if you know, but West did offer to help us find a new location.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“So are you.” I dance my fingertips up his arm. “How about we go upstairs and I initiate something else entirely.”
“I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I like the way you think.”
For the rest of the night the only thing we think about is bringing pleasure to each other with our hands and mouths and when that isn’t enough, Drew moves inside me until a shudder racks both our bodies.
Chapter Nineteen
Broken
Alejandra
The next morning I wake up in Drew’s bed to find him absent. Peeking through one open eye, the digital clock on the bedside table reads 7:57. Drew is an early riser so I’m not surprised I’m alone, but I do miss his warm body and the comfort he brings.
I put on one of his shirts and pad into the main living area. Drew is tinkering in the kitchen wearing his black sleep pants and a plain gray T-shirt that clings to his broad chest, muscled biceps, and flat stomach. I take a moment to admire him.
He mumbles a few curse words under his breath.
“Morning.” I step up to the counter to find a mini disaster. An egg carton sits open with broken eggs inside it, flour coats almost every inch of every surface, spilled milk makes a sticky paste, and the collection of dirty mixing spoons, bowls, and frying pans is abundant. “Can I help you with something?”
He lets out a frustrated sigh and runs his fingers through his hair.
Now there’s flour in his hair, too.
“Making pancakes should not be so difficult.”
My heart swells. He’s cooking breakfast for me.
I step around the counter to give him a hug. “It’s the thought that counts.” I take his hands in mine and wash them in the sink with soap and warm water. I dry them with a clean dish towel I pull out of a drawer.
We leave the kitchen disaster for later and sit on the couch—or rather I sit on his lap on the couch, my arms around his neck, my lips pressing soft kisses to the stubble on his jaw, his neck, his temple. “I don’t need no stinking pancakes.”
“Good, because I’m pretty sure they aren’t edible.” He rests his hand on my thigh under the hem of his shirt.
“There’s Pop-Tarts in the cupboard.”
“You bought some?”
“Frosted strawberry ones if that’s your jam.” I giggle at my joke.
“It is and I haven’t had one in forever.” He places me on the couch. “Don’t move.”
My eyes are glued to his backside as he walks to the kitchen to retrieve the sugary filled toaster pastry. It takes him three tries before he opens the right cupboard, which has him grumbling under his breath again. Frustrated Drew is very cute. He opens the box and returns with one foil package for each of us in his hands. By silent agreement it seems we aren’t toasting them. Okay by me.
“Oh! Mind grabbing my phone off the counter?” I ask before he’s taken too many steps. He pulls it off the charger.
“Thanks.” I turn my cell back on then inhale the sweet scent of Pop-Tart goodness before sliding one of the tarts out of the wrapper and taking a bite. “I knew these would come in handy one morning.”
“Good call.” Drew breaks his in half before biting into it.
I glance at my phone to find several notifications and missed calls from Mrs. K. I put my Pop-Tart down and unlock the screen. I listen to my voice mail first.
“Alejandra,” Mrs. K. says, “the channel five news posted a picture of us from the soccer game! I don’t know how they learned it was the Davis Senior Center, but they did, and they shared the name of the center on television, as well as a report on the vital importance of senior centers in a time when people are living longer.” There’s a pause. “Tell me we did it, sweetheart. Tell me you did it.”
I quickly check my Venmo account.
“Oh. My. God. Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod.” My hand starts to shake. My heart is bending like Beckham, curving, twisting, pounding. I fight back tears of utter joy.
“What is it?” Drew asks. “What’s wrong?”
I can’t tear my eyes off the number on my phone screen. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is great! The local news posted a picture of me with Mrs. K. and Gloria at the soccer game yesterday. They talked about the senior center and did a report on how necessary they are.” I look up at Drew. “And guess what?”
“What?”
“There’s one hundred and thirty-three thousand dollars in my Venmo account.”
“Holy shit, that’s amazing.” Drew wraps me in a hug, squeezing my arms to my sides. “You did it.”
“I can’t believe it,” I say.
“I can. Congratulations, Al.”
“Yes!” I pump my fists in the air then jump to my feet to do a happy dance. When I plop back down on the couch, Drew is staring at me with noticeable heat and adoration. It’s heady and meaningful and…I can’t wait any longer to tell him that I’m meeting Matthew. I have to tell him now.
