Page 22 of Tell Me What You Want

“Yes, that actually means quite a lot.”

“C’mon, now, you’re being hyperbolic,” I say, laughing to lighten the mood.

“Not even a little, sister o’ mine. He’s been looking at me strangely ... like he wants to tell me something. And when we make love, he ...”

“Don’t say another word,” I say. I really don’t want to think about my brother-in-law all hot and bothered.

Just then, Luz comes back.

“Auntie, how come this lipstick vibrates?”

I think I might die. She’s holding Eric’s gift. I leap from the counter and take it from her. Since she’s in her own world, my sister doesn’t catch on. I hide the damned lipstick in the first place I can think of—in my underwear.

“It’s a trick lipstick, my love. Haven’t you seen them?”

My niece cracks up, and I laugh along. Blessed innocence. My sister just looks at us.

Seconds later, Luz has vanished again.

By the time they leave, it’s noon, and I remember Eric’s coming to pick me up. I curse. I don’t want to go out with him. He should go out with whomever he was with last night. I go to my room, pick up my cell, and, surprised, realize I have a text. It’s Eric.

Remember: I’m coming for you at one.

Ugh. Who does he think he is?

I don’t plan to go out,I text back.

After sending it, I sigh, relieved, but my relief is short lived. The cell beeps.

Sweetness, don’t make me mad,the message says.

Don’t makehimmad?

Before I have a chance to respond, there’s another text.

For your own good, I’ll be by at one.

That just makes me laugh.

For your own good, Mr.Zimmerman, don’t come. I’m not in the mood.

My cell beeps again.

Miss Flores, are you trying to make me mad?

What I want is for you to forget about me.

I leave the cell on the counter, but it beeps anew. Quickly, I pick it up.

You have two options,the text reads.First: show me Madrid and enjoy the day with me. Or, second: make me mad while remembering I’m your BOSS. You decide.

I’m stunned. His abuse of power infuriates me but also kind of excites me.

I put the cell back on the counter. I have no intention of answering. But it buzzes again, and too curious for my own good, I read his message:Select option.

I imagine him grinning as he wrote that. That pisses me off again. I drop the phone. I’m not going to answer, but three seconds later, there’s the buzz again:I’m waiting and I don’t have infinite patience.

I recall all our previous stalemates. I finally text back:I’ll be ready at one.I make myself another cup of coffee and wait for his response, but it never comes. Convinced I’m letting myself be led into a game I shouldn’t play, I look up and see the clock on the microwave. Without a moment to lose, I run to get ready.

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