Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

DANI

" C ome in and sit for a cup," I tell Nessa as she drops the last bag of my supplies to the floor by the front door.

"Sit? Who are you and what have you done with my friend?" Nessa balks, eyeing me suspiciously.

She's right, I don't usually stop working, much less actually sit down. There's no time in my life for luxuries like that. But…

"I understand, you're busy and gotta go. Just thought you might want to hear about my evening."

Nessa's jaw drops open and her eyes pop wide. "Ohmagawd, did you do it? Did you fuck Sugarbear? Girl, gimme a cup, double sweet, double cream, and spill the beans, pronto."

I don't simply pour a cup of generic brew. That's for desperate times only. For things like this, I know how to make a to-die-for cafecito . I learned from a friend of Papa's, Mr. Alamar. He was a real Cubano , born in an era before Castro, and taught me so that I could make him one to accompany his daily lunch when he came to the restaurant. He said it was his afternoon jet fuel, and he was right, because I can't have one after about ten AM or I won't sleep a bit. As it is, I'll be flying through today like my feet have wings even though I'm drinking this before eight in the morning.

My stovetop espresso is ready, and I add a small amount of it to a cup with some sugar. Whipping it to a foam, I start to tell Nessa, "I didn't fuck him, but I've been thinking about it."

The eager excitement in Nessa's eyes starts to dim. " Thinking about it? Hell, I've been thinking about it. I bet ninety percent of the women he meets think about it."

I give her a dark look, not liking the sound of that. But since I'm a good friend, I finish her drink, pouring the espresso in, checking that the crema foam rises to the top, and then setting it in front of her before making my own.

Once I've sat down too, I take a sip. "Ahh," I sigh. Nessa slaps the table, reminding me to get on with my story, seeing as I invited her in to share it. I swallow, not the strong morning brew but my nerves, and tell her, "He came over last night after they finished working, ended up helping me do the dishes, so I fed him lunch leftovers as a thank you."

"And…?" Nessa prompts, pointing at me. "That twinkle in your eyes isn't about leftovers."

"I thought he was gonna kiss me again. He didn't, but I wanted him to." That admission alone is a big share for me, but I add, "And he said he's been thinking about me, wondering if I fuck as good as I fight." Nessa grins triumphantly, like she has anything to do with it. I lean forward, even though there's no one around to hear me reveal, "He said that he does."

Three, two, one… We both dissolve into giggles. I can't remember the last time I giggled. It's probably been longer for that than since I had sex.

"You have to find out if he can put his dick where his mouth is," Nessa orders me, then pauses, replaying what she just said. Hearing that it's hopefully accurate, she nods. "You deserve a good dicking, girl."

I gape at her stupidly, then try to cover it by taking a sip of my cafecito . "I can't just fuck him for fun."

"You absolutely can! That's exactly what you do," she argues. When I don't relent, she says, "You know about my situationship?" She pauses, and I nod. "Yeah, we have an understanding. Neither of us has the time or desire for a real relationship, but what we do have is amazing chemistry. So when the timing's right, we hook up, scratch that itch in the best way possible, and then go on about our lives a little happier, and a helluva lot less stressed. Sex doesn't have to be some magical, mystical, big damn deal that only happens when we're in love and leads to marriage 100% of the time. It can be fun… and messy… and hot… and easy." Nessa squirms as she describes what sex can be before pinning me with a hard look. "If you let it be. And you need to let it beee , girl."

I know that's true for Nessa, and I've never given it a second thought where she's concerned. I just cheer her on and give her a high-five when she shares a particularly sexy story, like a good friend should.

But me? I grew up thinking my first time to have sex would be on my wedding night to a man my parents loved, who loved me, and who was also a virgin. It was ingrained into me along with all my parents' traditional values. And while I'm definitely no virgin, I'm not exactly super experienced, either. I've dated a bit, but the full-blown relationships I've had were all long-term, parentally approved, with a potential end goal of a happily ever after. They also didn't center sex as a big factor. Well, with Roman, it was definitely an issue, but that's because he was screwing nearly every girl he met, not only me.