“Drew—”
“Alejandra—”
We smile at each other. “You go first,” Drew says.
“No, you go,” I counter, suddenly struggling with the right words to tell him I’m meeting my ex next weekend. Maybe I’ll ask him to go with me because—I take a second to listen to my heart—because Drew is who I want. In all honesty, he’s been who I’ve wanted all along. I only needed to accept that Matthew was my first, but not destined to be my last.
Drew turns to face me on the couch. “I think you know this, but in case I haven’t been clear, I don’t want this to end, Alejandra, and after my grandmother’s birthday party next Saturday night, I—”
“Wait.” I hold up my palm. “Your grandma’s party is a week from today?”
“Yes.”
“Next Saturday?”
“Yes.” A line bisects his eyebrows. What’s the big deal? that crease says, and I want to scream, It’s a huge, ginormous, monumental deal!
“July twelfth? Your grandma’s birthday is July twelfth?” All the happiness from a mere minute ago is gone. Disappeared. This can’t be happening.
“Yes,” he repeats again with kindness and confusion. “What is going on? Why did the color just drain from your face?”
Out of all the days in July, why does Rosemary’s birthday have to fall on the same day I’m meeting Matthew? The universe is supposed to be on my side here.
“What time?” I ask.
“Eight o’clock.”
Of course it is. I shift uncomfortably, miserable on the inside. Elbows on my knees, I cover my face with my hands. It never occurred to me to ask Drew the exact date of the party. And for that I’m truly sorry. That date has always belonged to Matthew so I never gave it a second thought. I’ve been caught up in my own selfish head, dwelling on Matthew, then falling in love with Drew and being unsure about our future and his feelings for me and puzzling over what-ifs I have no easy answer for.
“Is that a problem?” Drew’s question pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to face him again.
“Yes.”
“Because…?”
I wrap my arms around myself. “It has to do with Matthew.”
“Okay.” Drew’s expression is blank. His eyes void of emotion. “I sense I’m not going to like what you have to say?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Go ahead, anyway.”
“Matthew is coming back that day. He was always coming back that day. When he left, we agreed to meet one year later. On July twelfth.”
Drew clenches his jaw.
“Since we broke up amicably and were together for such a long time, we promised each other we’d meet after his work assignment ended, no matter what, and see if we still had feelings for each other.”
The devastated look on Drew’s face kills me. Silence falls between us like a brick wall.
When it
’s clear he’s not going to say anything, I apologize. I will apologize a hundred times if I have to. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It honestly slipped my mind until recently.”
“It slipped your mind?” he says harshly.
“Yes,” I say softly.
“When were you going to tell me? The other night before I was buried deep inside you and then you screamed my name?”
“Yes,” I say, ashamed of myself.
“So, this whole time we’ve been together, you’ve been what? Biding your time until you see your ex again?”
“What? No,” I quickly say. “That’s not true at all. I’m with you because I want to be. Because I can’t imagine not spending time with you. I care about you. About us.” I love you.
“You care about me.” He rubs the back of his neck. “How am I supposed to believe that when you’ve been lying to me?”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“You still have a fucking boyfriend, Alejandra. How is that not lying?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. I told you that. I told you that we agreed to break up. And then I told you that he was coming back.”
“But you conveniently didn’t mention he was coming back for you. Big difference between coming back home because it’s where you’re from and maybe running into each other, and setting a date to actually meet.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I was meeting him. That was wrong, I see that now, but please forgive me. You mean something to me.”
“I guess the question is do I mean more to you than Matthew?”
“It’s not about who means more.” Can’t he see it’s about a promise I made to a person who was an important part of my life for a very long time? I owe Matthew a face-to-face. Don’t I?
“It kind of is,” Drew says, exasperated.
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t. I don’t understand how someone I trusted completely and told things I haven’t told anyone else, kept something this important from me. You had plenty of chances to come clean, and you didn’t.”
“I suck, okay?” I hug one of the pillows on the couch to my chest. “I was caught up in you, Drew. In us. And deep down—” I hate the truth that just popped into my mind “—deep down, I think I knew telling you might push you away and I didn’t want that.” I take a shaky breath. “Everyone I’ve loved has left me. I lost my parents. I lost my grandparents. I made this agreement with Matthew because I didn’t want to lose my first love, too.”
Hot Shot (American Royalty Book 3) Page 18
