Page 26 of Amor in the 305

When Amaury returns he crosses the garage to the far end where there’s an office. “You coming?” he shouts. I stride across the open space and see Amaury washing his hands in a small bathroom.

“Is this your office?” The small room doesn’t have much in it. There’s a wooden desk in the middle and a closed laptop off to the side with papers strewn next to it. There’s one bookshelf to my left stacked with catalogs from different vendors. On the wall hangs a large picture of a beach, slightly crooked. A peninsula with palm tree lined white sand and pristine turquoise water.

“Sí, but we no use it much since we have the computers out front.”

“What beach is this?” I ask, pointing to the black framed picture and straightening it.

“Varadero. It was my favorite beachen Cuba.”

“It looks amazing.”

“La foto no le hace justicia,” he says, staring intently at the image. Pictures rarely do anything justice so I can imagine how incredible the beach must be in real life if it’s this beautiful in a picture.

“Must be gorgeous in person!”

“No beautiful like you.” His lips press against mine, his arms wrapping around me, our bodies as one. He lifts me to sit on the desk as his onslaught of kisses intensifies, our tongues tangling.

The heat between my legs burns and I reach for the hem of my shirt. I separate from Amaury to pull my shirt off and quickly search for his lips. I tangle my fingers in his thick locks, massaging his scalp as I suck on his bottom lip.

Amaury’s kisses stray from my mouth to my neck and make their way toward my breasts. He pulls back the bra and takes my breast in his mouth, rolling my nipple between his teeth causing me to squirm. I reach down for his belt and begin unbuckling when suddenly he stops and pulls away from me.

“No muñeca, stop. We can’t.” The lust burning from his eyes contradicts his words.

“What do you mean we can’t, why not?” My rushed breathing matches my rapid heartrate. Shame creeps into me and I search for my shirt to put it back on, adjusting myself and hopping off the desk. What does he think of me if I’m the one who was willing to do this in his office?

“It’s our first time.Quiero hacerte el amorand we no can do that here.” The back of his hand caresses my cheek, his verdant green eyes searching mine.

I swallow the lump in my throat. He’s telling me he wants to make love to me, and this isn’t the right place, but it still feels like rejection. I should feel happy but instead my cheeks are burning, and I avert his gaze.

“I should go,” I say, exiting the office and dashing across the garage.

CHAPTER TEN

Amaury

A few days ago, after I stopped us mid-make out session at the shop and Sol left, I wasn’t sure if we were okay. I’ve tried calling her but got voicemail. The few times we’ve texted and I asked to see her she told me she’s busy with work or ignores my request. It’s been nearly a week and I’m starting to get worried. I didn’t realize she was so upset. I decide to try and call her again now because she should be home from work.

“Hello,” she says, answering after four rings. When she saw it was me, she probably wavered between answering or not. Besides, it’s not her usual way of answering when I call. She usually says, “hey” or “what’s up” but never “hello.”

“Hola, muñeca, how are you?” I ask. I’m sitting on the couch and lean forward, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand.

“Good. A little tired after another long day at work but can’t complain.”

“It’s good to hear your voice.” After the other day, I’m not sure where we stand. Not sure how much or little to say.

“Yours too.” Silence hangs between us and I don’t want to say the wrong thing, so I opt to not say anything at all, which is making it awkward. “Listen,” she says, followed by a long sigh. “I know you’ve been trying to reach me. I’ve been busy at work and needed a few days to sort things out in my head, sorry.”

I stand and begin pacing in my living room. “I understand,” I say, even if I don’t fully understand her or what goes through her mind. The silence on both ends continues, and I can hear her breathing.

“Look—”

“Muñeca—”

We speak simultaneously.

“You first,” I tell her.

“I’m sorry about leaving the way I did the other day.”

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