Read Rules Of Attraction Online
Authors: Simone Elkeles
“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