Page 38 of Under His Sheets
“Sí, pero I didn’t want for you to be involved.”
“But now that I am?”
He slid his hand over my thigh and squeezed gently.“I will keep you safe. I won’t leave your side.”
I put my hand over his. “Like at all?”
He linked our hands together. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not. At. All.”
He shook his head, but he smiled. “I would like that too. What I don’t like is involving you in this situation, Randall. The reason I’m here…it’s not good. If I’m involved, it’s never good.”
“So we work together. To make it better.” I bumped him with my shoulder. “You know, he told me to bring a guest to his house…”
“I don’t want you in his house.” His firm voice would have terrified me if I didn’t recognize the protectiveness in it.
“But if it helps? I want to help. If it keeps the kids safe?—”
“I wantyousafe, amor. This is not your fight. These people are not… This is more than the movement. It’s more than that going on.” He cursed, turning toward the window and rubbing at his lips.
“These people are our school community, and if the kids are at risk, then I want to help. And if I stay…” Which I wanted more than anything. I loved my new community. My school, my French Foreign Legion…Alonso. His family. They were so fun and welcoming to me, although I wished they would give their son a break. If they had any idea what he was doing, I hoped they would treat him better. “If I stay here in Castelldefels, or in Barcelona, then it affects me too, right?”
“Do you know what this means? Going in with a listening device or a wire? And then if the families find out you are involved, that could make it impossible for you to keep working here, and that is not what you want. I know.”
I took a deep breath and turned in my seat to face him. “I am worried about Pere. Whatever his father is or isn’t doing, it’s impacting him. You should see him, he’s working so hard toimpress his father, and Ferrer treats him like an afterthought. I know how that feels.”
Alonso met my gaze. “Your family does not support you?”
I shrugged with one shoulder. “They don’t know I’m here. They haven’t called or checked in since before we came to Europe in early summer. I should reach out. I kind of fucked things up with my father last year and, well, I suppose I should get over myself and call them, but I spent so many years being told to get a real job, to stop chasing a fantasy. Now that I’ve failed, I kinda don’t want to hear it.”
Saying it out loud was like a blow to the chest. My eyes filled with tears and it took a minute for my chin to stop quivering.
“You failed nothing. You had a real job, youhavea real job now. To make music is not a fantasy. You are good at it. You make people happy with your music. You just didn’t have the right job for your family, and that istheirproblem.”
He brushed my hair back from my face and turned my chin to face him.
“It’s notyourproblem.”
I tried on a smile. “You sound like you know a little about that. Your family seemed to give you a hard time.” I hoped I wasn’t out of line bringing it up, but if we were in this together, I wanted him to know that I saw him, too.
“You picked up on that, eh?” He looked away and let his hand fall back to my thigh. “I might know something about having the wrong job for my family.”
I wiped at my eye. “So, does that mean we are two wrongs who, together, make a right?”
That got me a shy smile. He glanced around to see that we were alone in the parking lot, sitting in his car in a dark corner. “I like that. Come here.”
I felt his kiss down to my toes, which curled inside my canvas shoes. Every breath, every moan echoed in the small car. Hisscent filled my sinuses, his grip was firm on my face, on my thigh. A few more moments and the windows would fog up, and I’d abandon all propriety. I was ready to climb over the console when his movements slowed, his tongue gave one last brush against mine. It was over quickly, but I’d remember this one. This kiss was like signing a contract, making a pact. Alonso and me against the world. Or, at least against the current threat to our community.
“Let me take you to the social before I molest you any further.” He started the car while I laughed, and he squealed his tires pulling out of the parking lot.
It would have been a quick drive to this week’s bar in the city center but the road was blocked for some reason we couldn’t see.
“May I?” I asked, reaching for the knob on the radio.
He chuckled. “You may, but the antenna is broken and I only have cassettes. They’re in the glove box.”
“Ooo, so this car is a classic in more ways than one. What year is this?”
