Rules Of Attraction (23 page)

“You’re beautiful.”

She leans forward and trails little kisses across my lips. “Your

turn,” she whispers, then bites her bottom lip as she waits for me to

strip off my shirt.

I immediately toss my shirt to the side.

“Can I touch you?” she asks, as if she doesn’t have complete owner-

ship of my body at this moment.

I take her hand in mine and guide her to my bare skin. When I let

go so she can explore on her own, her fingers trail slow paths up and

down my chest. Each touch sears my skin from the inside out, and when

her fingers linger on the tattoo peeking out of my jeans and dip into

the waistband, it’s almost my undoing.

“What does that say?” she asks as she lightly traces one of my

tattoos.

“Rebel,” I tell her. My fingers weave into her hair and I lean her

toward me. I need to taste her again. I need to feel her soft lips on

mine. We start making out like it’s the first time and maybe our last,

our breaths and tongues collide almost desperately. While she

continues her exploration, I focus all my attention on her. I slide her

bra straps down until they fall loosely on her arms. She leans back and

I can’t imagine a sexier image or a sexier girl than the one sitting atop

me. My pulse quickens in hot anticipation as I slide the silky fabric

aside.

Her fingers go still as my hands touch the sides of her waist and

slide up until my thumbs reach the curve of her breast. Nothing could

prepare me for the wave of emotions I’m feeling right now as I look

into Kiara’s sparkling eyes.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she says so softly it might be

my imagination, then I hear the sound of gunfire.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

In a frenzied panic, I pull Kiara down on the couch and lay atop her

to save her from danger. I look up, confused. Wait, nobody is in the

room besides us. What the hell?

I look at the television screen and see the hero of the movie

standing over the body of a dead guy with blood streaming out of his

chest. The gunshots were coming from the television. I look back at a

stunned, scared, half-naked Kiara.

“Sorry,” I say, moving off her and shifting to the other side of the

couch. “Sorry. It was only the TV.”

My heart is beating faster than a drum at a rock concert. When I

heard the gunshots I’d have done anything to protect her life. Even if

it meant sacrificing my own. The thought of losing her in the same way

I lost my father and almost lost Alex is just too much. I’m practically

hyperventilating from the thought of it.

Fuck.

I broke my number one rule: never get emotionally involved.

Whatever happened to foolin’ around only with girls who want

nothin’ more than a good time? The word ‘amor,’ or the English

equivalent, ‘love,’ isn’t in my vocabulary. I’m not boyfriend material. If

you want love and commitment, don’t come knockin’ at my door. I have

to get out before I’m in too deep.

“It’s okay.” She sits up and leans over me, her body too close. I

can’t think straight when I can feel the heat of her body penetrate

mine. I feel claustrophobic and trapped. I have to get out of here.

I gently move her away so there’s distance between us.

“No, it’s not okay. This isn’t okay.” My reaction to the gunshots puts

everything back into perspective. I can’t do this with Kiara. I press my

palms against my eyes and breathe out a frustrated sigh. “Cover

yourself,” I say, then pick up her shirt. When I toss the oversized T-

shirt to her, I tell myself to avoid meeting her gaze. I don’t want to

see the hurt in her eyes and know I was the one who put it there.

“I w-w-wanted th-th-this,” she stutters in a shaky voice. “Y-y-you

d-d-did, t-t-too.”

Shit. Now she’s so emotional she can hardly get a word out without

stumbling all over it. It would be better for her to hate me than fall in

love with me.

“Yeah, well, I want a girl who’ll fuck around with me, not declare

her undying love.”

“I d-d-didn’t—”

I put up a hand, stopping her. I know what she’s gonna say, that she

never said this would turn into something more. “You said you were

fallin’ in love with me, and that’s the last thing a guy like me needs to

hear. Admit it, Kiara. Girls like you want to cut guys’ nuts off and hang

’em from your rearview mirror.”

I’m rambling like a complete pendejo, the words streaming out of

my mouth without my even thinking about what I’m saying. I know I’m

hurting her with each word. It’s practically killin’ me to do this to her,

but she needs to know I’m not the one who’ll be there to catch her

when she falls. I’ve still got Devlin to deal with, and I might not come

back alive. The last thing I’d ever want is for Kiara to be mourning

someone who didn’t deserve her love in the first place.

“We can be friends—,” I tell her.

“Friends who fool around, without any emotion?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

“I want more.”

“Not gonna happen. You want more, go find yourself another

sucker.” I head for the door, needing to get away from her before I

kneel down and beg her to take me back into her arms and finish what

we started. As I leave her, I try to shove all images of her out of my

head. Fat chance of that anytime soon.

Back in my room, I sit on my bed. There’s no use tryin’ to get any

sleep. I know that’s not gonna happen tonight. I shake my head,

wondering how I got myself into this mess. Leavin’ her in that room was

the first selfless thing I’ve done since I came to Colorado. And I feel

like complete crap.

THIRTY-EIGHT :
Kiara

I sit in the den and go over in my head what happened tonight. As

much as I told myself that fooling around with him wouldn’t make our

relationship serious, I hoped otherwise. I knew exactly what I was

doing, and the fact that it backfired just brought home the fact that

Carlos is right. He’s not boyfriend material. He only wants a girl who’ll

take her clothes off for him without a commitment or promise.

He wants a girl like Madison.

I made a complete fool out of myself tonight. To think that sharing

my body with him would make him change was stupid. Did I really think

an amazing physical connection between us could make him want a

permanent relationship with me? The fact is, I did. When we kissed

tonight it was perfect. It was everything I wanted and expected and

hoped for. As soon as he cupped my face in his hands, I was lost. I

knew nothing I had or could have with Michael would ever compete with

the intensity of what Carlos and I were sharing. Now all of that is

shattered, because Carlos pushed me away. After that, my tongue got

heavy and every word I uttered came out as a stutter.

