Page 7 of Ms. V's Hot Girl Summer

An elder.

I mouthed, “An elder?” And glared at Orlando, who had the decency to cringe and mouth back, “Sorry.”

Whew, this had been a whole journey. I was glad Orlando was instilling the right values in the boys. It filled me with admiration and reluctant acknowledgment that he was a man.

Who was I kidding—I always reacted to him as a man, but I tricked myself over and over into seeing him younger. I didn’t have time to train no young man in how to make love, nor did I have the patience for waiting for him to mature past his twenty-five years, which in woman years were really twenty. I needed to keep myself contained, so anytime I felt desire, I clung to these stereotypes, because what else did I have?

There were boys twice his age who did not understand the very easy concept of women’s agency and their sexuality, but here he was, fully comprehending it in his midtwenties. But still I was certain his maturity levels were severely lacking in other areas to take a ride on my amusement park so he would always remain a cute fantasy only.

Yup, there it was, these were the facts that helped me from pouncing on him every time he proved me wrong.

“Boys, why don’t you go put your shirts on inside the school and wash your faces, at least, before we head out?” For once Brian and Brandon listened without aJeopardy round of whys, whats, and wheres. They both waltzed away, their lanky limbs longer than the rest of their bodies, giving them that youthful endearing look of their teenage years.

Once my “mom antenna” recorded that the twins were inside the school, my gaze focused on smooth dark brown skin glazed by perspiration. Nothing else was relevant but the torso and limbs that were in perfect grown-man proportion. No lanky arms and legs here. No, this was a grown-ass man.

My focus zeroed on Orlando, the only man that made my body do things I didn’t need it to do.

Tranquilo, Bobby, tranquilo.

Not even our patron saint, Juan Luis Guerra of the bachata hits, could encapsulate the conundrum that erupted whenever Orlando and I were on our own. I made sure it didn’t happen often, but the twins had been struggling with math, and Orlando had promised to help.

I had been skeptical at first, but soon the twins started focusing on homework and some of their difficulties working on their math. They started advocating for themselves in a way I had not been able to fully get across to them.

Speaking of the boys critically wasn’t something I did in front of them. They might think they were grown, but their egos were as delicate as Fabergé eggs and I couldn’t mess with that. So with great reluctance, I started setting aside time to speak with Orlando one-on-one during pickups.

My teens were worth the risk of getting overheated or letting my mind run wild with sexy scenarios of what I could teach Orlando.

“You wanted to ask me about their math, didn’t you?” Orlando nodded in perfect understanding, the ridges of his cut arms and chest doing a mesmerizing dance that robbed me of my capacity to multitask.

I could only thirst; my age gap defenses slowly melted as his shoulders squared and his lush lips opened. Words flowed from his mouth, coated with the warmest honey that sweetened the smokiness of his voice. Maybe it was the fact that Demarquis III and I had just had a session, but all my synapses were firing the same urge. One single thought was all I could manage.

I want to run my hand down his marble chest and detect all his sensitive spots.

Dios mío, Trinidad, get it together!

“Ms. Velasquez?” Orlando’s stance broadened somehow, the air thickening, the scent of clean, subtle male cologne and sweat rushing through me, lightning up my solar plexus. This was no child. He knew exactly what he was doing. I needed him to stop, stop immediately.

Nah. Keep going.

“Oh yes, yes, I…should I get a tutor? Is it bad—what do you think? Porque, listen I’ll do what I need to do for those kids. Because education is first in my house. It really is, okay? And I hope it is the same for you. People like you and me, you know, we need to uplift each other, and work together because if it’s not us then who? You know?”

Oh my God.

What in the world salad did I just say? This was ridiculous; I did very well under pressure. Shit, anyone would say my job was one of the most stressful out there besides first responders, so why could I not get it together to sound like a normal person.

“Nah, I think Brandon needs to practice more and Brian is sabotaging a bit to spare Brandon’s feelings. I can work with both of them—incorporate an hour before we play ball…” His lips kept moving. All my focus was on multitasking between ogling and keeping up with the conversation.

Everything Orlando said was on point. Too on point. This is what I needed, someone that spoke that Man Code that only men could. I sure couldn’t. Gender existentialism wasn’t something I ascribed to at all, but be it personality or age, Orlando understood my twins in a special way.

A way that stimulated my brain and other parts of me.

He understood them in a way that made him extra dangerous.

There was a respectable distance between us, but every centimeter of my skin could sense him. This type of awareness of everything that is soft and yielding in me and everything that is hard and rugged in him made me lightheaded. It was not a common occurrence.

It was an almost never occurrence.

Especially in my current state of impending couplehood.

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