Could I do what Nessa's suggesting, have sex with Kyle and it not be a thing ? For him, probably. That's how guys are. For me? I don't know. I've ripped out a lot of the pages my parents wrote their lessons onto, but a casual hookup with a muscled, motorcycle-riding, pierced, hot guy who'll move on in a matter of weeks seems like an even bigger lesson to tear up.

Sensing she's pushing my limits, Nessa takes a heavy draw of her own drink. "Fuck, you're gonna give me palpitations," she claims, patting her chest over her heart. "I better get going, anyway. Have two more big orders scheduled this morning, and hopefully, I can pick up a few more through the app." She takes one more sip, moaning in delight, before making her way to the screen door, where she stops and turns back to me at the kitchen table. "Just think about it. He's sexy, willing, and at a minimum, gives good dirty talk. All signs to go for it."

She's barely through the door when I hear her say loudly, "Oh, hey there, Sugarbear! I didn't know you were here already. Bright and early, ain'tcha?"

Oh. My. God.

Kyle absolutely heard her tell me to go for it and will know that we've been talking about him. I can feel the heat rushing to my face, scalding my cheeks, and my heart starts pounding in my chest in a way that has nothing to do with the massive dose of caffeine I just swallowed and everything to do with utter humiliation.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," I murmur, tossing my cup and Nessa's into the sink with a clatter. I grab the bags from the living room floor where Nessa dropped my delivery, virtually running them to the kitchen table, where I start unpacking them. Boxes slam, bags crinkle, and I keep muttering, as if I can go back in time and slap my hand over Nessa's big mouth. But of course, I can't.

I half expect Kyle to come to my door, gloating and grinning in that annoyingly sexy way of his. But he doesn't. Instead, I hear him yelling next door.

"I know it sucks!" he hollers before there's an incomprehensible reply. "And? Do it anyway."

I peek out the window over the sink and see Zeus and Frogger stomping off angrily while Kyle and Wayne glare at their retreating backs. And standing at her back door is Kathy, a small smirk of victory on her too-thin lips as she watches the drama play out.

What has she done now ? I wonder.

I want to avoid Kyle at all costs after he heard Nessa's comments, and I could easily do that for a few more hours because when I couldn't sleep last night, tormented again with thoughts of Kyle, I decided to be productive. Hence, my cafecito with Nessa and the farm's worth of chicken thighs already halfway cooked in my two commercial-grade, ridiculously-oversized slow cookers. They're currently stationed on my kitchen counter, my rice cooker and beans pot are on the stove, and the pork roast I have in the smoker outside doesn't need to be checked for hours. So I could stay right here, avoid the embarrassment, and ignore anything that brings Kathy joy.

But I find myself walking out the back door as soon as Kathy disappears into her house.

From my patio, I watch the activity next door. It seems the guys are going back into the rebar-framed hole in the ground, giving everything the once-over.

"Morning," I call out, loud enough to get Kyle's attention, but not draw Kathy's because she might not be visible anymore, but she's lurking about. She always is.

Kyle jerks his head my way, and though he's pulled on sunglasses, I can see his frustration in the stony set of his jaw. He sighs heavily but gives a little wave as he heads toward the fence.

"Hey." His voice is flat, emotionless, and nothing like the teasing, flirting, sexy-talking man from last night. He pulls his glasses off, setting them over the bill of his ball cap, and I can see that his eyes are ice cold and fierce right now.

At one point in my life, I would've taken it personally. But I know this look because I've seen it in the mirror on my own face. "Kathy effect? What shit is she pulling now?"

