Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

DANI

I flip over again, to my back this time, and force my eyes to stay closed by squeezing them tightly.

Sleep, Dani. You need to rest.

I think I've slept maybe three hours all night, and that wasn't in one stretch. No, I've been tossing and turning, flipping and flopping since I lay down because my brain hasn't shut up all night.

When I'm asleep, I'm dreaming of Kyle. And when I'm awake, all I can think about is what he said. No, what he promised. Multiple orgasms?

The idea is preposterous. I don't think it's even possible outside of some bad acting in a porn video, despite Kyle seeming pretty sure of himself.

Still, something like that isn't how I'm built. I'm lucky—and I do mean lucky —if I get one orgasm during sex, and that's not even a certainty. The only ex who did manage to make me come every time was one who did want step-by-step directions but thankfully listened. But once I came, we moved on to other activities, namely him getting his.

The idea of that many is ridiculous. Like Kyle himself.

He's annoying, that's for sure. And he pisses me off like no one ever has.

But the way he kissed me?

The truth is, the only reason I pushed him away was because that kiss left me with only two options. Either I pushed him away or I dragged him to my bedroom. Or the floor, option three.

I flip over again, this time to my side, and peel my eyes open, wondering what he would've thought of my bedroom. It's nothing special—a full bed covered in a bed-in-a-bag comforter set I got on sale, a dresser I got off the curb and scrubbed clean, and a chair in the corner where I rarely sit.

He probably wouldn't have cared, or even noticed, given the passionate way he devoured my mouth and the way his eyes caressed my body.

I sigh heavily, not second-guessing myself, but rather hundred-eleven-guessing my decision to stop Kyle last night. I definitely had a moment of weakness there for a split second, but who could blame me? I mean, he's hot, a great kisser, and when he's not being a complete asshole, he can be kinda nice. Like at breakfast.

Meanwhile, I'm me. I hate to admit it, but he was right. I don't take care of myself, and I'm not only talking my physical needs. Despite my refusal to take care of a man the way my mother does, in some ways, that's all I do—work to feed the crews, sleep a little, then get up to do it again. Lather, rinse, repeat. I don't have time for relaxation, masturbation, or even a hot shower some days.

He didn't have to throw it in my face, though. Now, it's all I can think of.

When was the last time I had actual sex? Shit, when was the last time I let my fingers do the walking? It's probably too long if I can't remember, right?

My brain says I made the right decision, but my body is still asking me what kind of idiot passes up what Kyle promised. I consider getting myself off, which I've thought about and dismissed all night. Doing that with Kyle on my mind means he won.

And he didn't win.

If I lie here any longer, though, he will. I'm too weak, and now that orgasms are on my mind, my body wants one desperately. Rebelliously, I throw the covers off and climb out of bed, stretching my overly tense and sore limbs. I'm already feeling the miles I ran back and forth from the door to the curb yesterday, and I'll have to do them all again today.

Only if everyone orders.

The sour thought is enough to douse my desire. Work doesn't stop, bills always come, and I have people who need me to put one foot in front of the other, starting now.

In the kitchen, I get to it. Like every other day, I start the coffee pot and then rinse the rice, removing the surface starches before setting it to cook. Up next is starting my outdoor cooker.

I've got two big pieces of meat to do today—first some ‘quick' pork that'll fill today's orders, and then a slow roasted beef that I'll babysit all day so that it's ready for tomorrow. As I'm getting the beef hung in my combination slow roaster and smoker, I hear noise next door.

Despite it being early, Kyle and his crew must already be at it.

I wonder if he got any sleep?

I refuse to check his eyes for tell-tale purple smudges, but I do glance over to see what they're doing today. Kyle's working right along with his men, carrying long pieces of wood to the curly-haired mullet guy, who chops them up with a loud saw. Kyle, the older guy, and the skinny one gather the cut pieces and distribute them throughout the big hole, sliding them beneath the rebar and wire mesh to elevate them. In effect, they seem to be making the skeletal bones of the pool.

I have to grudgingly give it to him… Kyle works hard.

The thought makes me wonder if he'd work as hard… to make me come.

Usually, I'd say no. Men brag about a very specific list of things—their bank accounts, their bench press, and their sexual prowess and/or dick size. Usually, they can't back up any of it.

