One of the Guys (10 page)

E
very year Tomas
threw a huge Memorial Day BBQ at his property in the country. He and his wife Talia owned a townhouse in a trendy neighborhood in Atlanta, but they spent most of their time in a sprawling ranch an hour outside of the city, and that was where Diego was headed. The huge property contained a private lake, and his cousin loved the fact that the nearest house was miles away.

Ronnie had said she couldn’t make the trip out until later, so Diego arrived before the festivities started to offer his help, and thought he could also use the opportunity to ask his cousin for a favor.

He pulled up the dirt driveway and spotted Tomas, wearing a black apron and “Grillmaster” emblazoned in white on the front with a lightning bolt going through the word. He kept an eye on his almost three-year-old son Manuel, who was driving an F-150 yellow toy truck around the yard.

Wearing a red cap turned backward on his head and big plastic sunglasses, the little boy grinned from ear to ear on the big toy. Manuel was a shade darker than his father, a miniature version of Tomas with the same whiskey-colored eyes, smile, and facial features.

Before climbing out of the truck cab, Diego lifted the dark brown fedora from the seat beside him and dropped it loosely on his head.

When Manuel saw Diego coming toward them, he waved. Diego grinned at the little boy and lifted a hand in greeting.

Tomas was a diehard charcoal user, and the aroma of cooking meat filled the air. Hamburgers and hotdogs worked on the kettle grill while meats cooked on the barrel grill.

“You’re here early,” Tomas said, taking his eyes off his son for a second.

“Couldn’t wait to see you,” Diego joked.

Tomas chuckled. “I seriously doubt that.”

“Where’s Talia?” Diego looked around the property, taking in the dogwood and scarlet oak trees, and the way the sun’s rays sparkled on the lake’s surface.

“Making sure the rest of the food arrives and finishing up the sides.”

Hard to believe that his wife was handling any of the dishes. When the couple first started dating, Talia didn’t know her way around the kitchen and Tomas did all the cooking. Now they shared the culinary duties.

Diego stood silently beside his cousin, watching the big black tires of Manuel’s truck roll over the grass and the bare, rocky patches in the yard.

“What exactly does Talia do at the marketing firm?” Diego asked.

“She’s the senior vice president of creative services. Why?”

Diego watched his cousin transfer charred hotdogs into an aluminum pan. “I have a favor I need to ask you,” he said.

“Okay.” Tomas added uncooked hotdogs to the grill.

“Do you think she’d do a small job for me?”

Tomas looked over his shoulder. “For you personally?”

“Actually, for Ronnie’s mechanic shop, Taylor Automotive. She needs help.”

Tomas lifted an eyebrow. “You want me to ask my wife, who handles multi-million dollar accounts, to do a marketing plan for your girlfriend?”

Girlfriend. He and Ronnie didn’t use labels and the word sounded strange.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Diego mumbled.

“You spend all your time with her.”

“I care about her. Listen, I just want your help. Talia created a marketing plan for your business,” Diego pointed out.

His cousin had left his job as the foreman of a construction company to start his own business remodeling homes, work he’d done on the side for years. After collecting market research, Talia created a plan that included designing stationery and matching business cards, and rolling out a media campaign that included a large billboard on Highway 85.

“I sleep next to her every night. I have some pull,” Tomas said, with a sly smile.

“Help me out, Tomas.”

His cousin cast thoughtful eyes in his direction. “You really like this woman, eh?’

Diego shrugged. “I want to help her out.”

Tomas’s eyes followed his son. “
Mijo
,” he called. “Come back this way,” he said in Spanish.

Manuel reversed the truck and turned around, driving across the yard.

“What’s the name of her shop again?” Tomas asked.

Diego relaxed. He thought he’d have to do more persuading, but Tomas had given in much easier than he’d expected. “Taylor Automotive & Repair. Right next to my place.”

“I’ll tell Talia, but no promises.”

“Tell Talia what?”

The umber-skinned Talia, whose dignified appearance relayed the fact that she came from money, squeezed between them. It was funny to see them together, his cousin looking almost untamed with his long hair, T-shirt, and jeans. Meanwhile, Talia appeared chic and feminine in a maxi skirt and white shirt that dipped off her shoulder, and her long thick hair pulled up into a pile of curls on top of her head.