Oh, I am beyond embarrassed. How am I going to face him in the

morning? Worse, how am I going to face myself?

THIRTY-NINE :
Carlos

I got about two hours of sleep last night. When the sun wakes me

up, I moan and roll over to try and get more sleep. It’s hard to do when

the entire room is painted the same color as the damn sun. Next time

I’m at the hardware store I need to get some black paint to darken

this place to match my mood.

I lie on my side and hold a pillow over my eyes. The next time I

open them, it’s ten. I call mi'amá, just because I need to hear her voice

again. She says that she’s trying to get tickets to visit, and I detect an

excitement I haven’t heard from her in years. It reminds me that I

told Mrs. W. I’d help out at the store today. I’ll send mi'amá the extra

money I make so she can add it to the trip fund.

After I shower, I knock on Kiara’s bedroom door. She’s not there,

so I head downstairs.

“Where’s Kiara?” I ask Brandon, who’s playin’ some computer game

in the Professor’s office.

He’s either ignoring me or doesn’t hear me.

“Yo, Racer!” I yell.

“What?” Brandon says, not turning around.

I stand next to him and check out the game he’s addicted to. On

the screen are a bunch of cartoon characters walking in a park. In the

corner of the screen it says: Commodities: Cocaine, 3 grams; Marijuana,

7 grams.

“What kind of game is this?” I ask the kid.

“A trading game.”

The kid is a damn cyber drug dealer. “Turn it off,” I tell him.

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s stupid.”

“How do you know?” Brandon looks up at me with innocent eyes.

“You’ve never played it.”

“Yeah, I have.” The real-life game. And that’s only because I had to

do it to survive. But Brandon has choices in life, and doesn’t need to

deal drugs to survive. No use in havin’ him play a game that simulates it

when he’s in kindergarten. “Turn it off, Brandon, or I will. I’m not

kiddin’.”

He sticks his chin in the air and continues playing. “No.”

“What’s the problem?” Westford says, walking into the room.

“Carlos told me I have to turn off my game. Daddy, you told me I

can go on your computer and play a trading game. All my friends play

it.”

I point to Brandon. “Your son and his friends are cyber drug

dealers,” I tell his father.

Westford’s eyes go wide and he rushes to the screen. “Drug

dealers? Brandon, what are you playing?”

I walk out of the room when Westford tells Brandon that illegal

drugs are not a commodity. Then he mumbles something about parental

controls and how they can’t replace parents and he should have

supervised more closely.

I wander outside and find Kiara working on her car, her legs and

feet sticking out of the driver’s side door. I watch as she works upside

down, her head under the dash, and a screwdriver in her hands.

“Need help?” I ask.

“Nope,” she says without looking up.

“Can I take a look at the door? Maybe I can fix it.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. It’s busted. You can’t go around with it like that

forever.”

“Watch me.”

I lean against the side of the car. And wait. And wait. If she

doesn’t shimmy herself out in a few minutes I’m tempted to drag her

ass out.

Westford walks out of the house. “Kiara, what time are you and

Carlos going to HospitaliTea?”

“As soon as I can tape this wire together, Dad. It won’t cooperate.”

“You probably need to solder it,” I tell her, although at this point

it’s pretty obvious she doesn’t want any suggestions from me.

“Let me know when you’re ready to go. In the meantime, I need a

word with Carlos.”

Westford crooks his finger at me. “Meet me in my office.”

He doesn’t look or sound too happy with me. Truth is, he shouldn’t

be. Last night I had my hands full with his daughter.

I pass Brandon watching some cartoon in the den on my way to the

Professor’s office.

“What’s goin’ on?” I ask as I take a seat.

“Obviously not this.” He tosses me my shirt from last night. “I

found it on the floor of the den. It’s obvious there was some hanky-

panky going on.”

Okay, so he knows we fooled around. But at least he didn’t find

Kiara’s bra on top of my shirt.

“Yeah . . . things kinda got a little heated after you and Mrs. W.

left the den last night,” I tell him.

“I was afraid of that. Colleen and I believe in open communication

with our kids. And while you’re not one of my own, I’m responsible for

you at this point.” The Professor rubs his hand across his face and

sucks in a breath. “You’d think I’d be prepared for this talk. Once upon

a time I was a teenager and did the same thing in my parents’ house.”

He looks up. “Of course, I was a little more diligent about hiding the

evidence.”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“What, leaving the evidence or you fooling around in my house with

my daughter? And please cut the ‘sir’ bullshit. This isn’t the military.”

“I was the one who forced myself on him, Dad,” Kiara says,

appearing in the doorway. “It was not his fault.”

The Professor winces as he says, “It takes two to tango. I’m not

placing blame or fault. I’m just discussing. I wish your mother was here

to have this talk. Did you, uh, protect yourselves at least?”

Kiara moans, totally embarrassed. “Dad, we didn’t have sex.”

“Oh,” he says. “You didn’t?”

I shake my head.

I can’t believe I’m in the middle of this conversation. Mexican dads

don’t have these kinds of talks, especially with the boys their

daughters are foolin’ around with. They’d kick the boy’s ass first, then

ask questions. After that, they’d forbid their daughter to go outside

without a chaperone. There’s none of this ‘open communication’ bullshit.

I feel like I’m on a white people self-help show, and I’m not sure

what I’m supposed to say. I’m also not used to a father who wants to

actually talk about shit like this. Is this normal, or does it only happen

with dads who happen to be psychologists who’re trying to shrink our

brains?

“I’m not stupid enough to think that I can prevent you from doing . .

. whatever it is you two were doing,” Westford continues. “But I’m

instituting a new rule: no more monkey business between you two under