But for some reason, I think Kyle can back up his bragging.

He'd probably take it as a challenge if I didn't or couldn't come. My lack of orgasms would hurt his ego, I bet.

Then again, given what I felt pressed against my stomach, he has a reason for a big ego.

Even though I'm not actually considering taking Kyle up on his promise, the thought of that kiss keeps me distracted through the morning while I run laps from my front door to the curb, taking orders out to the line of trucks. Things go faster, the guys seem to be a lot more accepting of the situation I'm in, and Kyle's truck is nearly touching the trailer behind him, giving me a tiny bit more room, which makes me happier.

My improved mood does not go unnoticed.

"You're looking good today, Dani," Leon, a plumber who always swings by, says as he takes his order. "Nice to see that smile again."

To be fair, there are some customers who think they have the right to tell me to ‘smile more' because they buy lunch from me. Like I'm their midday entertainment. Most of them, I quickly set straight and we get on with business. That's not Leon, though. He's a sweet guy who truly wants everyone to be happy and will do what he can to help others.

"Thanks. Got an early start," I say, though my extra prep time this morning has nothing to do with it.

"Whatever it is, it looks good on you," Leon says, handing me a ten. "Have a good one. I'll be by tomorrow."

The rest of the deliveries go smoother than orders have gone all week, but by the end of lunch, I'm exhausted. I'd love to sit down for a minute, but the pile of pots and pans stacked in my sink says that's not happening. Plus, I still have beef roasting outside that'll need attention for a few more hours.

I sigh heavily and start my next shift—clean-up duty.

Turning the water to skin-melting hot, I stare out the window over the sink. I wouldn't admit it to anyone but myself, but I'm looking for Kyle. I've been too busy to even glance toward Kathy's house today, so I haven't seen him, his strong arms, or his sexy smile.

But Kyle and his crew are nowhere to be seen.

Whatever. My little fantasy about Kyle, and the tiny bit of anticipation I allowed to build up while thinking of his attempt to back up his bragging, has worn off and I'm barely running on fumes at this point.

I make it through a hefty stack of pots, my irritation growing with every circular scrub of my steel wool. Everyone else has gone home for the day, yet here I am, still working my ass off. One dish at a time, one day at a time, over and over, yet barely scraping by.

As I set my rice cooker to soak, there's a knock at my door. Expecting it to be Kyle and having no more energy to fight with him, or fight my own physical needs, I don't bother turning around and instead, just shout in the general direction of the front door, "Fuck off."

"Excuse me, Daniela?" a male voice answers.

Shit. It's not Kyle.

That's my older brother, Xavier.

I look heavenward, wondering why God hates me so much. Xavier is the last thing I need today. Still, I grab a dishtowel and dry my hands as I walk toward the door.

"Come on in," I tell him as he barges in without invitation before I can get there. The knock was apparently nothing more than a simple formality. I'm not surprised. Xavier likes to think that he's my father's stand-in and that I'm some responsibility he has to bear until I have a man who'll take over that role. They're both traditional like that. Or at least, they'd call it traditional. I'd call it misogynistic. But you know, to-may-to, to-mah-to.

He's dressed sharply, in gray slacks with a crisp line down the front and a button-down blue shirt that's open at the collar to show his gold chain and has the sleeves rolled up to show his gold watch. His hair looks freshly styled, though I know he fixed it this morning before leaving the house. He works hard, but his job as a car salesman is more talking and desk sitting than sweating and actual labor, which is why he looks daisy-fresh and I look and smell like sunshine and salt. And not in a fun, beachy way.

Xavier doesn't come around often, not to my house, so this can't be good. For either of us. He's likely here to lay down some antiquated law I'm supposed to obey, with talks of what I ‘should do' and ‘could be', and I'm in no mood to deal with his bullshit. He's barely said three words and I can already tell this is going to go poorly.

Especially when he looks past me at the messy kitchen filled with half-clean and half-dirty dishes and frowns in distaste.

"How goes the serving of the poor, hungry masses?" he asks. He tries to flash his salesman's smile, but he can't hide the snark from me.