Tomas placed his arm around her and cupped the uncovered shoulder. “My cousin wants you to use your considerable talent to help him capture the undying love of a particular female.” He kissed her temple.

“Oh really?” Talia raised a neat brow. “Sounds serious.”

Diego glared at his cousin.

Tomas’s mouth twitched at the corners. “I think it is,” he said in a stage whisper.

“How are you feeling,
prima
?” Diego asked.

“Look at him, changing the subject,” Talia said.

“We see right through you.”

Diego shrugged. “You’re pregnant, and I want to know how you and the baby are doing.”

She smiled contentedly. “We’re fine.”

Tomas rubbed his wife’s shoulder, and she leaned into him. Talia was ten weeks pregnant—too early to tell the sex of the baby.

“And of course I’ll help you,” Talia added. “I can do a quick market analysis, but I’ll have to work on that project in between my obligations at the agency.”

“No problem. By the way, it’s a surprise for her, so the information you have access to will be limited to what I can provide.”

Talia’s eyebrows came together. “That’s going to make it difficult to come up with a good plan.”

“It doesn’t have to be too in-depth.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

Diego slapped his hands together. “Okay, what do you need me to do before the guests start arriving?”

“To start, you can help me set up the tables and chairs.” He turned to his wife. “
Querida
, you should take Manuel inside. We’ll have a hard time keeping an eye on him while we’re working out here. Manuel, come back and go inside with Mommy.”

Manuel glanced over his shoulder but kept moving.

“Ven aca, mijo
,” Tomas called.

The little boy shook his head, vehemently. “No, Daddy.”

“
Manuel, ven aca ahora
,” Tomas said, tone harder.

Manuel ignored the stern command, and Tomas uttered a curse in Spanish and took off after the toddler. The little boy continued driving, looking over his shoulder as if he could outrun his father in the toy truck, which couldn’t be going more than three or four miles per hour.

Talia’s hand touched Diego’s arm. “The Anniversary is coming up. You doing okay?” she asked, concern in her eyes. Like Tomas, she was a little older, and looked out for Diego.

She’d asked the question because the time of year he dreaded the most was soon upon him. Last year he’d almost slipped back into depression, the Anniversary coming on the heels of the stress of starting a new business. She and Tomas encouraged him to take a couple of days off, and they let him stay out here, where the fresh air and quiet soothed his tormented thoughts.

“I’m good,” he answered, swallowing past the tightness in his throat.

She patted his arm. “You know we’re here if you need us.”

He looked away in time to see Tomas grab the back of the truck. Manuel let out a high-pitched scream and Tomas scooped up the little boy from the seat. He then proceeded to march across the yard with a wailing, kicking Manuel tucked under his arm like a football, dragging the big yellow truck behind him.

Talia took the little boy from his father and he clung to her, sobbing pitifully into her breasts. Diego picked up the giant sunglasses that had fallen off his face, while Tomas carried the truck onto the porch.

“Shh. Stop now.” Talia rubbed her son’s back.

“I’ll flip this meat and then we’ll get to work,” Tomas said, walking over to the grills.

Talia continued to talk in a soothing voice to their son. She took the sunglasses from Diego. “Why didn’t you listen to Daddy, hmm? He told you to come back. You have to listen to Daddy, okay?” She walked up the steps.

The sight of Talia lovingly cradling his little cousin gutted him. How many times had he held his little girl in his arms, cradling her in much the same way to soothe her tears when she skinned a knee or crawled into bed with him and Loisa because she was certain there was a monster in the closet?

Because of the violence and chaos of his upbringing, as a young man he’d welcomed the chance to have a stable home environment. Matilda and Loisa offered everything he missed out on. Then it was all yanked away.

He loved Tomas and Talia. They were his family. But sometimes, the display of their happiness was a painful reminder of the emptiness in his own life. Not only what was missing, but what he had lost.

R
onnie drove
with one hand along the two-lane road with the window down and her elbow propped on the door, letting the wind whoosh through the cabin of the truck. The cool air whipped over her skin and counteracted the warmth of the sun. She inhaled deeply, appreciating the cleaner, fresher smell of her surroundings.

