Page 89 of Tell Me What You Want

“You deserved it.”

“I know ...”

“But I was only doing what you asked me to do.”

His knuckles get white and tense.

“I recognize my mistake. But I didn’t like it.”

That surprises me. I lean back in my chair.

“You didn’t like seeing me play with someone else?”

Eric’s face turns somber.

“No, not if I’m not playing too.”

I won’t tell him that as far as I’m concerned, he was very much in the game.

“You’ll forgive me?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it, Iceman.”

“Iceman?”

I won’t tell him it was Miguel who gave him the nickname.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call all this time,” he says.

“Why couldn’t you call?”

“I promise I’ll call next time.”

He hasn’t answered, but I can’t get angry at him. I’m just so happy because he came searching for me and he’s here now, with me. I grin from ear to ear and let myself get carried away by this delightful turn of events. My cell buzzes. It’s Fernando. Eric sees his name on the screen.

“Go ahead, if you want to.”

“No ... not now.” I turn off my cell.

The meal is, as Pachuca promised, wonderful. The salmorejo is exquisite. I check the time as we leave the restaurant. Quarter after four. I remember I have a date with my father at five.

“Would you be interested in seeing the Jerez racetrack?”

Eric pulls me toward him.

“Sweetness,” he whispers, “if interest is what we’re talking about, I’m interested in something else. I’ve rented a villa ...”

“You rented a villa?”

“Yes, I wanted to be close to you.”

For an instant, I consider running off to the villa. But no. I can’t no matter how much I may want to.

“I agreed to meet my father at five at the racetrack. Would you like to come with me, and I’ll introduce you to him?”

“Your father?”

“Yes, my father. No worries—he doesn’t eat Germans or anything like that.”

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