Xavier has always thought himself too good to serve, whether at the family restaurant, at home, or even now, in his own marriage. My sister-in-law, Mara, takes care of Xavier and their two kids, my niece, who's six, and my nephew, who's three. She seems truly happy with that arrangement, so I'm happy for her. But I have no interest in that type of relationship. Actually, put me down for negative interest in that.

Or any relationship, I remind myself.

"Great." That's enough conversation on that topic as far as I'm concerned, so I turn, giving him my back as I return to the kitchen and my dishes.

I don't know why he bothers to ask. It's the same answer I always give him. Even when I was starting out and trying to figure out how to make this unusual setup work, I never let Xavier know it was anything other than perfect. If he had the slightest hint that anything was wrong, he'd tell me to get a ‘real job', or even better, get married and take care of a husband and then kids. In his mind, that's what I'm destined for, so why fight it?

And I most definitely won't share that I'm having some temporary issues while Kyle's working next door. It'd make Xavier's day for me to admit defeat and follow the path he thinks I should take.

"Hmm," he hums, not believing me for a minute. Thankfully, that's not why he's here and he gets to the point quickly, probably ready to disinfect himself from the molecules of food and detergent floating in the air. "Mama and Papa are worried about you." He looks around for a place to lean his butt, and when he doesn't find a spot he deems pristine enough for his hundred-dollar slacks, he settles for propping his shoulder against the side of the fridge. "You haven't been by in so long. To hear Mama tell it, you've all but abandoned them."

"I skipped one Sunday, and I called to let Mama know," I correct. I don't need his guilt trip, or Mama's. I could send myself on a worldwide tour with all the guilt I pile on myself. "I've been busy. You know we're in the middle of construction season, so there are more orders than usual."

The truth is, after eating breakfast with Kyle on Saturday, I couldn't go grocery shopping without my stomach threatening to revolt, and those pancakes were too good to risk ruining like that. I'd had to push shopping off to Sunday so that I was ready for the week, which meant no visit to my parents.

"Nothing is more important than family," he reminds me, as if I'm too stupid to prioritize my own life and need him to guide me through it. "We're certainly more important than those sweaty, smelly?—"

"Watch it," I warn, glaring over my shoulder to stop him before he can say something truly offensive. "Those people put a roof over our heads for our entire childhood," I point out. "They put shoes on our feet and clothes on our backs. Maybe not department store loafers like you're wearing now, but what Mama and Papa provided for us worked. And they were able to give us that because of customers like the ones I serve now."

He sighs in frustration. This is our never-ending back and forth. We came from the same upbringing, with the same foundation of hard work, integrity, and stubbornness. He used it as a stepping stone, climbing a social and professional ladder while looking back on where he came from with derision and distaste. I'm still living the same life we grew up in—pinching pennies, fighting for a moment's peace, and not caring about what some snooty person thinks of me. As evidenced by my continual battle with my neighbor.

The difference between me and my brother, though, is that he thinks he's made it, becoming something greater than me, Mama, or Papa, while I think he's an insufferable jerk whose ego has outgrown his humble beginnings. I wouldn't trade places with him if I could. Of course, he wouldn't trade places with me, either.

I bite back another sharp comment, knowing it'll do no good, and go back to cleaning while Xavier watches me. My new plan? Let him say what he came to say and get out of here so I can finish work. My bed is calling my name.

"You still do it that way," Xavier says as I put a crusted-up pot of sauce on my stove, this time filled with water and a citric acid tablet. "The old school methods."

"It works, it's cheap, and it's less chemical-y than some of the alternatives," I tell him. "Unless you're offering to buy me a pressure washer for my birthday?" I lift my brows, questioning him.

My birthday isn't for months, but it's good to plant the seed of an idea with him well ahead of time. That way, by the time my birthday actually rolls around, he'll think it was his idea all along.

"What?" Xavier balks in horror. "No."

I shrug, not surprised. "Then yeah, every day will end with citric acid and a hot stove."

Xavier looks hurt. Last year, he got me a thin, delicate gold bracelet and was upset that I didn't appreciate it the way he hoped. But seriously? Where am I going to wear something like that? It's been in the top drawer of my dresser ever since, tucked into the box from the jewelry store where he bought it.