Zooming by a sign advertising strawberry picking, she smiled. She had fond childhood memories of she and her cousins excitedly filling plastic containers of strawberries, and at the end of the trip sitting in the back of her father’s truck with their prizes on their laps, gorging on the sweet fruit on their way home. Her aunt complained about the amount of berries, but whipped up all sorts of treats from the bounty—strawberry pie, strawberry shortcake, strawberry jam, and Ronnie’s personal favorite, chocolate-covered strawberries.

A large white truck lumbered by, laden with crates of vegetables and Tottle Farms painted on the door. The driver honked twice and waved, and Ronnie waved back. Although she didn’t want to move out of metro Atlanta, she understood the appeal of living so far outside the city limits.

Arriving at her destination, she turned onto the dirt road. Numerous vehicles lined either side of the lane, too many to count.

“Whoa,” Ronnie murmured, parking behind a Jeep.

Latin music played loud and strong when Ronnie approached the house. Thanks to Diego, she’d gained an appreciation for the genre. He had educated her about different forms: bachata, merengue, salsa, reggaeton—but those were only a few.

He was very loyal to a Cuban hip-hop/Afropunk musician by the name of X Alfonso. Whenever they rode in his truck, more than likely the musician’s husky vocals could be heard blasting through the speakers. But she recognized the current thumping beat as the extremely popular “Danza Kuduro” by Don Omar. She didn’t understand the words, but every time Diego played the hit, she tapped her feet in time to the upbeat tempo.

Continuing to walk, she scanned the property for Diego. Kids ran around screaming and laughing, and she pulled up short when a little boy careened toward her, screeching with a little girl hot on his heels.

“Excuse me!” he cried, dodging Ronnie.

They both ran toward the tire swing, where two teenaged boys observed the kids playing near the lake.

She’d texted Diego when she neared the property, but didn’t see him anywhere among the group—a mixture of all ages and races, eating and drinking together, some even dancing under the shade of one of the many flowering dogwood trees dotting the grounds.

“Ronnie, is that you?” a surprised male voice said.

A little over six feet, with a wiry build and chocolate skin, Edgar stood a few feet away, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Small world.

“Hi. What—”

She broke off when he rushed over and pulled her into a tight hug. A couple of seconds passed before Ronnie remembered to hug him back.

“What are you doing here?” she asked when he released her. “Do you know Tomas and Talia?”

“No, a friend invited me. You?”

“No, I…Tomas’s cousin invited me, Diego.” This was the hard part, explaining her relationship with Diego. They were a couple, but not really. They slept together, but she wasn’t sure she could actually call him her boyfriend, and he seemed perfectly fine with the current situation. She, on the other hand, hated the uncertainty.

He frowned. “I don’t think I met him. But you look great!” he exclaimed, standing back and examining her. His gaze ran over the cutoff denim shorts and purple tank top.

“Thank you.” Her cheeks burned impossibly hot at the unexpected compliment.

“I feel terrible about the night we met. I can’t believe you worked on my car in the parking lot.” He shook his head. “I was too embarrassed to call and follow up.” His eyes dipped to her legs again.

Ronnie shifted from one foot to the other. He was obviously checking her out, and while she was flattered, the attention did surprise her. During their initial meeting, she never got the impression that he was very interested. Perhaps the shirt-dress didn’t impress him much, but he clearly liked the shorts.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“So…are you seeing anyone?” he asked tentatively.

“Um…” Again, she didn’t quite know what to say. “Sort of. The guy I mentioned, Diego.”

His mouth downturned. “Guess I missed my shot, huh?”

“I…um…”

Edgar smiled. “Don’t answer. Come on, let’s see if we can find Diego.” He placed a hand between her shoulder blades, and she tried not to read too much into the fact that he was touching her yet again.

As they walked side by side, Ronnie searched the grounds. Her eyes bounced from person to person until she spotted Diego during another glance at the porch “I see him now.”

Edgar followed her line of vision. “Where?”

She pointed. “In the green T-shirt.”

“Oh.”

She understood the subdued response. Diego looked particularly scrumptious in a green, fitted T-shirt with white letters and jeans that fit snugly but not tightly over his lean hips. He looked downright potent and dripping with confidence. Two woven bracelets, one made of leather and the other of yarn, circled his right wrist, and a chocolate fedora rested in a casual position the back of his head.

