The Story of You and Me (27 page)

“911 in case of emergency.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “I’m only here for another couple of hours. You can page me or the nurse’s station if you have questions. I’m prescribing a creme for your burns. Pick it up on your way out.” She turned and I swear, shook her finger at me. “You’re going to feel like crap for a couple of days. Rest, hydrate, and eat something bland like chicken soup and crackers. No excessive physical exertion if you know what I mean.” She scribbled in my chart.

“Thank you Doctor,” I said.

“You’re welcome.” She left the cubicle.

I looked at Alejandro. “I think I figured out why the provision list for the Vision Quest included mouthwash.”

And despite everything, we both cracked smiles. Here we were again—full circle.

Chapter Twenty-four

Alejandro ran a bath for me in my ancient claw foot tub. I brushed my teeth for the third time and spit into the bathroom sink. That simple effort made me feel even weaker. Like I’d just taken a five-mile hike instead a three-gargle spit. I ignored the elephant in the room—he finally knew my biggest secret—I had MS.

“My mom always said lavender and Aloe vera are healing for burns and stuff.” Alejandro poured a concoction from a box directly under the faucet. “The description on this bath soak package says the ingredients are organic and natural.”
 

“Sounds like the plant medicine,” I said.

“Oh crap. I’ll empty it.” He plunged his hand down into the water toward the stopper.

“No,” I said. “Keep it.” I leaned forward over the sink and stared into the mirror. My face was red and covered in soot. I was really lucky that I hadn’t gotten badly burned. I had a few blisters and minor burns on my hand and other areas. I was, however missing half an eyebrow: the fire had singed it off. “You must think I’m hideous.”
 

Alejandro stood behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, leaned his sooty face next to mine and peered into the mirror. “Nah. I think you look kind of exotic. Like that chick in
The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo
who had really skinny eyebrows.”

“She had
two
skinny eyebrows,” I said. “Where would I be if you hadn’t shown up?”

“Probably with a normal man without all the baggage who would’ve been there for you from the get go. A guy who doesn’t break people.”

“Excuse me.
Without you
I’d be on a slab in the county morgue.” I said. “Going on this stupid Quest wasn’t about me. Well—it kind of was. But for the most part, it was for Nana.” My legs trembled. My hands started shaking. I couldn’t hide my shame or my symptoms any longer and a few tears leaked out.

He hugged me tighter and nuzzled his chin against my face. “It’s okay to cry, Bonita. Do you want to skip the bath and just hit the bed?”

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “God, no.” I said. “I’m a stinky creature from Middle-earth.” I looked at the tub. The water looked warm, the bubbles inviting. And yet… “Truth?”

“Truth,” he said.
 

“If I have a seizure in liquid deeper than a glass of orange juice tonight—I’d drown.”

He nodded. “This explains your freaky aversion to surfing.”

“You’re discovering all my secrets.”
 

He stepped away and ran his fingers through the water. “The temperature’s perfect. Your carriage awaits.” He gestured to the tub. “I’ll even give you privacy. I’ll sit right outside the door and I won’t even peek. But if I hear anything unusual, I’ll rescue you. You’re not drowning tonight.”

I didn’t know whether to feel grateful or embarrassed. “I have MS, Alejandro. No matter how many herbal baths I take, it’s incredibly doubtful that I’ll be a person who lives a long, rich, healthy life.”

“Bonita—just take a bath. One small thing to help you relax and feel better. Okay? We’ll deal with the rest of it later.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said. “And no worries about me seducing you tonight. I’m a total gentleman. I wouldn’t lay one finger on you, in that kind of way, even if you handed me an engraved invitation.”

Hmm. That almost sounded like an Alpha Boy challenge.
 

“Your puke-stained shirt,” he said. “What do you think? Should we take it off?”

“Yes.” I stretched my arms up over my head.
 

He tugged on my shirt and slowly peeled it over my head, leaving me naked from the waist up except for my sweat-drenched bra.

He held the shirt balled up in his hand. “Keep it or toss it?”

“Toss it.”

“Agree.” He pitched it into the wastebasket in the corner of the bathroom. His eyes landed on my chest and swept slowly down my body. He cleared his throat. “Your jeans,” he said. “They’re dirty. Again, puke-stained. Smell like smoke and probably have bat shit on them. What do you think?”

“I think you’re going to help me get out of them.”

He kneeled and unbuttoned my jeans. Slowly. I heard his breath catch. He placed one large hand on each side of my waistband and eased my Levis down my hips.

My stomach did flip-flops and seemed to drop low into my pelvis. I started feeling hot and my heart pounded in my chest.

How could I be dehydrated, burnt, exhausted and massively turned on all at the same time?
When my jeans chafed against something painful on my thigh. “Ow!” I flinched.

He gazed up at me, concerned. “A bruise or a burn?”

“A burn, I think.”

“Where?”

My hand traveled down directly in front of his face, grazed his lower lip, (by mistake I swear,) and I tapped a spot on my thigh just inches from his mouth. His breath quickened and warmed my leg.

