Say When (9 page)

And do what, Christina? Sulk?

Her message makes me pause. She pretty much nailed it. That’s exactly what I’d do. Watch a movie about two people breaking up, drink a few beers, and then pass out on her couch. Sounds pathetic, but I don’t know if I’m ready to face the world yet. It’s not that I’m mourning the breakup. Not at all. I’m just mourning my life in general.

I don’t know how to answer Grace’s message, but then she fires back another text.

You need to get out. Come to Dylan’s. I bet your stud will be there.

My heart pounds so loudly, I can hear the erratic drumming in my ears. What if Andrés is there? Would he ask me to dance? Would he ignore me? I don’t know if I can handle seeing him again.

I realize how pathetic I’m acting. Why am I sitting here mourning my life? Because it sucks. Why does it suck? Because I let my mother and everyone else control my happiness. But I like Andrés. I really do. I think back to last night, and tingle at the thought of his gentle touch, his sensual lips. I want to see him again. I want to
feel
him again.

I close my eyes and try to channel that Christina from last night, and I wonder what that other Christina would do. I remember his phone number in my purse, and decide I need to be bold.

Hold on…
I text to Grace. I unfold the paper with Andrés’s number, and despite the trembling in my hands, type a text message. It takes me several tries to get the wording just right, but after staring at my message until my eyes are practically crossing, I finally summon the nerve to send it.

Hey, this is Christina. Sorry about this morning. Going to Dylan’s tonight. Hope to see you.

I stare at my phone for what feels like forever, willing Andrés to reply, but when I see nothing on my phone, I start to lose hope. Still, I’ve done all I can, so I send Grace a message that I’ll go, and she says she’ll pick me up at nine. That doesn’t give me much time to get ready, so I grab a clean pair of jeans from the closet and hop in the shower.

Imagine my excitement when I get out and find a message from Andrés.

I’ll be there.

Um…wow. I stare at those three words for what feels like forever as I try to interpret their meaning. Is he going to be there so he can see me? Had he already planned on going? I think I’m acting like a psychopath and decide to quit obsessing. I’m going to put on my jeans and boots, make sure my hair and makeup look flawless, and plan on having a fun time, with or without Andrés.

Hopefully with him.

As I head out the door, I also decide to slip a compact toothbrush and a spare pair of panties into my purse, just in case things go well with Andrés. I don’t know why, but after I snap the little button on my purse, I cross my fingers.

After all, something in my life has got to go right for once.

* * *

Andrés stares at his phone in disbelief.

He’s just returned from a much needed trip to the ranch and is ready to unwind with a few beers and a movie. He hadn’t planned on going to Dylan’s a second night in a row. Heck, he hadn’t even planned on going last night, but he’d gotten tired of his uncle nagging that he needed to get out of his apartment.

So he’d gone and spent an incredible night in the arms of a beautiful woman, a woman who’d chased away his nightmares, if only for one night. But just moments ago she’d sent him a text saying she wanted to hook up again, which means one of two things: she is looking for another wild night of no-strings-attached sex, or she is looking for something more.

Truthfully, Andrés doesn’t know if he is ready to offer a woman something more. He knows he can definitely go for another night of sweet passion and dreamless sleep. And if she runs away before breakfast again, he’ll get over it. That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

Chapter Eleven

I scan the floor for Andrés. The air is thick with smoke as cowboys and wanna-be cowboys crowd the bar, vying for attention from girls dressed in denim and mini-skirts.

Rodeo chick is waiting for us in a booth in back. Grace slides in beside her and shares her beer. Soon, they’re touching each other underneath the table, and I try not to notice as I twiddle my thumbs, the awkward third wheel.

I’m assailed by a memory from the past, a memory from my freshman year in college I’d rather forget. The time Jackson and Karri convinced me to have a threesome. Jackson and I had only been dating a few months when I brought my friend over to meet him. We’d done a few whiskey shots and one thing lead to another. The next thing I knew, Karri was on her knees, rubbing Jackson’s thighs, winking at me and promising us both an unforgettable night.

