Page 55 of Deliverance

“What about Jean-Luc?” I ask, staring up at the expanse of the giant brick building across the street, its top reaching for the night sky the way a flower would reach for the sun.

“He can wait.” Santiago wraps his arm around mine and cuts through the crowd of passersby toward the hot dog stand. “He has my number.”

“He looks good,” I muse, mostly to myself, trying to stay on course. My boots weigh a ton, which is weird because it wasn’t the case when I left my place earlier.

The smell of fried onions and cheap bread greets us as we approach the vendor--a small Hispanic woman with a long braid arranged into a circle on top of her head. My mouth waters at the sight of food, my stomach rumbling with anticipation.

“Hush, you traitor,” I mutter into my chest.

Santiago glances at me over his shoulder. “Girlfriend, I’m shutting you down.”

I elbow him and move closer to the cart. Red, slightly charred hot dogs staring up at me from the grill are screaming my name. I inhale deeply and grin at the woman. “Muy bien.”

My Spanish is rusty. It tends to come out when I’m buzzed and I’m not certain what I’m saying is correct.

The woman smiles back, her gaze ping-ponging between Santiago and me.

I suspect she doesn’t speak English. Most of these street vendors in downtown don’t, but the food tastes like heaven. Juicy, meaty, unhealthy, cheating-your-diet heaven.

Just what everyone needs after a six-cocktail-bender.

Santiago does all the talking. After we get our hot dogs, he hands the woman a twenty-dollar bill and pulls me aside. I trade my phone for a plate and stuff my face in a very unladylike manner.

“What did I tell ya, huh?”

“You have no idea how much I needed this.” I laugh with my mouth full and my fingers all greasy.

“Oh, trust me, I do.”

“Do you want to go back?”

He looks up at the building as if searching for an answer, his forehead scrunching up. “You think we should?”

I shrug. “Honestly, I feel kinda bad leaving Zander with those vultures.” Not that the man can’t take care of himself, but guilt is a horrible feeling. Besides, he deserves an explanation. It’s the least I can do.

Sorry. You’re great and I like you, but I’m good on my own.

Santiago bites into his hot dog and chews slowly. He’s the one who taught me the art of eating. For him, the process is sacred. Even if it’s just a suspicious three-dollar street food item, made from who knows what. “You’re too good for this fucked-up world,” he declares. There’s a crumble in the corner of his mouth and a smudge of mustard smeared across his cheek.

“No, I’m not.” I shake my head.

“You worry about a guy who can take care of himself.”

“It was your idea. You told me to bring him.”

“I wanted to check him out up close.” Santiago smirks.

“Asshole.”

“Asshole you love.”

“Okay, okay,” I agree. “I do love you. Just not tonight.” I pause and savor the rich taste of meat, bread, and all the condiments on my tongue. “Well...tonight...it’s more of a love and hate situation.”

“I’m telling you.” Santiago licks his lips. “He seems like a cool cat. If I were you, I’d give him a chance.”

“Men are too complicated.”

“So are women. I know what I’m talking about. I dated both.” His index finger bounces between our chests.” Me and you…we’re only human beings. We make shit difficult because it’s our nature.”

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