He bounced his head to “Danza Kuduro,” smiling as he talked. He had a two-day growth of hair on his face because he’d become lazy over the long weekend and refused to shave. Not that she minded. She quite enjoyed the sweet burn of facial hair against her inner thigh when they made love.

He finally saw her and she waved at him and smiled.

“Now that you’ve found your guy, I’ll leave you alone,” Edgar said. Regret in his eyes, he squeezed her arm, his hand lingering a little too long by dragging across her skin, before he walked away.

When Ronnie looked at the porch again, Diego’s eyes followed Edgar’s progress across the yard, a smile no longer on his face. Ronnie approached the stairs and right away recognized the two men with Diego as the ones at Dilligan’s the night he beat her in pool.

Based on an earlier conversation, she guessed the tallest one was Tomas. He had an arm wrapped around a petite, dark-skinned woman standing in front of him, who moved her hips ever so slightly to the music. She must be Talia.

A wide grin spread across Diego’s face, and he nudged Tomas. All eyes turned to Ronnie as she ascended the stairs.

“You finally made it. I was beginning to worry,” Diego said, slipping a hand around her waist and puller her close to his side.

“I texted you.”

Frowning, he took out the phone and saw the text. “My little cousin Manuel was playing with the phone earlier. I didn’t receive an alert. He must have changed the settings.”

Diego tugged a loose string on her jeans. “These are short,” he said in a low voice, so no one else could hear.

Heat suffused her cheeks. “I cut off an old pair of jeans. Anika showed me how to make them distressed using sandpaper.”

Her happiness changed to bewilderment when she noted the hard set to his jaw. The comment wasn’t so much a compliment as an observation.

He made the introductions, introducing Ryan, Talia, and Tomas, and introducing her as Veronica.

“But you can call me Ronnie,” she added.

While they spoke, Ryan’s wife, Shawna, a woman with russet skin and her long hair in a neat ponytail, came from inside the house with a chubby baby boy in her arms.

“How old is he?” Ronnie asked. She touched his hand, and his little fist closed around her finger. She wagged her hand and the boy rewarded her with a bright smile.

“Eight months.” Shawna beamed.

“He’s adorable,” Ronnie cooed.

“Are you hungry?” Talia asked.

Ronnie dragged her attention away from the baby. “I could definitely eat.” She’d barely eaten all day, saving her appetite after Diego told her about all the food Tomas and Talia prepared and bought for the annual event.

“There are hotdogs, burgers, chicken—plenty to eat,” Diego said.

Talia pointed at Ryan and Diego. “You two need to help Tomas bring out more chairs and move the picnic tables under the trees.”

“And bring out more ice and drinks,” Shawna added.

“So you need the men to handle the heavy lifting?” Ryan asked, flexing his muscles.

Shawna giggled and shoved her husband. “Just go. We’ll take care of Ronnie.”

“You don’t have to babysit me. Just point me in the right direction and I can fix my own plate.”

There was plenty of food outside, but Ronnie followed Ryan and Diego into the house where there was more food and she could wash her hands. They passed a living room filled with large, traditional furniture in dark hues. Ten men crowded around the television watching a White Sox and Cleveland Indians baseball game and yelling at the screen.

The large eat-in kitchen contained high-end Viking appliances, and it was obvious the hosts replenished the food outside from in here, where covered dishes lined almost every surface. Diego and Ryan left with the additional drinks and ice, and Ronnie reviewed her choices from the mouth-watering spread. She placed an extra char-grilled hotdog on the plate and added ribs, potato salad, and baked beans.

“This should get me started,” she said to herself. She grabbed a cold beer and made her way toward the front, but loud cheering made her pause in the doorway of the living room.

Through instant replay, she saw one of the players slide into home plate.

Ronnie eased into the room. Diego was busy, so she could hang out for a minute and eat and watch the game.

She walked over to the leather sofa where a heavyset black male sat sipping a beer. “Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all. Have a seat.”

“What’s the score?” she asked, settling down.

“Four to two, in favor of the Indians,” came the reply.

“I see you got the same idea I did,” a familiar voice said to her right.

Ronnie looked up to see Edgar standing beside the couch.

“Mind if I join you?”

“There’s plenty of room.” She and the other man scooted over and Edgar joined them.

Ronnie bit into a rib and settled down to watch the game.