Dancing in a Hurricane (30 page)

"Yeah, you're hammered." He stood. "Let me get you a glass of water."

She followed him into the kitchen. "I think I had tooooo much to drink tonight."

"Uh huh." He put a big plastic cup in her hand. "Drink this before you fall asleep."

"Okie dokie." She walked toward her bedroom, stopped, and walked back to him. "Did-jyou want to talk to me about something?" Things were fuzzy, but she remembered him in his pirate costume.

"It can wait."

She turned and stumbled slightly, she thought she felt his hands on her arms for a second, but then the feeling disappeared.

"Did you eat anything?" he asked, closer behind her than she'd realized. Was he following her?

"Yup. You would have been proud of me. I ate a whole plate of…" She giggled. "Oh, wait, no. I didn't." She looked at him, squinting to bring him back into focus. "I filled up a plate-n-then dropped it into the ocean."

"No wonder you're smashed. Go get ready for bed and I'll bring you a sandwich."

She smiled and leaned close. "One of your ginormous sandwiches?"

"Sure." He pointed toward the bedroom. "Drink your water and get into your pajamas."

"Yes, sir." She marched to her bedroom and changed into her nightgown. Holding on to the bathroom doorframe, she drank her water as instructed.

He knocked on her open door. "Decent?"

"Always."

He chuckled. "Here." He held out his hand for her empty water glass and passed her the plate. "Eat this and get some sleep."

She handed him her glass and set down the plate. Looking at his eyes, she struggled to tell if he was mad or disgusted. "I haven't had tequila before." She blurted it out, as if she owed him an explanation. She shook her head. "In drinks, I have. Like marg-ritas?"

He nodded slowly, waited a few seconds, and said, "I've heard of them."

She laughed and snorted. "You work in a bar. I guess you have."

He stood patiently, waiting, staring off over her shoulder.

"I've never had it straight."

His head snapped forward. "Straight shots of tequila?"

"Yes and I thought I was doing pretty good until I had another beer."

"Tequila and beer. That's a lethal combination."

"Is it?" She pulled her hair back and started braiding it. "Then I think I will."

He took a step closer. "Will what?"

"Hurl." She finished the braid, took a band from a dish on her dresser, and tied it on the bottom. "I've been thinking about it since I got in Mark's car."

"You should then. The shit's sitting in your stomach and you'll feel better tomorrow if you…"

She felt it coming and turned around, stumbled to the toilet. Lifting the seat, she knelt and everything came up. Water first followed by a repulsive beer-tequila mix.

Sixto tucked her braid into the back neck opening of her nightgown and started the faucet on the sink. When she finished, she sat back, her butt on the floor between her ankles. "Holy crap. That was messed up."

He chuckled and sat on his heels next to her. "Wash your face." He handed her a cool washcloth. She washed her face and neck, it felt so good she slid it down her chest and under her nightgown.

"Whoa, there." He took the washcloth from her. "Do you want to take a shower?"

"Uh uh. I want to brush my teeth-though."

He stood and stepped behind her, grabbed her under her arms. "Ready? Up." He pulled her up, she swayed, and he held her.

She liked the feeling of his hands under her arms, near her breasts. Sighing, she closed her eyes, wanting him to pull her close, wrap those big arms around her. She intentionally swayed backward against him, feeling his hard chest against her back. Turning her head to the side, she rubbed it against his shoulder. "Ohhhh." Nothing ever seemed so right.

He shook her slightly. "Stop it." He sounded angry.

Her head popped up, her eyes blinked open. "Why?" She walked to the sink and picked up her toothbrush. Loading it with too much toothpaste, she shoved it back to her molars.

She caught him staring at her in the mirror. Around a mouthful of toothbrush she said, "Ivn't that whut you want?"

He shook his head. "You're going to regret this in the morning. If you remember it."

She spat and coughed. She could throw up again, but her stomach settled. Straightening, she turned to talk to him, but he was gone. In her bedroom, her sheet and blanket were pulled down, and the plate with the sandwich sat on her bedside table next to the refilled glass of water. He'd closed her door and pulled her blinds tight.

Even though he couldn't hear, she shouted at the door, "You can't run from it, Sixto. Don't you think it scares me too?" Oh, hell. She picked up the plate and flopped on her bed, the sandwich bounced up and landed back on the plate. She ate a quarter of it before she fell asleep with it in her hand.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sixto waited outside her door, listening to make sure she didn't fall. Or choke. After she was quiet for a few minutes, he checked to be sure she was asleep. He walked to the kitchen and made himself a gin and tonic. Leaning over to turn off the light over the sink, he bumped his hard-on. Goddamnit. When she pressed herself back against him and her silky hair rubbed his shoulder, it took every ounce of strength not to pick her up in his arms and take her to bed. Instead, he walked out. It was his only option.

When she shouted, he pressed his ear to the door and heard, "Don't you think it scares me too?" No, not Bree. She fought to maintain her standards. Struggled to overcome her guilt and her phobia. But she was never afraid. Was she?

Why would she be any different than him? This—thing—that was hell-bent to pull them together was alien to both of them. He'd waited for her tonight, hoping to talk. She'd been in no shape to discuss anything. He would talk to her tomorrow. He smacked himself on the forehead. His family was coming tomorrow—no, today. It was three-thirty already.

He downed his drink and went to his room. They'd talk after the family left. He had to tell her before she did anything else stupid, like drinking herself into a coma.

***

A loud metallic banging woke Bree. She lifted her head and a dull pain in her brain made her close her eyes again. The events of last night flooded back and she was surprised she didn't feel like a twice-dead zombie.