Jackson was all for it, but I refused. A few more shots later, and they’d finally convinced me to strip out of my clothes. Honestly, most of the night was a blur, but the few moments I do remember, Karri didn’t seem to be very into Jackson, despite his best efforts to make us both his love slaves. I was so drunk and nauseous I mostly laid there while Karri pleasured me with the toys she’d packed in her purse.

Oh, didn’t I mention Karri totes a collection of vibrators wherever she goes? I’m pretty sure if I was to Google the word “horny slut bag” Karri Peterson’s name would pop up first.

Since I’d never looked at a live penis in person before I’d met Jackson, I wasn’t sure, but I suspected Jackson had a small one, especially since I didn’t feel much when we had sex. Also, Karri’s vibrators were double or triple the size of Jackson’s penis. Karri confirmed my suspicion the next morning when I found her flipping pancakes in Jackson’s kitchen while whistling the tune of the Enzyte commercial. From then on, she never let me live it down. She was constantly ribbing me with small dick jokes.

After that night, Jackson wanted to another go-round, but I told him in order for our relationship to work, I’d have to be the
only
girl. I felt like a total whore for sharing my boyfriend, and I’m pretty sure that Karri and I pushed the boundaries of our friendship too far. Besides, after the way she made fun of Jackson’s penis, I knew Karri wouldn’t want to have another threesome, anyway.

Thoughts of Karri make me think of little Tyler, and I feel like ten layers of shit for coming to Dylan’s tonight when I should be checking on the baby. Karri’s back on drugs, and I don’t know what to do. A nagging little voice in my head tells me it’s time to tell Karri’s mom, but I’m afraid of the greaseball. He knows where I live now, and I’m sure he could do serious harm if I cause trouble for them. I wish I could contact Tyler’s father, but I have no idea who he is and neither does Karri. At one point, she had the baby’s daddy narrowed down to three possibilities, but I’ve heard her toss around at least five names. I wonder, not for the first time, why I’ve been friends with her for so long, and it all goes back to her being the only friend who was there for me after my father’s brutality. Even though she’s been a total bitch lately, and a horrible mother to Tyler, I know that right now I should be there for her, too. I just don’t know how.

At that moment, when dark thoughts threaten to consume me, I see Andrés across the bar. My pulse quickens, and I quickly look away as I try to compose myself. I’m afraid to look up, because I don’t want him to see me staring at him, like I’m some desperate stalker. But truthfully, that’s exactly what I feel like. Not the stalker part, but desperate. I haven’t been able to escape the memories from our love-making all day, and I so want him to take me home again.

I have to play it cool. I don’t want to come off too strong, too slutty, too Karri. I need to look preoccupied, as if I’m not waiting around for another mind-blowing fuck.

I clear my throat loudly, and gently kick Grace who’s whispering something into Rodeo Chick’s ear. When she pulls away, she’s got this gleam in her eyes, and I know they won’t be at the bar much longer.

“Oh, sorry,” she says as she smooths her hair with a hand. “Were you saying something?”

I can’t speak. I can’t say anything, because he’s already found my table, and his dark gaze is boring into me as he maneuvers around a throng of people and bridges the distance between us.

When he comes up to our booth, he looks down at what I’m wearing and flashes that devastatingly sexy smile. “Boots,” he says. “I like them.”

I feel my face flush ten shades of red and I feel like a silly schoolgirl. “Thanks. I can two-step, but I’m still not the best dancer.”

His perfectly sculpted brows dip beneath his Stetson. “You can follow my lead, right?”

I bite my lower lip before nodding. “Yeah. I can follow your lead.”

I think about introducing Andrés to Grace, but she’s gone back to playing footsies with

Rodeo Chick, so I grab his hand and let him lead me onto the floor.

His hand is warm and his grip is strong. I love the way he pushes through the crowd, clearing the way for me. He says, “Excuse me” to a few girls, wearing jeans so tight, I swear they bathed in butter to slip them on. They bat their lashes and smile coyly at him.

I squeeze his hand harder as I latch onto his arm with my other hand, feeling the need to be protective. It’s either that or slap their slutty faces, but I resist the urge to turn into a psychopath. I have no idea why I’m acting like the jealous bitch. I never cared when girls flirted with Jackson.

