Love Turns With Twisted Fates 2 (2 page)

Grace excuses herself when her niece arrives. We breeze
through our farewells, because Kitty is running me through what I’ll need to do
and pick up, but I hear Grace promise to stop by and check on us tomorrow.

Loaded down with paperwork explaining the necessity of
prenatal vitamins and iron supplements, Diego leads me out of the emergency
room, his right arm wrapped protectively around my back. We’re stepping through
the automatic doors and directly into a waiting taxi.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel,” Diego breaks the silence.
“We’ll order room service. What are you craving?” His eyebrows quirk up when he
realizes what he’s asked, “Wait, are you having cravings?”

With a sigh, I share with him my dilemma. “I’d love a big fat
greasy burger, but my head and my stomach are not in agreement.” I further
explain that the very thought of meat makes me incredibly nauseated.

“How about breakfast for dinner?”

“Actually…I could go for some French toast.” With the look
Diego gives me, you’d think I just asked for dirt or detergent for dinner. Of
course, I know why he’s looking at me as if I grew a second head; I
never
eat French toast.

He’s shaking his head. “It starts,” he drawls out jokingly.

Taking in the lights of this new city, new country, I’m
overwhelmed by all the changes this day has brought me, brought us. My mind
wanders to the little room across the way from the master bedroom at the house
Diego purchased for us. I see a rainbow of pastels and solid wood furniture
with sheer covers for the window. My eyes close at the thought of a morning’s
sun hitting my face as I sat with the baby in the rocker.

The sun rising reminds me of another sunrise.

August 1998

Thoroughly exhausted, but in desperate need of a second wind
to push forward on the research for my thesis project, I opt to take my break
from research with a good workout in one of the campus gyms. After an hour on
the elliptical, I’m a sweaty mess, but I want to get some dancing in to further
clear my mind before I head back to the library for a late night.

There’s a little bit of a crowd—if you call a couple or so
handfuls of fellow co-eds a crowd, dispersed around the machines and weights.
As late as it is, there aren’t any classes going so I have my choice of
studios. Armed with a towel, my water bottle, and my portable compact disc
player, I head toward the smallest studio past the group of noisy jocks hitting
the weights.

I pop out my CD and place it in the studio’s boom box,
skipping to the starting track for the workout routine the girls and I came up with.
I use the first songs to stretch and raise my heart rate.

Daft Punk’s “Around the World” comes on and I’m fully immersed
in the thirty something minute routine. It was a project for a dance class Mazzy
and I took. It’s a lot like an aerobic workout routine with some killer dance
moves. Things kick up a notch with the next song, driving me through the
intense physical moves. When the next song comes on, I am extremely
appreciative of our inclination to slow the routine down a little after such an
intense six to seven minutes. I gyrate my hips to Janet Jackson singing about
taking him places he’s never been and the way love goes. Before the next heart
thumping, blood-pumping songs come on, my heart rate evens out and I’ve caught
my breath. I’m counting the songs and seconds to the cool down.
Two more
songs,
I tell myself.

The next section of the routine finishes with a face plant
to start the groundwork portion of the cool down. Arching up and facing the
mirror, I register the small audience on the other side of the studio’s glass
wall.

One face is familiar.
Ha!
Who am I kidding?
Familiar?
That familiar face is Sebastian’s friend, Diego. Our eyes connect
in our reflections in the mirror. It takes everything I have to continue and
keep up with the routine as the music doesn’t pause with my distraction. I
close my eyes to tune out Diego and his buddies. I keep them closed to avoid meeting
Diego’s piercing stare another time. I can’t see him, but I can feel his eyes
on me.

When the music stops, I take a moment to just lay there. The
second wind I was chasing has come, but my mind is on a pair of russet brown
eyes. The look I caught in his them when our gazes connected in the mirror has
created an unfamiliar need within me. The feeling of being watched has passed
and I decide it’s now or never to get up.

Peeling myself from the floor, I am more than relieved that
my earlier audience, ALL of my earlier audience is gone. I guzzle what’s left
of my water and contemplate the odds of running into the man that’s been racing
through my mind for the last week. Momma always said that fate worked in
mysterious ways.

After a quick shower to wash off the grime and to give me
that much more energy, I’ve gathered my belongings in my workout bag and am
pushing through the doors of the gym. I’m leaving Mazzy a message to see if
she’s still on campus and wants to grab a quick bite at the diner just off
campus when it feels like I’ve walked into a wall of solid muscle. Flustered
and frustrated by my carelessness, I force myself to look up and apologize to
whomever I’ve just attempted to bulldoze with my poor attention skills.

