Page 20 of Always You
“Such a beautiful night,” she whispers softly, feeling content.
“Uh-huh,” is all I manage to utter, because I’m staring at her like I want to rip her clothes off.
Throughout the day, I’ve sported a huge boner and had to readjust myself numerous times. All I could think about is if we shared the same school, what I can do to her—in the locker room, utility closet, bathroom and even walking her to class.
She closes her eyes when a falling star shoots across the night sky.
“What did you wish for?” I ask, running my fingers along her cheek.
“Can’t tell you. It won't come true if I did.” Her beautiful smile stretches to her ears.
“Is it about me at least?” I ask, sounding a little desperate. Fuck if someone would have told me I’d be falling in love at the age of seventeen, I would say they’re fucking crazy. Here I am, looking like a lovesick puppy. She rolls over to her side, facing me. Her elbows are supporting her weight.
“Maybe.” Her voice comes out breathless when her emerald-green gaze wanders to my engorged erection.
My dick is getting larger by the minute stretching in my elastic basketball shorts.
“Kiss me,” she demands.
So, I do.
Our mouths meld together, and I can taste the sweetness of her cherry lip gloss. A sound of pleasure escapes her lips as I deepen the kiss. Sliding my hands under her back, I unclasp her bra and tug off her shirt. She's so beautiful, and it's not a meaningless hookup like usual. She's the first girl I’ve ever loved and my first girlfriend.
“Mom, she lost her father in a tragic accident. Just because….”
“You’re defending her? After all, she did to you,” she snaps.
“No, of course not.” Santiago clears his throat.
Thank God Santiago changes the subject by talking about his shop.
“I hope the shop of yours is making money, Santiago.” My mom is on one tonight. Her hands are on her hips as she glares at each of us.
I’m certain it has to do with Mila moving back stirring shit up. Well, that’s my cue to leave.
* * *
I shuffled past the door and into my condo, the hum of the refrigerator being the only sound. My eyes are drawn to the vast, marbled kitchen island with its steely reflectiveness. As a chef, I’d expected to be in the kitchen more often, cooking up elaborate dishes, but cooking for myself doesn't bring me any joy. I’d rather eat at the restaurant, Mom’s, or Samantha’s place. I sink into my huge sectional couch, thinking about what Mila is doing. “My Angel,” only she’s not mine, she’s with someone else. And I’m engaged. I want to hate her with a passion. My heart twitches every damn time I try to. The memories of our past rush right back.
I spent the afternoon cooking a meal for Mila. I cooked the ground beef until it turned a golden-brown color. I found a box of taco shells inside the pantry and heated them in the microwave before filling them up with beef and topping them off with lettuce and tomato. I knock on her bedroom window. She smiles faintly as she slides the window open.
“Hey, Angel, I brought dinner,” I say as I walk into her bedroom.
I have been concerned since Mila has eaten little since her father passed. Her grief is consuming her, preventing her from taking care of herself.
“Thank you.” Her voice soft and velvety.
Opening the container, I hand her a taco. “Baby, eat please, for me.”
She takes a bite and swallows. “Thank you, you’re going to be a talented chef.”
I snag a taco; I take a bite. Fuck. I spit it out and smack the taco out of her hand. The shells are fucking stale.
“Angel, it tastes like shit.”
She’s so sweet she ate the damn taco. Not wanting to hurt my feelings.
“No, It’s good,” she proclaims.
