“So, where are we meeting tonight, anyway?” I toss the rest of my gear into the truck and shut the door behind me.
Luc shrugs. “Where else? The Big Lake Tavern. It’s the best for happy hour on Fridays.” He pats me on the back. “Glad you’re coming out, Manny.” Then he hops into his truck and starts it up, the loud engine roaring to life, as he waits for me to back out first.
I climb into my truck and lower the window. “See you there,” I call out, pulling out of the job site just as he reverses and follows, both of us leaving the parking spots the owners had told us to use.
When I get home, I see a note from my mom.
Mijo,
I took Catalina to the library to pick out some books, and then we are going for ice cream. I am making your favorite, arroz con pollo with a pot of frijoles charros, so don’t worry about dinner. There will be plenty of food left when you get home.
Amá
I groanafter reading the note. I pick up the bottle of antacids and notice I’m almost out. “Too bad she doesn’t grab me some more antacids,” I mutter, shaking out the last few tablets. I strip off my work clothes and toss them into the washing machine, setting it to soak before the wash cycle kicks in. I take a shower, washing a day’s worth of grime, and pull on a pair of jeans, but change my mind. Choosing comfort instead, I grab some black joggers, with a fitted black t-shirt, and white sneakers. It’s Lululemon, and I don’t care what anyone thinks. Those shirts are so fucking soft, and the joggers match, so zero apologies given.
I pull into the packed parking lot. Walking toward the tavern, I follow the thump of music that can be heard from the outdoor patio where I am greeted with panoramic views of the vast, blue lake ahead. Inside, the place is equally packed. I scan the crowd until a hand shoots up, waving me over. I lift my chin in acknowledgmentand weave my way through the crowd toward Luc, Luis, and several other crew members as they lift their beers in a salute. They scoot down, and Luc jumps up, disappearing into the crowd as I slide into the picnic-style seating with my back to the patrons. A moment later, Luc plops beside me with a bucket of beers on ice. He twists the cap off, handing me one.
“Here you go, boss,” he says. “Good to have you out here with us. We thought you were ignoring us.”
I smirk. “Nah, bro. Just don’t have a lot of childcare options.”
He lets out a laugh. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. Did you try posting up at the rec center?”
I take a swig of my beer. “Yep, I just posted it this week. I had a couple of interviews that didn’t work out, with some people I knew in town recommending their niece or friend, but that was a disaster. I hope someone at the rec center will respond to this post. I need the help. As much as I love my mom and her help, I also need my space. I shouldn’t even complain, but?—”
His hand halts me mid-sentence. “Say no more. My mother-in-law stayed with us for three weeks to help. It was the longest time of my life.”
I shake my head. “She’s folding my underwear in quarters, bro. They, like, fit in my hand.” I stick out my hand, and beer flies out of Luc’s mouth.
“Stop, I’m dying.” My hand is wet, and some guys were unlucky enough to get caught in the beer spray. I stand up and slide out of the picnic table.
“I’ll grab some napkins,” I tell the group that is cursing at Luc for his outburst. I see the bartender preoccupied with a young blonde-haired girl, and I decide to take matters into my own hands, leaning over to grab at a stack of cocktail napkins. “That should do the trick,” I mutter.
As I step back, I collide headfirst into the intoxicating smell of lavender and roses. I find myself breathing in her heady floral scent, and the startled gasps from the woman lets me know she realizes I am a total hair sniffer. Groaning inwardly, I become painfully aware that I’m still holding onto her, and she has her hand pressed firmly against my chest. Her touch is warm and inviting, as I feelmyself gravitating toward her. She leans in slightly, just enough as her fingernails graze against the fabric of my shirt and press gently into my pecs, causing me to jolt at the contact.
She looks up at me, startled, and I see those whiskey-colored eyes staring up at me like she did when she was on her knees at the diner. This is the second time now. Wait. Is she stalking me? My eyes narrow, and I release her before she can get her footing. I drop her like I’ve been burned, and boy, have I been burned before.
I lean in like I’m going to tell her a secret only meant for her ears. “You should be careful where you’re going, mi cariño.” My mouth is so close to her that my words caress her cheek, contradicting the frosty blue of my eyes that narrow in on hers. My body heats as I stare her down. Her breath hitches, and her lips part slightly. I can tell she wants to say something—anything, but being this close to her confuses me because my mind says one thing, but my body betrays me by acting out. What makes me so drawn to her? But I already know what it is—like calls to like. When I look into her eyes, I feel it. The same loneliness is there—the sadness and the betrayal. Whatever happened to this girl, she is just like me. She looks so fucking sad that I just want to grab onto her, hug her, but I know that would be a mistake. My cock twitches, and I know she feels it because she releases her hold on my shirt, pushing away from me and walking off. I miss the loss of her body heat instantly, and I fight the urge to pull her back, ridiculous as the thought may be. So, I stand there for a few moments, trying to get my emotions in check and for my cock to go down before I head back to the table where the guys are getting a little loud.
“Screw this.” I motion to the bartender, close my tab, and walk over to the table of my fellow crew to say goodbye. I don’t see her return from wherever she went, and I vow to keep my distance from her should I run into her again. I mean, how hard can it be?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ilet Savannah enjoy her night of margarita bliss, and I stopped at one alcoholic drink at the tavern because I was driving home. There’s been enough car accidents in my lifetime, so I’m still very cautious when I get into any car. I try to block out what happened to my parents not long ago, and I don’t think I’ll ever feel the same after having survived them. It only takes one impaired person to ruin lives—those that they either injure or kill, but especially those left to live after the lasting destruction caused by that one bad decision.
Tonight, we decide to order pizza and stay in, watching movies and catching up. Once we get home, I make drinks for us. Savannah has her arm thrown around my shoulder as we sit cross-legged on the couch, with more margaritas in our handsbut minus the fruit flavor from last night. “He was cute, right?”
I lick the salty rim that replaced the sugary one of the watermelon margarita yesterday. “Who? I mean, I guess if you like the whole,” I move my hand around in a circle, envisioning his brooding presence, “tall, dark, and handsome look mixed in with some major alpha hole.” I shrug. Midway through drinking from my glass, I feel Savannah’s stare. I turn to her. “What?” I finish a big gulp, but it goes down hard.
She puts her glass on the coffee table before us and turns to face me completely. “Hold up.” Her hand, which was on my shoulder moments ago, has her fingernails clicking together in front of me as she says it. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Her words sound cruel, but the twinkle in her eyes tells me she’s not letting this go.
“Um. I don’t remember. The alcohol is confusing me. Who are you talking about?”
She waggles a finger at me. “Nuh, uh. You are not getting out of this, and I know you have had just as much to drink as I have, so stop with the excuses and spill the tea.” She squeals. “Who is this ‘alpha hole’ you are talking about?”
I place my drink on the end table and bring a hand up to my forehead, rubbing off the impending migraine that will likely ensue after Savannah attempts to coax every little detail about the stranger. I can’t say that I am not intrigued myself. I bite the side of my bottom lip. “Well,” I begin, “I saw this guy at the diner the other morning.”
“Woah, hold up. What diner? I need you to be more specific.” Her hand slices through the air.