"You're better than dreaming of a pressure washer to scrub pots," Xavier says. "Come on, Dani, it's time to stop this madness. It's time to settle down. Hell, even with one of those guys if you want." He gestures out front as if the lineup of trucks that's usually in front of my house is there right now, only instead of guys waiting for lunch, they're all waiting to be my husband. "I know what a master plumber or carpenter makes. Pick someone and make a life together. Be happy."

"I am happy."

He cocks his head, surveying my life in one fell swoop. Dirty kitchen, messy hair, sweaty clothes, a long night still ahead of me.

Not able to argue with what he sees, I try a different angle. "What you really mean is pick someone and make Mama and Papa happy."

"They worry about you. We all do." He means him and Mara, too. Everyone thinks it's time for me to settle down, like at the ripe, old age of twenty-five, I'm past my expiration date and gonna start curdling like spoiled milk.

I grit my teeth, warming up to unleash a proper, profanity-laced rebuttal that'll have Xavier thinking I'm not fit for polite company, much less marriage, but I'm thwarted by movement by the back door.

Who the fuck is in my yard? Nobody should be there. I will absolutely have Kathy arrested for trespassing if she's crossed my property line again.

My eyes jerk over to see Kyle, one hand cupped to the screen so he can see through it better. I thought Kyle and his crew had already left for the day. But I guess not. "Dani? You okay? There's a BMW in your driveway, you know that?"

I get the sense that his other hand is on the door handle and he's ready to spring into action in my defense, if needed. Actually, he probably already decided I wasn't in imminent danger because he called out, rather than busting through the door, which seems more his style.

This should be fun. Not.

"You," I tell Xavier, "don't say a word. Gimmie a minute."

My brother arches a sharp brow at being told what to do, but thankfully, he doesn't say anything as I walk toward the back door.

It must be ‘no invitation needed' day or something, because much like my brother did, Kyle opens the back door and lets himself in. I feel his eyes skate over me, but they quickly return to Xavier like he's assessing the newcomer.

I wonder what Kyle thinks of my brother with his fancy clothes, fancy hair, and expensive watch. I don't think Kyle's the type to be impressed by that, or intimidated, which earns him approximately two-point-six points in my estimation. "Hello, I'm Kyle," he offers, his voice hard as he holds his hand out. "Your car, I take it?"

Xavier pauses, his nose wrinkling in revulsion as he looks at Kyle's hand. I'm embarrassed to be related to my pretentious brother at this moment, but Kyle makes no excuses and offers no explanations for the dirty state of his hand, just holds it out like it's a test… of Xavier. Finally, my brother shakes Kyle's hand, but it's over well before the three-pump rule and I can tell Xavier wants to wipe his hand on his slacks but doesn't want to dirty them.

If I were a better sister, I'd offer him my dishtowel, but I'm kinda enjoying his discomfort. It serves him right for being such a stuck-up snob.

"Xavier Becerra," Xavier says, his voice slipping immediately into the fake as hell salesman voice he's cultivated. "Daniela's brother."

He says it like it's a royal title. No, that's not right. He says it like it puts him over me and Kyle on the hierarchy in the room. But that particular pyramid only exists in Xavier's mind.

Kyle's lips lift into a lopsided smile as he turns his attention to me, and I suddenly feel at a massive disadvantage. " Daniela ?" he repeats, sounding like he's experiencing my name on his tongue, not just saying it.

"Kyle," I say, more sharply than I mean to. He only just graduated from ‘Miss Becerra' to ‘Dani', and now he wants to tease me over my full name? Absolutely not.

His brows lift, and I know I've confirmed a trigger point. I don't know why something as simple as my name bothers me, but it does. Probably because I only ever hear it in disappointment.

"Sorry I'm late. Had a situation with the wire mesh," he says, reaching into his pocket. "But I'm a man of my word, and I've got your money, with yesterday's too since we got distracted?—"

"You're bringing money to my sister?" Xavier interrupts, thankfully asking about the cash, not what distracted us.

"Yeah, I owe her money from?—"

"Lunches!" I shout. "He's paying for his crew's lunches!"

