Page 11 of The Amazing Date

Respectful, properly distanced public dancing went out the window an hour ago. His sweat-filled T-shirt clings to me, and I wish he’d rip it off. I swing my hips while I rake my fingers through his hair and brush my lips against his earlobe, every move chipping away his objections to making a move on his sister’s best friend.

He tightens his grip on my exposed lower back, and his hand slides down to my rear. I press a hand to the back of his, letting him know it should stay. He squeezes my bum, and I moan, “Yes.”

“Can,” I eke out, and he hangs on my every word, “we”—I punctuate each word with a twist of my hip—“dance like… oohh… this?”

I raise my chin, our noses touching, fire in his dark eyes. “Every day…” The song “Despacito” strums in the background, Luis Fonsi’s attempt to warn him I’m trespassing in his danger zone.

He bites his lower lip and whispers, “Damn.” It is the sweetest sound in the world. It’s like watching the polar ice caps breaking apart, the unimaginable happening right in front of your eyes—the always-in-control Roberto giving in to desire.

He presses his lips to mine, the combination of hunger and victory never tasting so great. I fist the bottom of his shirt to keep from floating away. He lifts me up with his hands on my ass, and I wrap my legs around him.

“Bench. Now,” I order as he steps back. When the back of his thighs bumps against the concrete bench, we plop down, lips connected the entire time. We kiss as if there is no tomorrow.

Little did we know at the time.

That kiss changed everything between us. The kiss that put us on this destructive path, one filled with potholes of lies, deceit, and destruction. And I remind myself that no matter how much a part of me desires it, Roberto will never ever kiss me again.

Chapter 8

Roberto

I can’t believe I’m here at this ridiculous hour. I don’t even get up this early for work. The things I do to please my sister.

The Colorado Bridge is closed to motor vehicles, blocked off with police barricades to accommodate the start of this ridiculous race. Last night after leaving the kickoff dinner, I went home and began to pore through the various emails and attachments the coordinators and Gabby had provided. I thought I understood the rules when the race originator Wilma Reed recited them, but going through the documents, I realized those were just the highlights. You’d need a master’s degree and the retention skills of an elephant to comprehend it all. I stopped reading halfway through, content in the knowledge that Rylee 2.0, queen of the checklist and rule book, has it all memorized. Knowing her and my sister, they’ve probably printed out a condensed version on a thumbnail-sized cheat sheet with travel-sized magnifying glasses.

I struggle with the backpack stuffed with supplies I may need over the next week. The organizers have provided a list of over eighty items. Thank god there is a twenty-four-hour CVS next to my condo building.

All night, Rylee’s anxious voice rang in my head. Do I need to call you? Do you know where you are going? It proved to be a restless night. Being in her orbit is playing tricks with my mind. Four years of hurt wiped away with a gentle touch, a flirtatious smile, a warm embrace, a kind word, the powder keg of my heart already filling with the unique gunpowder only Rylee possesses. An explosive powder that comes with a short fuse. A fuse I thought I had dosed permanently, covered in a puddle of blood and broken promises. Yet, I smell the damp smolder of a fire not fully extinguished. Images of us, tangled limbs, lips locked, the dangerous kindling flooded my dreams.

I woke ninety minutes before my alarm, unable to return to sleep. Even while dragging my feet, I arrived an hour before the start time. I’m the first contestant to arrive. I spot many familiar faces from the support staff. I wave to them, sip my coffee, and wait. It’s not long before I spot Gabby and Rylee arriving in a taxi.

It’s six thirty, and neither one expects to find me, so their attention is on each other. Gabby appears to have finally mastered walking with the cane, the awkward sway from last evening a distant memory. Rylee leans into her and whispers something, the corners of her smart mouth lifting in a devilish smirk. Whatever she whispered causes carefree laughter to float from Gabby. It’s a great look on her, one I’ve not seen or heard often recently.

Her position in Chicago has been both stressful and non-rewarding. She skipped graduate school in pursuit of certification as a public accountant, two years of working slave hours for minimal pay the price for being issued a CPA with a promise of so much more. None of it has happened. The last two years of her professional career were filled with limited upward mobility and broken promises by the partners in her firm. She has her certification and little else. The only times the cloud around her lifts is when I’ve been able to get out to Chicago, or I guilt her to come to LA. She’s not been back to Abuela’s home on the island in two years, not since graduating and her life becoming a series of time-sensitive audits for firms no one’s ever heard of.

At least I get to spend time with her. The extended family in PR misses her and mentions it each time I drop in on them. I continue to find my way down there every summer, one of a few cousins who maintains the tradition after graduation.

All is forgotten with just a glimpse at her in this moment. As much as Rylee rubs me the wrong way, she is the salve for Gabby’s wounds. I will run this race for her, hoping to prolong these moments of joy.

Surprise registers on Rylee’s face when she spots me. I expect her to recoil, but she floats me a genuine smile as if she’s happy to see me. She quirks her neck, and I grab my backpack and stride toward her.

“You two look like you had a nice evening,” I state, and it’s true. Rylee is wearing a pair of tight black yoga shorts, a loose-fitting Nike T-shirt, and a neon-green sports bra visible through the wide sleeves. Her sandy-brown hair is pulled into a ponytail, and her face is bright and makeup-free.

The tips of her fingers land on my forearm. “Hey, thanks for coming early. I’m still on New York time, Gabby is on central time, so we’ve been up for hours catching up.”

Her touch ignites a fire in me I force myself to ignore. All these years later, still a ridiculous spark that only leads to trouble. I dose Rylee’s spark by leaning in for a hug and kiss from my sister. “Thank you once again for doing this, Roy. You do not know how much this means to me.” Her gaze darts over my shoulder, a hidden message in her glance. “To both of us.”

“Anytime, mi hermosa,” I whisper. I feel Rylee’s hand rest on my lower back.

“Can you check us in? I see some of the other teams arriving.” She lifts her chin at two cabs unloading in the distance. I recognize Caitlin and Kelly and the other team I recall seeing at one of the tables last night but didn’t have time to meet. They disappeared right when the buffet opened.

“Sure, what is our team’s name?”

She pauses, her fingers stroking my lower back, causing a strange reaction in me. “Aww, you read the materials. Gabby, do you want to do the honors?”

Gabby leans in, and I know I’m going to regret asking. “The Checklists.”

“You got to be freaking kidding me,” I gruffly and turn.

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