Dancing in a Hurricane (27 page)

Why was it so difficult to tell her? It became less and less about the money, and more and more about Bree's complete faith in him. If he told her now, when they were both beginning to explore their feelings for each other, he'd never have a chance.

"Shit." He sat back and rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe he should tell Bree everything, let her buy him out of the house. He could start fresh with her. Date her, court her, see if they were…compatible.

That last word set a flood of panic through him. He logged off his laptop, and put it in his room. Were they compatible? How could he tell for sure? What if he made a mistake? Believed she was something she wasn't? The clenching fear of his dream nearly doubled him over. "
¡Coño!
" He needed a beer.

With a half-empty bottle, Sixto walked to the storage closet in the garage and brought the small box marked "Halloween" into the house and set it on the table. A week away. He loved seeing the neighborhood kids dressed up like ballerinas and pirates. Sometimes his nieces and nephews stopped by. They liked to trick-or-treat on his street because they said the rich people gave handfuls of candy and in their neighborhood of Little Havana, it was one piece each. Cubans were a loving but thrifty people.

And he needed to warn Bree, he'd invited his family for dinner. He knocked on her door.

"Come in."

He walked in, she sat on the bed cross-legged, studying.

She stretched her back. "What's going on?"

He ignored the way her breasts pressed against her t-shirt, and the way his shaft jerked in his shorts in response. Plopping down in her big stuffed chair, he threw a leg over the arm. "Not much. I haven't seen you in a few days."

"I'm gone during the day, you're gone at night." She patted her stomach. "But thank you for leaving all the leftovers in the fridge. I look forward to it."

"You're welcome."

She pulled her long braid over her shoulder and played with the ends. "I feel guilty not doing my share of cooking."

"You pay for half the groceries. And you do most of the cleaning."

She looked at his bare calf.

Did she realize why it had hair and his chest didn't? She had very little experience with men. What would she think if she knew he shaved his chest and trimmed his leg and arm hair for modeling?

She smiled. "It's a symbiotic relationship."

Biology class was a lot of years ago and it took him a moment to come up with the meaning. "Accurate, but not very human."

She closed her book. "You're right. Enough studying musculature." She swung her legs off the edge of the bed and sat facing him. "What are you doing this evening?"

He shrugged. "I started to decorate for Halloween."

"Oh, that sounds like fun."

"We don't have much."

"Shopping?" Her eyes sparkled.

Chapter Nineteen

Sixto was content to just sit and talk, try to figure out what made him obsess about her, what personality traits she hid from him. "Sure." She wanted to go shopping, he'd take her.

She grabbed her purse and stood.

He got up. "But we're taking the truck this time." He walked out of her bedroom.

She followed him. "The big, loud, manly truck."

He stopped and looked back at her. "You got a problem with my truck?"

That cute, teasing smile lit her face. "You know what they say about men with big trucks, don't you? She walked around him to the garage door, slid her sandals on, and looked him in the eye. "Big truck…" She held her index finger and thumb an inch apart in front of her face. "…teeny, tiny little ego."

He laughed. Good, they'd found their way back to a friendly relationship again. The days they spent feeling uncomfortable and ignoring each other weighed on his nerves. Backing the truck down the driveway, he said, "I'm going to have my family over the Saturday after Halloween."

"All of them?"

"The whole battalion. It's my dad's birthday."

"I'll mark my calendar and make myself scarce." Her voice sounded small, lost.

Pulling onto the street, he shifted into drive and looked at her profile. She sat staring, unmoving. Empathizing with her solitude, he wanted to take her hand and reassure her she wasn't alone. But touching always proved too much for them—for him. "Uh uh. You're not getting out of it that easily. You've got to help me keep those little monsters from trashing the house."

She looked at him. "Really?"

"Yes. Of course." A grin broke across her face and he could barely keep his eyes on the road. The emotion in her eyes was magnificent.

"My family will love you."

"Mmm." She flopped back onto the seat and looked straight ahead again. "Marisa and I aren't on the best of terms."

"I know." He was getting calls from his sister. Bree wouldn't answer her cell phone or return Marisa's calls. What the hell happened that night? "Riss said to apologize for her, but I don't want to be in the middle of this thing." He had a theory about what happened and it somehow involved him.

He looked over at her and caught her staring.

He turned into the Target parking lot, pulled into a spot, and turned off the truck. He sighed, doing the shrink thing. "But if you want to talk about it, I'll listen."

She released her seat belt and picked up her purse. "No. It's time I called Marisa. I've just been stubborn. What she did, she did because she thought it best for everyone." She opened the door.

"Was it? Best for everyone, I mean?"

She looked at him, her eyes uncertain. "I don't think so." She swung out of the truck and closed the door.

He jogged to catch up to her. "You haven't gone out with Élian again since that night."

"Nope." She marched toward the front doors. "Are you keeping track now?"

"No, I just thought…" Shit, he almost sounded whiny. "
Nada
."

She looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

He held open the door and let her go in ahead of him. Best to let this subject drop.

The store was closing in a half hour and they had the Halloween aisles to themselves. Things were pretty well picked over, but they filled half the cart with decorations and candy. She called from the next aisle, "Sixto? Do you wear an XXL?"

He walked around the endcap.

She held up a Captain Jack Sparrow costume and put her hand through a hole in it. "I think I can patch this. And it's marked way down." She held it up toward him.