Once we get onto the floor, it’s much less crowded, and I can breathe easier. Andrés pulls me to him, and I take a steadying breath as we make eye contact. Settling one hand on my hip, he leans down and whispers in my ear. “Relax.”

His throaty command and spicy musk do nothing to make me relax. In fact, they set my hormones on high alert. The muscles in my neck and shoulders tense and my whole body stiffens. He gives me this quizzical look and then this deflated smile. I seriously wish I’d downed a few more beers. I swallow hard as I stare into his eyes. It’s so hard to relax with him so close. Thoughts from last night swirl in my head, apprehension for tonight causing my stomach to churn.

He pulls me closer, so close I give in to the urge to press my breasts into his rock hard chest. I sigh when he presses back, his warm breath tickling the nape of my neck. “You ready?” he says to me.

“Okay,” I hesitantly answer.

And before I can stop him, he’s gliding me across the floor, and I pour every ounce of concentration into the rhythm of his feet. Quick, quick, slow, slow. Quick, quick, slow, slow. My steps are stilted and jerky, despite the rhythmic way he moves.

And the boy can move.

The sway of his hips reminds me of the way he ground into me last night, and I swear it takes all of my willpower not to melt all over that dance floor in a puddle of lust. He continues to push me across the dance floor. I step on his toes a few times and almost trip both of us. I bite down hard on my lip as I try to strengthen my concentration. This should be so easy. Just follow his lead.

I feel bad for Andrés. He probably feels like he’s trying to sweep the floor with a broken broomstick. This song seems to go on forever. It’s something catchy by Darius Rucker, something I’d ordinarily sing along to if I was inside my car.

I step on Andrés’s feet a few more times, and then stumble into the couple behind us. I heave a sigh of relief when the song is over, and I want nothing more than to disappear. I’m totally horrified by my performance, and know what my mom’s Shih Tzu, Prince, feels like whenever he gets caught humping the sofa cushions. I can’t even look Andrés in the eye, as I turn and sulk off the dance floor with my tail between my legs.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Andrés doesn’t let go of my hand, and once we find ourselves stuck in the middle of the crush of people, he takes over and leads me outside.

I breathe a sigh of relief once I feel that warm Austin breeze across my face.

Andrés is leading me through the pot-hole filled parking lot until we get to his navy blue F-150. He turns and leans against the tailgate before pulling me into his arms. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice a heated breath in my ear.

I’m too embarrassed to look up at him, so I stare at my boots instead. I realize they are badly scuffed, and I should have added a coat of polish to them before going out. I rarely wear these boots. Jackson prefers country clubs to country bars, even though I used to beg him to take me dancing. But I guess what Jackson prefers doesn’t matter now. Slowly, I look up at the man who’s got his arms wrapped around me. My heart melts when I see the concern in his darkened gaze.

“I’m nervous,” I say, hoping he won’t laugh at me for revealing the truth.

“Why are you nervous, mija?”

He strokes the side of my face with the pad of his thumb, and it’s really hard not to be distracted by his electrifying touch.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “After last night...” I bite my lip, unable to say more as I break eye contact. Why is it so hard telling Andrés how I feel? Why am I so afraid that he’ll judge me? My intuition tells me I shouldn’t be afraid, that he’s not like the other men in my life, but my intuition has been wrong before.

He gently kneads my neck and back.

I groan because his sensual touch is just about enough to send me over the edge, and into a drunken stupor of lust.

“But last night was amazing.” He says that last part with a note of awe in his voice, and I know exactly how he feels.

“It was.” I look up at him, knowing I take the chance of looking like a love-struck idiot. “I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

His hands are still on my back and there’s no mistaking the flash of pain in his eyes. “So why’d you run out on me this morning?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Maybe I was nervous this morning, too.”

A wave of shame that overwhelms me. I know why I ran out on him: my mother. I was concerned about what she’d think if she saw Andrés bringing me home. I realize now Grace was right. I can’t let my mom dictate how I live my life.

“I don’t want to push it. I’ll wait for you to say when.”

“Huh?” I look at Andrés in confusion.

“If we started out too fast, we can slow down.”