Page 110 of All Twerk, No Play

“I’m serious,” he said, his eyes lifting to cautiously meet mine. “You’re incredibly likable when you let down your guard. You’re kind and generous, you’re whip smart, you’re funny—”

“I’m not funny.”

“You’re clever. You don’t see it, but I do.”

“Why are you looking so closely?” I snapped, annoyed that he was putting me on a pedestal. “Have you seen how women look at you when you play?”

His lips tilted in an arrogant smirk. “How do they look?”

“Like they want to devour you,” I scowled.

His smile widened. “Jealous?”

Of course I am,but didn’t want to admit what he already knew. “You could be with any of them. Why are you putting up with my bullshit?”

“Everyone has bullshit,” he shrugged, stroking his five o’clock shadow. “I like your bullshit better than theirs.”

No kidding everybody loved him, when he came up with answers like that. His sisters looked at him like he walked on water. Which reminded me…

I pulled on the gate to let myself into the yard, propping my hip against the fence. “Your family calls you Cruz.”

“I told you everybody calls me Cruz.”

“I know, but …” I swallowed. “I thought you meant guys in the Navy. Bros, jocks, you know.”

His big hands rubbed his jeans before he sat down on the concrete stoop.

“Eric was my biological father’s name,” he confessed. “When Mama got pregnant, she hoped he would marry her. She named me after him, thinking maybe an Eric Junior would get him to commit. Turned out he was already committed to his wife and two kids. Mama was his side piece.”

Feeling like I’d been punched, my arms curled around my stomach. That’s why he’d been so upset when we caught Lawrence cheating.

He interlaced his palms, letting them dangle over his knees. “For years it was just me and Mama. The school counselor suggested martial arts to help with my temper, so she saved up for classes. That’s how she met Jim,” he said, voice brimming with affection. “He was the first to call me Cruz, letting me become somebody else in his dojo. Somebody who released his anger on the heavy bag.”

He glanced east, probably where Jim’s martial arts studio had been. I lowered myself to the opposite side of the step.

“The night I earned my yellow belt, Jim requested my permission to ask out my mom. He knew we were a package deal.” He tilted his head towards the sky, the waning sunlight warming his golden skin. “Jim saw that Mama still had a lot of love to share if she could lower the walls she put up. And he was willing to wait until she was ready.” He dropped his hand between us, face up.

I unraveled my arms. “So why did you let me call you Eric?”

“You started calling me Eric when you found out I was your super. I figured that you couldn’t forget that I kissed you, so my name established a professional distance.” When I lifted a brow at his surprisingly accurate observation, he purred, “Spent a lot of time thinking about you."

My fingernails traced the lines on his palm. “Technically I kissed you first.”

“Technically you did,” he smirked, watching me draw circles in his skin. “After a while, I thought maybe you saw something I couldn’t. Maybe I’d been hiding behind Cruz, this loud goofball … and Eric could be somebody else. Somebody who chose his path instead of waiting for the next opportunity to land in his lap. Somebody who tried instead of expecting to fail.”

I shifted my hips closer, still caressing his hand, letting our knees touch.

“And when your family called you Vickie in that bullshit condescending tone,” his palm contracted, then fingers stretched, “I realized that calling me Eric was your sign of respect.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, interlacing our fingers, “that my family hurt yours.”

“Not your fault,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Jim. You shouldn’t have been blindsided.”

I blew out a long breath. I wish he’d told me, but I understood why he didn’t. I wouldn’t have taken it well no matter what. And it’s not like I was blameless.

A neighbor’s door clattered open nearby, releasing the syncopated beats of Latin music.

“I fucked up,” I said, chest aching. “My family hurt yours, and I made it about me.”

---