Spread around on her blanket, sandwich meat, cheese, and bread looked like it had been smeared by a toddler.

Hearing the metallic sounds again, she got up and peeked out her shades. Sixto pulled a stepladder out of the pool, his elbow and knee dripping blood. She slid open her patio door and walked out. "What happened?"

He stopped and looked at her before lifting the ladder. "I fell."

Both his knees had scrapes, as well as one elbow and one palm. "What were you doing?"

He looked embarrassed. "Hanging lights."

On the ground lay five strings of decorative lights: paper lanterns, chili peppers, flamingos, palm trees, and dragonflies, zip-tied together, ready to be strung on hooks around the undersides of the gutters. She smiled. "How fun!"

He gave her a resigned look. "I'm going to need your help with something."

"Okay. Let me change—"

"It will only take a second." He walked behind the bar and got the broom. He went to the corner where the light strands hung down and pointed. "See up there?"

She squinted, but nothing looked strange. "No."

He handed her the broom. "Get closer. There's a spider web."

"Yes, okay, I see it. Now what?"

"Now what!" he snapped.

She looked at him. "You want me to sweep away the web?" That couldn't be all he needed help with.

"Yes. Then take this…" He tore a piece of paper towel from a roll on the table. "Smash the spider and flush it down the toilet."

She laughed. "Should I put a voodoo curse on it too?"

His eyes narrowed. "Just do it."

She sobered. "Sweet fancy Moses, you're afraid of spiders?"

"No." He crossed his arms. "It's a Cuban religious thing. We aren't allowed to interact with them."

"Interact?" She pointed to his room. "You show me that in your Big Book of Cuban Religious Facts and I'll write you a check for a million dollars." She grinned. "Wait." The smile left her face. "It's not poisonous, is it? You're not trying to kill me."

He rolled his eyes. "No. Our asshole exterminator said they're harmless. I tell him to spray for them, but they keep building webs."

"Spinning."

"What?" His brow furrowed.

"They spin webs, they don't build them." She loved this—Sixto had a quirk.

"Whatever the hell they do, you need to get this one out so I can finish decorating. The family will be here in two hours."

"Okay. Don't bust a carotid." She walked up to the corner, swept the web onto the broom, and turned around.

He stood in his room looking out at her from the closed patio door.

She snorted and laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.

He pointed to the paper towel, but she shook her head. She considered herself an arachnoterian. She walked through her room, spinning the broom to keep the spider on top, went outside through the garage, and let the arachnid go on the hedge.

She turned to go back into the house and saw a couple walking down the street. Great. Here she stood in her nightgown, apparently sweeping the hedges. She waived. "Hi."

They waved back, looked at each other, and walked away a little faster.

"Nice way to meet the neighbors, Bree." She went back into the house and out to the pool. Sixto used a flashlight to inspect the undersides of the gutters.

"Okay, Spiderman. Come in here so I can patch you up."

He turned off his flashlight and walked to her door, checking out his elbow and palm. "Shit."

"Language."

"Sorry. Shewt."

"Much better." She smiled and led the way into her bathroom.

"What are you so happy about today?"

She pulled out her first aid kit. "Thanks to you, I'm not hung over." She doused a couple cotton balls in rubbing alcohol and grabbed his hand. "This is going to hurt."

He flinched, but didn't say anything. She wiped slowly and held it closer to the light. "Not too bad." Using a pile of cotton balls, she did the same to his elbow and his knees.

His left knee was gouged pretty deeply, and she knelt to get a better look. She brushed a fleck of dirt from it."

"Ow. Be careful."

She smiled up at him, amazed at how overwhelming he looked from this angle. "Shall I kiss it and make it better."

His face tightened, his eyes narrowed and darkened.

Oops, that probably wasn't the best thing to say with her lips in close proximity to his package. Swallowing, she stood, rooted through the first aid kit, and picked up the spray bottle of Neosporin. When she looked back at him, he focused on a spot on the wall.

She sprayed his scrapes quickly. "Do you want me to bandage any of these?"

He looked at his knees and elbow. "Just my hand. I have to cook."

"Okay." She found a large Band-aid and opened it, he obediently held up his hand and she glided the bandage on and cradled his hand in hers, smoothing the ends on his skin. "All done." Looking up into his eyes, she got lost in the warm, sweet emotion. She'd like to hold his hand a few minutes longer, but she released him.

He turned his hand and caught hers, he was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, smell the onions he'd eaten. He swallowed. "Bree, I've been doing a lot of thinking. About us. I want us to talk tonight." He rubbed his thumb on her palm, sending her stomach quivering.

She nodded. Had he made his decision? Did he want to sell his half of the house?

He let go of her hand and walked out her patio door, shutting it behind him. Wait, what did he mean when he said he was thinking "about us?" He'd held her hand and gazed into her eyes when he said it. He wouldn't have looked that way if he planned to move out, would he? No, something changed. Maybe…maybe… Was he ready to let her in to his life? She couldn't get her hopes up, though. It might be another of his schemes to get her into his bed.

She walked to her patio door.

Up on the ladder, he carefully hung the lights.

"Mmm." Her big, burly roommate bumped into a spider web and dove for the concrete. He was just the most complex man she'd ever met. She smiled, hoping he was ready for a relationship.

A frisson of fear shook her. What if the talk was about whoever kept him from coming home the last week? And that sexy look in his eyes was for another woman?

***

Bree shook her head. "Tell me again?"

Sixto threw his hands up, one holding a paring knife, in mock frustration. "You still can't get this?"