Page 55 of The Amazing Date

“Do you realize how dangerous what you just did was?” My heart was in my throat as I searched for Rylee on the pier. It’s a quarter mile long and is packed with hundreds of people drinking, socializing, and dancing. Every shriek from a woman had me fearing the worst. I found her sandwiched between two motorcycle club members. She thought she was there for a dance, but their hands were all over her, dancing the furthest thing from their minds.

“I had it under control.” Her voice cracks, the truth too powerful for her deceit.

“And having two guys manhandling you in public is what you call being in control?”

“I don’t recall you having an issue when it was your hands on me like that.”

My hands clench at my sides, and I begin to walk toward the end of the piers. “I see you don’t have a response for that. Just so you know, since you didn’t ask—” Rylee stomps behind me, her voice rising to an ear-piercing level, enough to override the music and attract onlookers. “—I was having a great time until the bikers scared off every decent dancer. They caught me a little by surprise, is all. I would have figured it out—men aren’t that difficult to figure out. You’re all the same. All you want is a big butt and a smile.”

I make the mistake of pausing, turning to face her. Her eyes are ablaze with fury; it’s both infuriating and ridiculously hot at the same time. “I’m happy to see you have it all figured out. I can get on that plane knowing I have no worries.”

“As if,” she challenges and struts past me.

“For the record—” I shout, my stride cutting our distance. I want to make sure she doesn’t miss my words. “—it’s not that big.”

I catch a flash of a grin before she forces her lips to flatten. “You’re the true ass. Why are you here? Were you concerned for my safety, or were you concerned I would find my next dance partner?”

Our feet march in time as we exit the entrance area, and I lead us through the dirt parking lot, knowing she’s so pissed at me right now she won’t realize I’m directing her through a swirling cloud of dirt from the younger members of the motorcycle club performing wheelies in the dirt parking lot. “Are you so full of yourself you can’t think of anyone else? Abuela stayed up past her bedtime. Gabby and Luis are back at the house waiting on us.”

“I just wanted to dance and have a good time. I’m on vacation—sue me.”

Her flamboyant disregard makes my blood boil. I don’t respond, not trusting myself to say the right things. I type out a quick text to Gabby, letting them know I’m on my way back with Rylee.

“Where the hell are you taking me? To the woods to chop up my body?” she continues to rant as we make our way down the long, darkened road back to where I parked Luis’s car.

“One more block, then I will take you home, and you can rant to Gabby all night about the injustices of the world.”

“You think because I’ve hooked up with you for a few days you rule my life?” Her words hit hard. Part of me knows she is lashing out, that she is pushing every button to seek a reaction. Yet, Gabby’s words from earlier in the week rise to the top of my mind. The hint that Rylee goes through men like laundry. Am I just her latest wash cycle? Then I recall the last entry on her checklist: Have a heart-to-heart with Roberto before he steps on the plane.

It’s a new entry. Is this evening just the start of her plan? Is this her way of prepping me for our heart-to-heart? A glimpse into what she’ll be doing next week once I’m gone. That her life will go on without me starting the minute my plane lifts off.

I point to the car up ahead. “I know I don’t run your life. If I did, we wouldn’t be here.”

“What the hell does that mean? You promised. That’s not all you promised either.” I open the passenger door, my right hand on the frame between the front and rear seats. Rylee approaches the car from the front, the door open in front of her.

“Tell me right now,” she demands. Her eyes are filled with rage, and I know she’s seconds from exploding. I need to get her out of here. “If you’re not bringing me back here tomorrow, I’m going to turn around and go dance the night away. That biker will be on his best behavior now that you put them all on notice.”

“Get in the goddamn car,” I growl, my patience exhausted.

She fists her hands by the sides of her way-too-short skirt. “You’re not my father.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “As if your father would care where the hell you are or what the hell you are doing.”

The words hit her as hard as expected. I brace for her reaction, knowing I can’t prepare for the unexpected, especially when it comes to her. “I hate you,” she screams, her kick so short and sudden it doesn’t register. Her foot kicks the bottom of the open car door. It swings so rapidly, so violently, I have no time to react.

It slams hard against my hand. Metal against bone, a devastatingly unforgettable sound instantly burned into my memory forever. A blinding pain forces me to drop to the ground as if shot. The door flies back toward Rylee, the recoil causing it to swing on its hinges.

I roll onto my side, cupping my right hand into a protective hold against my stomach. The pain doesn’t subside but intensifies. White streaks of light fill my eyes, and I squeeze my lids shut. All I can do is roll on the dirty ground and pray for the wave of pain to subside, but it doesn’t.

“Oh my god, Roberto. I’m so sorry…” Her voice is tiny, as if she is speaking at the end of a long dark tunnel. “I didn’t mean…”

I attempt to look up. Her face is framed in the light from the streetlight above her. The halo-like effect confuses me as my mind wonders why the light is white and not red, usually associated with the devil.

The shooting pain transforms into a thousand pinpricks. It feels as if my hand is being eaten alive by a horde of wild bees. I hear gasps behind me and a woman calling 911 in Spanish. I roll onto my back in search of relief and find none. All I spot is Rylee, bent over by my side, a sheepish gaze on her face. This close, she now blocks the streetlight, and I see the red of her outfit, the red of her nails pressed hard in worry against her cheek. For some reason, this image gives me relief.

That’s more like it. Red. It all makes sense now. She is the devil incarnate, and I’m in hell.

A lone tear rolls down Rylee’s cheek, a distant look that mirrors my sister’s face whenever she thinks of my broken hand and the lost opportunity of my assignment.

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