“Sorr—,” I’m blown away. Standing before me is Diego. His
presence mixed with my colliding into him and being embarrassed beyond measure,
I’m rendered speechless. The embarrassment sinks in further as I realize I’m
just staring up at him after only getting partially through my apology. Just
when I catch my breath, Diego breaks out a smile that eviscerates my ability to
form a coherent thought, let alone voice one.

“Izzy, right?” he asks. I just nod. I’m so out of my element
with my loss for words, I just keep staring. He cracks that smile again, “Are
you okay? Did I hurt you?”

That snaps me out of it. “Did you hurt me?” The confusion
evident in my voice.

“With this body,” he holds his hands up in an invitation to
look him over, “I’ve been told it hurts to run into it.”

Oh, hell…it’s always the hot ones so full of themselves.
I suppose that’s my fate. Swearing off men and then getting one stuck in my
head only for him to end up being good for a night—or two. “Well, I’m happy to
report that nothing was hurt. You can be on your way now.”

“Where are you going?” he inquires. I look at him as if he’s
just grown two heads. “Cause wherever you’re going is where I’m going.”

“Is that so?” It’s his turn to just nod, but I swear if it
were possible, he turned up the charm and wicked in his grin. “So, if I told
you I was headed to meet my boyfriend for a late dinner at the diner across the
street from the campus, would you still be going where I’m going?”

He laughs.
Oh my gaawwwd. That laugh.
I’m certain my
knees are trembling and it has nothing to do with the chill in the air. “Of
course,” he finally answers. “But I know two things,” he holds up two fingers.
“One, you don’t have a boyfriend and two, if you did, he wouldn’t be it after
we
had dinner.”

“You’re absolutely correct about the first one,” shaking my
head, “but the second? I’d say you give yourself too much credit, Diego.”

Shock, surprise, and pride flash through his eyes.
Crap.
I slipped when I said his name. So, much for playing this indifferent. “You
remember my name,” it’s not quite a question, a musing if I had to label it. I
shrug, but the quirk at the corner of my smile betrays me. “You’ve been
thinking about me.”

Enough of the foreplay, time to get down to Mr. One Night or
Two and move on. I lift my shoulders as if to say maybe. “Well this was fun,
but I really need to get some dinner,” heading in the direction of my car.
“Nice to see you again, Diego. Hope you enjoyed the show earlier,” I call out
over my shoulder.

“So, we’re going to dinner,” he practically sings next to
me.

“I don’t know about
we
, but
I
am. I suppose if
you want to join me, I won’t object. My dinner buddy hasn’t replied,” I say
holding up my phone and shaking it. He laughs
that
laugh again. It’s
rumbly and deep and makes it hard to concentrate.

“Can I carry your bag for you?”

“Well aren’t you chivalrous? Are we gonna go steady, too?” I
mock, stopping mid stride to see what he says next.

“I can’t commit to steady, you might be a stalker or a
serial killer,” he teases back.

“Stalker, huh? What was it you were doing when I tried to
run you over?”

The faint blush I see through the pale light of the dimly
lit campus parking lot and his tongue pressing against his cheek highlight the
impish grin he’s sporting. “If I told you I was sitting out here waiting for
one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen to walk out those doors,”
pointing in the direction of the entrance to the gym, “would you think I was a
stalker?” He monopolizes on the opportunity to turn my earlier taunt back at
me. “But I guess she’s not coming out,” he deadpans and my face falls slack in
shock, my eyes unblinking.

This time his laugh is a roar and I can feel it rumbling
through me. I shake my head in…
in what? Disbelief? Annoyance? Nope. Not it.

Resignation. That’s it.

This man is trouble and I am drawn to it—to him, like a
desperate addict to her next fix. “Ha ha…don’t let me stop you from waiting for
her,” still holding onto my gym bag, I continue on my way to my car.

“Her loss, your gain,” he says from behind me. I can hear
the shrug in his voice. He’s keeping pace with me. “Do you always walk out here
alone at night?” Where there was once humor, I think I catch concern.

“Sure,” I say with a slight lift of my shoulders. “Not
always on this side of the campus.”

“That’s not safe,” he says just as we get to my car, his
voice stern.

“Really?” I look up to meet his gaze. The playfulness and
charm are gone, replaced with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. “Okay, Prince
Charming, I’ll have you know that I’m a ninja. I went to ninja school for ten
years, because my dad insisted I be able to protect myself from boys.”

It’s my turn to laugh. The look on his face is priceless:
eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, his left eyebrow raised. Undoubtedly, he’s
trying to figure if I’m serious and what I meant by it.

“Aikido. I studied aikido for ten years. I’ve also taken some
boxing.” Lifting up my shirt to show off my abs, “Shoulda asked if I hurt you.”

