Page 97 of South Beach Bodyguards

“So all that shit about you not caring about not having a woman last night was a lie?”

“I don’t know if it was lie, I mean, I don’t want to like this girl. But...I like her.” Oh, hell, I sounded like such a pussy.

To my surprise, he didn’t laugh at me. “That’s great, man. Seriously. You’ve been riding solo way too long. But how did this go down, exactly? You asked her out and she said yes, that’s it?”

“Sure. That’s how it went.” He didn’t need to know we’d had sex. That was between me and Olivia. “But I didn’t actually suggest anything specific. I was more like “you, me, Friday, a date, let’s do it.” And she said yes.”

“Take her somewhere you can actually talk to her. Like dinner or the park. Don’t take her to the movies or a club, you can’t actually have a conversation.”

Okay. I could do that. “That sounds easy enough. So what about texting?”

“You need to text her like once or twice a day between now and then. Just like hey, what’s up, or do you like sushi or how was class.”

A cold sweat was breaking out all over my body. “This is complicated.”

He laughed. “Dude, relax. Just be natural. It’s not that hard.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Women like you.”

“They like you, too. You’re never short on company.”

“Sure, for a hook up. But that’s completely different. Everything about it is different.” I finished off the coffee, chugging it black.

“She must be pretty damn special then.”

Shit. My words had sounded wrong. “No, I didn’t mean?—.”

I cut myself off. “She’s sweet but tough. Resilient but man, the way she looks at me…” I hated that I couldn’t seem to shut up, but there it was. Alejandro could give me shit indefinitely, whatever. I deserved it.

“Then don’t fuck up,” was all he said. He showed me mercy. I would have to remember that if and when he embarrassed himself in front of me.

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

I texted Olivia “good morning” after I ended the call with Alejandro. She didn’t answer but I tried to reassure myself she was probably still sleeping.

This was why I didn’t date. This was crap. I hated having to worry about another person.

My mom opened her door to me and instantly homed in on my bandage. “What happened to you?”

“I cut myself shaving,” I said, giving her a smile as I walked into her apartment. She was something of a hoarder, with an addiction to thrift stores, and I had to maneuver around an end table that was overflowing with bags, mail, and unopened dollar store makeup.

“Don’t be a smart ass,” she said sharply. “What did you do?”

If I kept lying, she would get pissed so I came out with it. “I got shot.”

She made the sign of the cross. “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for my son.”

I was pretty sure God had written me off awhile ago. “It was just a nick, I promise. I’m fine.”

“You need a new job. You should go to college.”

“With what money, Mama?” This was a conversation we had about once a month. I stepped over a pile of throw pillows that were mysteriously stacked up in the dining area and shoved a stack of books over so I could sit on her couch. My head was still pounding.

“They give loans and scholarships.”

My mother was wearing tight white pants and four inch heels in hot pink. Her top matched the shoes, as did her earrings, and the bracelets racing up her arms. She was very maternal and domestic, yet she did it with a hoochie flare. As a kid, it had never occurred to me to think anything of it, but as a teen I had taken a lot of “your mom” crap. But she was pretty damned attractive, I had to say, and she deserved to show that off if she wanted to.

“I saw Benito,” I told her.

---