He took it and measured it across his shoulders. "It would fit."

She looked him up and down, her blue eyes darkened, her lids slowly lowering.

Was she thinking sexual fantasy, just like he was? Find her a wench costume? Rub his pirates' sword against her soft belly? His body reacted, hit him with the urge to grab her and kiss her right here in the middle of Target. He groaned. No one was around.

She turned suddenly and walked away, leaving the cart. He grinned. Was she weakening? "Hm." He'd play her game. Tossing the costume in the cart, he searched through the women's stuff. He had fantasies, too. He found a black and white maid's uniform in a medium, ruffley short skirt with white petticoats underneath. He could see her long legs in black stockings, spiky black pumps.

He stuffed it under his costume in the cart. She'd say no if she saw it and he wanted to lie in bed at night and think about her trying it on. For him. And now…he was hard. Perfect. He used the cart to camouflage the tent in his shorts and went to find Bree.

At the checkout counter, she unloaded everything onto the conveyor belt. When she came to the maid costume, her face looked confused for a moment. She gave him a nasty smirk. "Do you think this will fit you, Sixto?"

The young man at the cash register looked at him and snorted.

Sixto chuckled. "It's for you, sweetheart. For when you're cleaning the house?"

"Ugh." She tossed it on the belt. "I'll try it on because I need a costume, but I know I'll be returning it."

The cashier smiled at Sixto. He shrugged for the boy's benefit and turned and winked at Bree. "She won't."

She glanced at him, a flush pinkening her cheeks.

He smiled his most charming grin—the one that made ladies giggle.

She shook her head, her eyes shooting death rays at him.

"Fifty-seven twenty," the cashier said.

Sixto ran his credit card, signed and took the receipt. "Now you can't return it. I've got the receipt." He shoved it in the front pocked of his jeans and watched her eyes follow his movement.

She turned away and grabbed one of the bags, rushing out of the store. He picked up the other and followed her. "Bree?" Shit, had he gone too far?

She stopped in the middle of the dark parking lot. "Boundaries have been set, remember?" she snapped.

Stunned by her anger, he nodded and waited for the rest of the lecture.

"Buying a trampy costume for me crosses the line, don't you think?"

He shook his head and walked around her toward the truck. "It was a joke, okay? Throw it away if you're that pissed."

"Sixto."

Her footsteps followed behind him. "Yeah."

"If it was really just a joke then I apologize for overreacting. But if it wasn't…"

Could she read his mind? No, it wasn't a joke. He was juiced to see her model the uniform for him. He opened the back door and set his bag on the seat. Taking the bag from her, he put it on the floor. Closing the door, he walked around and opened the passenger door for her.

She followed, but stood her ground and stared at him. "If it wasn't a joke, if you still have ideas about us having a casual affair, please stop trying. I'm not interested."

"Fine." He gestured for her to get in.

She sighed and pressed her fingers to her temple.

When she didn't move, he walked around the front of the truck and got into the driver's seat. She climbed in and closed the door, carefully buckling herself in. She pulled out her phone and started texting.

He turned the ignition and listened to the reassuring roar of his "big, manly truck." Did he want to stop trying to seduce her? Or did he actually want to try a real relationship? The idea sent a skitter of terror down his spine. He shifted the truck into drive and headed home.

Not only was he scared shitless for emotional reasons, but too many things stood in the way of their ever making it. His self-admitted fear of commitment being the main one. And, of course, the swingers' club she didn't know about…and he did.

Her phone beeped and he looked over, seeing a return text message. She started thumb-typing again, a half smile on her face.

He turned on the radio, a rap song boomed from the speakers.

She looked at the radio then at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, I like rap. Problem?"

She gave him the evil eye and went back to texting.

He intentionally goaded her, but she didn't respond. He preferred arguing to this silent treatment.

When they were a block from home, she put her phone in her purse and pointed left. "Turn here."

He did. "Why?"

"I drove by here the other day." She sat forward and looked out the windshield. "There." She pointed to the left side of the street. "Stop by that For Sale sign."

He pulled over to the left curb, she hopped out of the truck and went to the realtor's sign, opened the brochure box, and pulled one out. Reading the paper, she walked up to his window

He rolled it down.

She held out the flyer to him. "Look at the price."

He did. It was higher than he thought it would be. He looked at her. "So?"

"Have you thought any more about selling?" Her eyes searched his face.

"What the hell? I buy you a stupid costume and you're ready to kick me out?"

She sighed, walked around the front of the truck, and got into her seat. She crooked a leg under her and sat facing him, her hand out toward him, palm up. "I have to be honest, Sixto. I have urges, too."

Urges? Shit, she sounded like his middle-school phy-ed teacher.

"But…" She tipped her head. "…I know how guilty I would feel if I let myself."

He recognized guilt as a major component in Bree's life. But also integrity. "I understand."

"I'm glad you do, because you live a life full of self-indulgence, free of guilt."

Ouch. "Isn't that judgmental?"

"Possibly, but do you deny it?"

The sincerity in her gaze told him she wasn't criticizing him, just stating what she saw as the truth. She didn't see it all, though. She saw his sex life, but she didn't see the hours he worked to help provide for his family. She didn't know how desperately he wanted to finish school and help marginalized youth as a social worker. He'd told her more about his life than he'd ever told any woman. He wasn't going to spread out any more of his sad story for her, hoping she'd take pity on him. Not in this lifetime.