He snarls quietly so that it's just between us, "She claims she saw a raccoon fall into the hole early this morning, and she ‘simply had to rescue the poor creature', so despite being warned that it's an active construction site and signing off that she understands it's not safe for her to be out here, she went in the hole to get the damn thing. Says she ‘doesn't think she messed anything up', but it was still dark and she was high-kneeing it over the grid, and she ‘might've accidentally kicked a pipe or two', so we're rechecking everything." Every other bit of his story is said in his imitation of Kathy's voice with air quotes sprinkled here and there for emphasis.

I cut my eyes back to Zeus and Frogger, who are still on the shallow end, eyes scanning every inch of rebar, while Wayne works with them from the pool's edge.

"Have I told you my special talent?" I say conversationally, seeming to not react to his ridiculous story.

"If it's making annoying people disappear permanently, I've already got a guy for that," he jokes. Well, I think it's a joke, though he says it with a straight face.

I shake my head. "No, not a murder for hire type. But if you're angry, I can make you angrier. Works every time. Wanna try it?"

Kyle looks at me, confusion and interest warring in his gaze, which is melting by degrees in the hot sun as he spends time with me. I can fix that, though.

"I couldn't sleep last night, so I got up around four and started my day, right there in my kitchen." I point behind me at the window that looks out over my porch and Kathy's back yard, so he understands that I can see everything that happens over here. "Kathy never came outside. I would've seen her, probably would've heard her too if she was stumbling around in the dark. But nothing, nada, zippo… complete silence over here. Besides, do you actually think that woman has it in her cold, dead heart to rescue a wild animal from a dirty hole in the ground? She would probably laugh. That's how evil she is."

My talent works perfectly, as always. Kyle grits his teeth as he takes a deep inhale, his hands gripping the fence between us so tightly that his knuckles turn white. "What. The. Fuck."

When he looks back up at me, there's an age-old question in his eyes.

"Who knows why she does anything. Misery loves company?" I suggest. "It's all I've been able to come up with from my dealings with her."

Kyle shakes his head and looks over at his guys, who are making decent progress through the pool, but it's completely unnecessary work. "Fucking bitch." He cuts his eyes back to me. "Sorry."

I lift my shoulders, holding up my hands to show I'm not offended in the slightest. "No worries here. I've called her much worse more times than I can count. On a completely unrelated note, I wouldn't mind getting the number of your guy if you don't mind." I arch a brow at the implication.

He smiles, but it's barely a hint of his usual megawatt one. "I had the inspector scheduled for today and had to call him off. He wasn't available tomorrow, so I'm losing two full days to this shit for no good goddamn reason." He lifts his head, peering into the blue sky like there might be answers there. "Fuck, I might have to push back the concrete delivery too."

"Sorry. I had to go in front of the city council because of her one time. Had to stand up at that stupid podium and explain my business to a bunch of suit-types who don't give a shit about how the lower class live or what they eat, while nearly holding their hands and reading out word-for-word how I'm not breaking any laws, and making sure they understood that I would get a lawyer if they tried to stop me, which was a total bluff. I can't afford a lawyer." I laugh lightly, remembering my perfectly delivered, vaguely threatening speech. "All the while, not telling them to fuck all the way off and take Kathy to hell with them." Kyle meets my eyes, angry on my behalf now. "See, misery does love company."

"Does that make us the sad sacks?" he teases, finally starting to relax.

"No, more like collateral damage in Kathy's campaign to make everyone as miserable as she is," I counter flippantly even though it's a heavy truth. But I'm glad to see his usual good mood returning and want to keep it that way.

I understand why he's mad. Kathy Wilson and her shit-stirring would infuriate a saint, but in this situation, there's nothing to be done about it. Kyle's got to take her at her word, recheck everything, and reschedule the inspection, things he's already doing. Letting the anger fester only hurts him because Kathy's inside, sipping her morning coffee and enjoying her day.

That was a lesson I had to learn the hard way. It's my nature to fight, fight, fight. When I know I'm right, I'm like a dog with a bone and don't want to give up until I've won. But there's no winning with Kathy. Her joy comes from your pain, and there's no changing or fixing that. It's something broken in her, so Kyle has to focus on mitigating the impact of her antics and letting that be good enough.