Kyle's blue eyes bore into me, his full lips pressed into a flat line. I have no right to ask a favor after the way I've treated him, but I do, sending him a pleading look that begs him to go along with me. He thoughtfully glances from me to Xavier, trying to quickly calculate the situation.

He said he has a sister, so I can only hope that he understands that a woman doesn't tell her brother everything. Especially when it involves an overzealous pursuer and a rough income patch.

"Yeah, Daniela makes the best food," Kyle says. "She's amazing."

It's not the compliment that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It's the way Kyle says my name this time, deep and rumbly in his chest. I've never heard it like that. Kyle makes it sound sexual, and I'm not the only one who notices.

Xavier's jaw goes tight as he stares Kyle down.

Xavier is used to being a big shot, having worked his way up at the car dealership to be one of the top dogs, and he won't let anyone forget that for a moment. But Kyle doesn't seem to give a single shit about that. In fact, he stares right back at Xavier with a little smirky tilt to his lips like this dominance showcase showdown is cute.

Kyle's not posturing or doing anything, really, merely standing in my kitchen in his dirty work clothes, looking right at home against Xavier's fancy outfit and family title. But I swear Kyle could boop Xavier on the nose and I wouldn't be surprised. He's that unaffected.

Though he could probably punch Xavier without a second thought and I wouldn't be surprised either, especially given the speed of his reaction to Joshua.

But I don't need either of them to get any ideas, so I push between them, breaking up their eye staredown. Giving Xavier my back, I tell Kyle, "You owe for yesterday and today, so an even hundo. You got a Benjamin, or am I taking twenties?"

Yeah, I sound completely unlike me, but I'm scrambling a little here. I told Kyle he didn't have to pay for Joshua's crew, but if he's offering, I'm taking, though I'm going to owe him for covering for me with Xavier.

Shit. I'm going to owe Kyle now. There's no telling what he'll want in trade.

You wouldn't mind a little tit-for-tat, especially the tit part.

I tell the slutty part of my brain to shut the fuck up before she gets us in more trouble, and as if he can hear my thoughts, Kyle flashes me a wide grin as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. "Yeah, hundred bucks. Here you go. A fresh, crisp Benjamin Franklin."

He holds the money out between us, and I feel like taking it is dangerous, like he might grab my wrist and pull me in for another kiss, my brother be damned. Unsure, I carefully grip the bill between my thumb and finger and pull it from Kyle's hand while he looks at me like he's on the verge of eating me. I swear my brain is on his side because I'm chanting multiplication tables like that's what Kyle promised— two, four, six, eight, multiple O's are oh-so-great! Who knew I had cheerleader skills in me?

Xavier leans forward over my shoulder and dismisses Kyle, clearly not happy with the tension between us. "You paid. Goodbye."

Kyle drags his eyes from mine to Xavier, and I watch as his smile goes from warm and sexy to cold and dangerous without a blink. It's as if all the charm simply evaporates into the ether, leaving nothing but ice in his veins. He could easily drop Xavier, I suspect. But seeing my chin shake back and forth a scant few millimeters, he accepts my lead and steps back, his demeanor going friendly again. "Yeah, I'm heading out. See ya tomorrow, Daniela. We'll be on site bright and early if you need anything."

He leaves, and for the first time, I think I'm sad to see him go. He didn't know the full situation, but even in the way he said goodbye, I felt protected by him. Like, okay, I'll trust you. But I will be checking on you tomorrow, and if there's even a single scrape on your cheek, this guy's going to end up under Kathy Wilson's pool.

It's sweet and infuriating at the same time, the way he's almost claiming me. That's exactly what I don't want—some guy who thinks I need him when I'm fine on my own.

If that's true, then why are there butterflies in your belly, huh?

"I take back what I said," Xavier declares as Kyle disappears back over the fence to Kathy's yard, noticeably not heading toward his truck out front. "No tradesmen for you." He makes it sound as if that's something I was fighting for, not fighting against in the first place.

"Xavier—"

"And what are you thinking, letting one of those guys into your house?" Xavier demands. "It's not safe."