He shakes his head at me with a wide grin. “So this is your
ride?” His eyebrows are lifted in approval mixed with a little bit of shock and
awe at my 1967 Ford Galaxie. I sold my Honda Accord when mom and dad passed
away. Sure, the gas mileage sucks on this thing, but it’s a little piece of my
dad I get to have with me every day. “Damn,” he shakes his head again. “Just
damn.”

“This is my Betsy. She was my dad’s baby,” I answer back
with a smile. “Where’d you park?” I ask looking around the parking lot to see
if I can match the man to his machine.

“Don’t have a car. I live on campus because of my
scholarship.”

I quirk an eyebrow up at the mention of scholarship. “So you
are a jock?” I can hear the disappointment in my voice and only hope he
doesn’t. I open the trunk and toss in my bag. “Well, if you’re going to join me
for dinner you might as well get in.”

I’m already behind the wheel when Diego pulls open the
passenger side door and eases himself into the seat. He’s still wearing his gym
clothes, although the shirt looks fresh. I can see the hills and valleys of his
abs through the white tee. I bite my lip to fight the urge to reach out and
touch.

“Ahem, I have a face you know and,” I look up to meet his
stare full of lust and desire, “if you bite that lip of yours any harder you’re
going to need stitches.”

I roll my eyes and put the car in reverse. There’s a beep on
my phone, alerting me I have a new message. Diego grabs it from the ashtray
turned phone holder. “Hey,” I shout but I lack the conviction to stop him from
looking at my phone.

“Looks like your dinner buddy had other plans.”

Stopped at the exit of the parking lot, I look to the screen
on my phone. It’s Mazzy. I press the button to listen to the message she’s
left.

“Izzy!”

“Izzyyyyy!”

“Izzy, where are you babe?” There’s a string of persons
saying my name on the message. It’s Mazzy and her go to boys, Steph and Aidan.

“You still in the library?” One of the boys asks.

Mazzy snorts. “The boys and I are a little sweaty and a lot
naked.”

“You still coming?”

“I am,” Mazzy answers. Diego coughs. Oh, the woman and her
exploits. There’s some rustling over the phone and one last request for
sustenance, no less. “
Muah!”
Mazzy ends the call.  

Oh my fucking gawwwd!
  Mazzy and her naked duo
talking over each other on the message is just what Diego needed to hear. I
just shake my head. The woman has no shame. Of course, she probably wasn’t
expecting me to be with anyone.

“Sounds like your dinner buddy is tangled up with other
plans.”

The short drive to the diner is quiet. I can practically
hear the wheels turning in Diego’s head. Thanks to Mazzy, I know where our
conversation is now headed.

At this hour, the diner is a seat yourself set up. I choose
the round booth in the corner and slide myself near to the center. Diego slides
in the other side, staying near the edge of the booth, but taking up enough
real estate so that our elbows meet as we rest our arms on the table in front
of us.

“So, which one was your dinner buddy?” Referring to the message
from Mazzy and her boys.

“All of them,” I say with a wink. “I cancelled on them to do
research.”

Diego’s eyes bug out and he doesn’t look happy. In fact, is
that steam I see coming from his ears?

“The female,” part question, part statement. “That’s my
Mazzy, best friend, partner in crime, and freak.” I can see him rolling his
next question around on his tongue. When he screws his face up, I decide to
answer before he asks. “Not my bag. I loved my parents,” I let out a
half-hearted chuckle. “Mazzy is busy being the opposite of what’s expected of
her. She says it’s all part of her plan to be young and wild and free. I tell
her she means a freak, not free.” I chuckle at my own joke.

“That’s good. I’m not very good at sharing,” he states
simply

Before I can appropriately react, the waitress is at the
table asking for our drink orders. Extremely hungry after my workout, I order
my dinner at the same time. Diego does the same. Our food is out in front of us
before long and we settle into a comfortable silence.

Between bites, I steal glances at the sinfully good-looking
man sharing the booth with me when we aren’t making small talk. I can’t figure
out why he has this enigmatic pull on me. With measured breaths, I manage to
finish what I could of my chef salad.

With a sigh, I wipe my mouth and toss the napkin on the
table. I’m not looking forward to the long night of researching. While the
workout at the gym was exhilarating, this workout to keep my heart from jumping
out of my chest in Diego’s presence is considerably more taxing.

“Diego, how old are you?” He’s mid-bite when I ask the
question, but his lips pull up in a mischievous smile from behind his
cheeseburger. “What?”

He finishes chewing his bite and wipes his mouth. That
mischievous smile still in place, he asks how old I thought he was. I only got
a nod and a shrug when I guessed twenty-one. We go back and forth with similar
questions while he finishes the platter of chili fries he ordered. He never
really gives me any direct answers and I have to wonder what it is he’s
avoiding.