It's what I've done, for the most part. After she tried every avenue and was shot down time after time, I've stuck to my side of the fence and she's stuck to hers, and we occasionally throw dirty looks at one another, but that's been it for months. Until the pool, which seems like her latest attack.

Ironically, I'm not feeling too bad about Kyle's presence. I mean, his trucks are fucking with me for sure, but the man himself? Anger isn't what rises in me when he comes around now.

He blinks, and I can feel a literal change in the air between us just like that. I'm not sure how he does it, but he does. "I heard Nessa this morning, you know?" I don't respond, other than lifting my brows in a ‘so what?' move. "And I heard you say that you couldn't sleep and were up early." He lays his arms on the fence, stacking his muscled forearms on top of one another as he leans my way, his blue eyes boring into mine. "Does it make me an asshole if I like knowing that I'm driving you crazy too?"

He said last night that I've been on his mind a lot, so it seems only fair that he's occupying mine. "No."

He scrubs at his lip with his thumb. I've noticed he does that when he's about to say something he's not sure he should, like he's testing the words before actually saying them. "Last night, after I left your place, I went to my brother's. My sister-in-law was keeping my dog, and by the time I got there to pick him up, I got the third degree about why I was grinning like a fucking idiot."

I smile, knowing it was because of me. "What'd you tell them?"

"That my latest job has this annoying neighbor that I'm trying to smooth things over with." His eyes drop over me, leaving heat everywhere he looks. "But it wasn't going all that well, and I'm pretty sure she hates me."

"I don't hate you," I say, rolling my eyes because he knows I don't. Or at least, I don't any more.

"Go out with me tonight."

It's not a question, but it's also not an order. It falls into this nebulous area somewhere in between, which leaves me unsure. If he'd asked, I would've said no. If he'd ordered me, I would've said fuck no. But this feels like hazy possibility.

I lick my lips, not sure, but even as doubts rage in my head, I automatically shake my head. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"Can't or won't? Not that it matters, I'll respect it either way, but it hurts less if you've got some parole rule, like house arrest." He looks pointedly at my ankle-monitor-free legs and smiles. But it's the forced one he puts on, not his real smile. I can tell the difference now.

In the few minutes since Nessa gave me her opinion on what I should do with Kyle and I saw him, my brain has been on a fast-track of ideas, playing out scenarios. The truth is… nothing's changed. Not really.

"You're a nice guy, Kyle?—"

He flinches, his head going back like I've shot him with the words. "Ouch, that's a low blow."

I try again. "You are. I feel like it's important to you that I recognize that, and I do see how much you've done to try and help the situation here." I cut my eyes to the curb up front, where his bike is parked. "But this is one of those ‘it's not you, it's me' deals. I'm not date material. I work too many hours, am drowning in worries about my business, have a family that wants to marry me off to literally any guy with a big enough bank account balance, and parents who need me to take care of them, even though they'd be furious I think they can't do it all on their own."

Kyle listens. I feel like he's truly hearing me, which is why the words keep pouring out. I don't mean for them to, but I guess they've been bottled up so long that the slightest relief on the pressure valve of my mouth has them spewing out.

"And I'm a shit girlfriend and will be an even shittier wife. I don't have it in me to put someone else at the top of my priority list right now, maybe ever." I laugh hollowly at the bitter truth. "If I do, I'm not a nurturer like some women are. I see how my mom and my sister-in-law act, and it doesn't even compute for me. I don't understand how or why they do what they do."

I shake my head, countless images of Mama and Mara playing out in my mind—Mama and Papa in the kitchen at the restaurant, with him telling her how to cook as though the recipes weren't hers to begin with, and then later, directing her and me on what to do from his recovery spot in his living room recliner, Mara running around after the kids while Xavier drinks a beer on the back patio, both Mama and Mara preparing plates for their men before themselves or the kids, the way they brag about Papa and Xavier as if marrying them is their biggest accomplishment.