I can't help it, I snicker. Like I'm not more aware of my own safety than my brother. Not to mention, Kyle's already protected me twice now—first against Joshua, and now against a visitor he didn't know was my brother. "Fine, if I go missing, check next door, Zave. That's where he's working, building a pool for my annoying neighbor." I throw an arm wide, indicating Kathy's house. I'm not taking him seriously, which only irritates him further.

"It's not appropriate, either."

"Excuse the fuck outta me?" I bark.

There is no way in hell my brother is making me out to be some easy woman because Kyle came in to pay me for his lunches. Well, technically, he wasn't paying me for his lunches, but as far as Xavier knows, he was. And even if Kyle were coming over for a nightly suck and fuck after a day's work, it's approximately zero percent Xavier's business.

Xavier must realize he's gone too far because he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. After a long second, he meets my furious glare with a look of defeat. "Daniela, you're better than some pretty boy crew boss who gives half his female clients the fifteen percent ‘just the tip' discount and is off doing it again with someone else the next week. That's all I meant."

Brutal, but not entirely wrong. I've seen it before, guys who go through girlfriends like I go through scrubbing sponges. But it's not as common as Xavier makes it sound. Most of the crews I feed are full of good guys who work a hard, honest day's labor to take care of their families.

"Xavier, you're my brother and I love you, but you're wrong," I tell him. "Or have you forgotten the people you talked to when you worked at the restaurant?"

He flinches visibly, and I swear his eyes cut left and right as if someone might overhear me mentioning his sordid, pre-car sales work history.

Xavier likes to pretend he never worked at Papa's restaurant, but he did. As a dishwasher, which is why he knows the citric acid trick.

"I haven't forgotten. But you also didn't know the customers the way you think you did. You were a kid, Daniela. They didn't tell you things on purpose," he says dismissively.

That's probably true, at least when I was younger. But I worked in the kitchen, in the office, and waited tables until the bitter end, long after everyone stopped treating me like a child. I know who had a past, who was dangerous, who was cheating, and who was snorting their paychecks up their nose. But I also knew which guys were respectable, kind, honest people who'd give you the shirt off their back even if it left them cold.

"I serve good food to good people. Is that so hard for you to imagine?" I ask. When he scoffs, I continue, "I've gotten to know them. And I don't mean just the crew guys, but also some of their wives, their children. They share their kids' report cards with me, invite me to their quinceaneras and cookouts, and we swap recipes and ingredients. They're good people, Xavier," I say again, wishing he could hear me. Not with his ears, which work fine, but with his heart.

I don't know when or why he got so pompous, but it makes me not like him very much, which sucks because at the end of the day, he's my family.

"I don't want you to struggle. You know that, right? I see how hard you work and want better for you."

He doesn't understand, doesn't see the irony that he wants me to do exactly what I'm doing now—cook and clean—but for only one man, not a business's worth. But I do. My way, I'm in charge, my own boss, doing things my way. Xavier's way? I'll trade Papa's control for Xavier's for my husband's, and I refuse to live that life. I respect Mama and Mara and love them deeply, but I do not want their life.

"Speaking of, shouldn't you get home? Mara's probably already fed the kids dinner, given them their baths, and put them to bed." I mean it to sound exactly how it does, like she's done more than her fair share. Xavier's a good father, in the way he knows how to be. He loves his children, takes care of them, and plays with them, but I bet he's changed less than five diapers in total and couldn't tell you their favorite food if his life depended on it.

He might be the partner Mara wants, or accepts, but I would never put up with that. Which is why I'm single, and staying that way. No matter what Xavier, Mama, or Papa think about it.

We're not going to reach any resolution tonight, and Xavier has done what he was sent to do—remind me of what's expected—so he leaves, heading home to eat the dinner Mara will heat up for him with a smile and a warm greeting.

And I still have my roast to babysit and dishes to wash.

It's several minutes later when, elbow-deep in an almost-clean pot, I hear a rumbling outside and realize it's Kyle's truck. He stayed until Xavier left and probably waited to see if I was going to need him, and is only now pulling away from the curb.

Sometimes, I think Kyle's one of those good people I was talking about. Other times, I think he's a bad boy.

Can he be both? I don't know. Nor am I going to figure it out tonight when my brain is a fuzzy pile of mush inside my skull. The only thing I know for sure is that I'm gonna sleep like the dead tonight.