Page 8 of Amor in the 305

Sexy.

Each swipe of his lips hypnotizes me, luring me in.

And then he stops. My eyes drop to his mouth and my breath is short. He’s tormenting me and I don’t want our kisses to end. I’m tempted to grasp his face and devour him; I want to taste his tongue, feel it pry me open and explore my mouth. Instead, he separates from me and drags his nose along my neckline before raising his head and locking his eyes with mine.

“When will I see you again?” he asks, breaking the spell he’s cast upon me while lazily grazing my cheek with his thumb.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to speak. “I’m not sure.”

“I can have your number?” he asks. I’m hesitant to give it to him. I have no reason to doubt his sincerity, and we did just share a fiery kiss, but am still weary from everything I’ve been through.

“Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call you.” He eyes me, contemplating my words.

“Está bien. I give you mine, even thoughyo se quetoday is the last time I’ll see you.”

He’s probably right. I barely know him and the last thing I need right now is to get involved in a relationship. “We don’t know if that’s true. I may come back to Miami and who knows what could happen.” I stick my hand inside my purse to grab my phone and save his number.

CHAPTER THREE

Soledad

Our flight home is uneventful and when we exit the terminal, the bitter cold air smacks me, a gust of wind cutting across my cheeks like a sharp blade. I pull my scarf tight and zip up my jacket before I continue walking. One thing I will not miss are the long cold days. We’re in spring but it still feels like winter outside with these below freezing temperatures despite it being early April.

We catch the bus to the long-term parking area, load up the car, and drive off. Melida is driving and she’ll first drop Jestine and Krissa since they’re roommates. I had left my car at Melida’s so I’ll drive back to her place with her.

When we pull into Melida’s driveway, I see it. My car’s tires are flat. All four of them, which only means they’ve been slashed, again. It’s now the fourth time he’s done it and why I left my car at Melida’s house while we were in Miami, in hopes of this not happening.Motherfucker!

“I can’t believe he did this again,” I say, defeat overpowering me as I slump in my seat.

“What an asshole! And he knows we can’t prove it’s him, so he keeps getting away with it,” Melida adds.

“I can’t keep on like this. It’s exhausting, and expensive. This is exactly why I want to move!” I sigh, and lay my head back into my seat, squeezing my eyes to fight back the tears threatening to let free.

“Spend the night here and we’ll deal with this in the morning,” Melida suggests.

Melida’s dad sent a tow truck to pick up my car and take it back to his shop. I guess I should consider myself lucky he’s a mechanic and owns his own place, at least it saves me some money on labor. After I watch my car drive off on a flatbed tow truck, Melida drops me at home.

The good energy and relaxation I had achieved the past few days in Miami evaporated in minutes when I saw my car last night. Once inside, I deadbolt both locks, kick my boots off, and roll my suitcase into my bedroom. I pad my way to the kitchen and put on the kettle to drinkYerba Mate, orMateas it’s more commonly known, and scoop the tea leaves into the gourd.Yerba Mateis an herbal tea made from twigs and leaves and drank from a gourd andbombilla, a special straw to filter the leaves. This is yet another tradition I learned with my mother, as drinkingMateis traditional in Argentina and throughout South America. It’s my caffeine beverage of choice and I often drink it throughout the day for a pick-me-up.

After placing the gourd, kettle, and trivet on my coffee table, I plop onto the couch. I decide to call my mother because I need to break the news to her.

“Hola,” she says.

“Hi, Ma. I’m home.”

“Why do you sound like that? ¿Qué pasó?”

“Yesterday when we got to Melida’s house, my tires were slashed, again,” I groan. I’m so defeated by this continually happening I’m past being angry about it.

“¿Otra vez? Did you call the police?”

“Yes, again, and no, I didn’t. Last time I called them all they did was write a report. They already told me there’s nothing they can do if I don’t have any proof it’s him.”

“Entonces, what will you do?”

I take a deep breath, inhaling through my nose in an attempt to ground myself. She’s not going to like what I have to say. “I’m moving.”

“Moving? ¿A donde?” she asks, raising her tone.

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