"I don't want to take care of a man-sized toddler who thinks changing the toilet paper roll deserves a pat on the back and taking out the trash merits a blow job. I can't… I just can't…"

I meet Kyle's eyes, ashamed of my own failings, but also… I'm trying to run him off. Still testing here, pushing there, to see how he reacts, just like I was last night.

"Fuck, someone really did a number on you, didn't they?" Kyle asks, peering at me like he can see every ugly bit of my insides splayed open. But he doesn't look horrified. If anything, he looks… curious?

"What?"

"Not everyone's looking for someone to take care of them, Dani. I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

He sounds offended that I think so little of him, which is not what I expected his response to be. At all.

I've told Mama that I don't want to be like her. She says I'm young and stupid, and that one day, I'll meet a man I'll want to take care of. I think she's full of shit and justifying her own life. And when I told my ex, Roman, that I was going to start my lunch business, he'd whined that I wouldn't have time for him and said that was why he had to go elsewhere to get his needs ‘taken care of', putting the blame for his cheating ways on my shoulders.

Kyle's surprising me again. He keeps doing that. As soon as I think I know what he's going to say or do, he does something else… something nice.

"And I happen to like that you're willing to work your sexy ass off to stand on your own two feet, and anyone who thinks less of you for doing so needs to shut the fuck up and get outta your way." His voice is hard, allowing no room for misinterpretation. He's mad on my behalf. And I didn't miss the ‘sexy ass' bit, either.

My jaw drops open in shock at the same time my pussy clenches because that's probably the sexiest thing anyone's ever said to me.

But he's on a roll and doesn't slow down. If anything, he's picking up steam. "Not everyone wants the same thing, and that's okay. I get it—you're busy. I'm busy too—got jobs to run, a house to clean, meals to cook, a dog to look after, bills to pay, and a whole roster of shit to handle… which I'm doing on my own too. I. Get. It. "

He shrugs and swipes at his lip, which makes me extra interested in what he's about to say because he's already throwing my whole brain and body for a roller-coaster-worthy loop.

"I'm not asking you to marry me. I just thought we could go for a ride, eat dinner, talk a little, flirt a lot, and maybe, if I'm lucky, I'd get to kiss you again. A date isn't some prelude to your becoming my mom. I've got one of those, and she hasn't taken care of me for a long time because I'm a full, grown-ass adult, okay? Hell, she wasn't taking care of me much when I was a kid either, so there's that."

"Ask me again," I order before I change my mind again.

Kyle's eyes narrow, questions lurking in their icy depths. But then his lips lift in a tiny smirk. "Go out with me."

Still not a question.

This time, I nod. "I've told you what I'm looking for and what I'm not. If you're fucking around with me, you're gonna be the one hurt." Barbed wire fences, bitchy defenses, flashing warning signs… I'm throwing them all up, and Kyle doesn't even blink. "But I'll be done cleaning up and prepping by six today, then give me an hour to get ready. What should I wear?"

I pray he doesn't say ‘something fancy' because I don't own anything like that. If he says ‘anything', I will show up in fuzzy house shoes and my bathrobe, happy to shoot myself in the foot to prove a point.

"Jeans and closed toe shoes for the bike," he says, practical and not putting anything on me with it. "And to be clear, you haven't said what you're looking for , you've just said you don't want a lot of the same things I don't want."

Huh, that's something I'm gonna have to process because he might be right. I do frame what I want in terms of not wanting what the women in my life have and not doing what they do.

"Okay, I'll see you at seven, then?"

He stretches his arms out in front of him, his hands gripping the fence between us, and his smile is so wide that he looks like a toothpaste commercial. I can't remember the last time I was the cause of a smile like that. Usually, I'm quite the opposite—the smile stealer. Or it seems that way, with my parents always frowning in disappointment and Xavier constantly nagging. But not Kyle. He's happy about tonight, and as he turns around, going back to his crew with a new pep in his step, I find that I'm excited too.

I have a date.