“Hang on.” He stood up, opened the mirrored bathroom cabinet door, peered inside and grabbed a pair of scissors. “I’m cutting this pant leg off right above where it hurts. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.
 

He knelt back on the floor and punctured a hole in my threadbare jeans with the tip of the scissors and started cutting off my pant leg.

I tried not to fidget, but I was sprouting goose bumps and suddenly had the shivers. He cut around my entire thigh until the filthy pant leg collapsed around my ankle. “Better,” I said.
 

“Good. You were right,” he said. “It’s a burn and a bruise. Nasty. Where’s that cream the ER doctor gave you?”

“In my purse,” I said. “On the kitchen counter.”

He sighed, got up and left the bathroom. “I hope Dr. Carlton Kelsey uses his time wisely to cross a whole lot of state lines far away from California.”

I wriggled out of what remained of my jeans.

“Because if I see him, I will kick his flabby ass from here to—”
 

He froze in the bathroom’s entrance and gazed at me, speechless.
 

I stood before him in only my bra and panties. Pointed to the clothing on the floor. “Could you throw that in the trash as well?”
 

“Um.” His eyes glazed over. “Yes.” He picked the pile off the floor and pitched it into the wastebasket.

“Thanks. You said you’d sit outside the bathroom door to make sure I didn’t drown. You still okay with that?”

“Oh.” He frowned and shook his head. “Yes. Absolutely.” He stepped the few feet outside the door. I heard him sit down and lean back against the hallway wall. And sigh.
 

I smiled. He was still my Alpha Boy. I unhooked my bra and shimmied out of my underwear. Dropped both on the floor. Stepped gingerly into the tub.
 

The water was warm, but not too warm. I sat down, sighed, dunked under the water for a few seconds and wet my hair. I resurfaced dripping wet and reclined against the back of the porcelain tub. I grabbed the bar of soap and carefully cleaned the blood, soot and smoke from my skin. “This feels great,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I reached for the shampoo on the side of the tub and winced when squeezing the bottle caused the burn on my hand to flare. Thought about it. There weren’t a ton of bubbles left. And then I wondered after all we’d been through, if I really needed them.

“I need your help, Alejandro,” I said. “If you’re up for it.”

“What?” he sounded interested.

“Would you wash my hair? The burn on my hand hurts.”

“Okay,” he said, still outside the bathroom door.

“That means you can come back inside.”

He walked in with his eyes squinted shut.

“Open your eyes, before you fall, dork.”

“But I promised,” he said.

“And I promise you’re not going to see anything you haven’t seen before.”

He smiled and blinked his eyes open. It was like watching a kid on Christmas morning seeing presents for the first time. (Yippee! Santa made it after all!)

He kneeled next to the tub, reached over me, grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the far corner, flipped open the top and poured a dab into his palm. His gaze danced over my body submerged under the water and landed on my face. His lips were full. I wanted to kiss him. He massaged the shampoo into my scalp.
 

Heavenly. He was freaking heavenly.
“Why you haven’t become a hair stylist is a question that will always haunt me,” I said.

“I could be like that Warren Beatty character in the old movie,
Shampoo.”

“I’ve never seen that movie, but trust me if Warren’s character did half of what you’re doing now—sign me up.”

I slid under the water for a second and wondered what to do. I had MS. But I’d fallen in love for the first time with Alejandro: a gorgeous, smart man who loved me back.
I was safe. I was cared for. I was in love. Seriously? My decision wasn’t all that difficult.
 

I slid back up out of the water, my hair slicked against my neck, chest and back. I blinked my eyes open and realized the bubbles were gone. Alejandro was deliberately avoiding eye contact, staring at something on the ceiling. “Look at me,” I said.

“Nah. We’d be getting into dicey territory. I think it’s safer to look at that spot on the wall.”
 

“No.” I grabbed his hand. “I want you to look at me.
All of me.
The good, the bad… I’m bruised. I’m burnt. I have this stupid disease that could be inactive for years and one day might decide to eat me up and leave me in a wheelchair. Most nineteen-year-old girls are close to being perfect people.
But I’m not.
I’ll never be a perfect person. I need you to know that.”

“Bonita,” he said. “I’m the guy who will love you, no matter what.”

I pushed myself half out of the bath water and clasped his face between my hands.

“Kiss me,” I said.

“I can’t. I promised to be a gentleman.”

“Kiss me, or I’ll pull you in this tub on top of me. And don’t think just because I had a really shitty night that I can’t do that. I’m a midwestern chick and I’ve completely fallen in love with you, you big gorgeous dork. And midwestern chicks know what they want, when they want it, and they get it done. So kiss me,” I insisted, more than a little breathless.

He smiled, pulled me toward him and kissed me. Our hands flew across each other’s bodies: cupping, caressing, gliding. I giggled and splashed his shirt.
 

“I knew you were going to do that,” he said.

“I want to feel you. I want to touch you,” I said.

He ripped off his shirt and reached his hand out to me. I took his hand and stepped out of that tub wet from head to toe: scarred, bruised, burnt and naked.

He inhaled sharply and eyed me. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
 

“Prove it to me,” I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him toward me.

 
He lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around the top of his hips. He carried me out of the bathroom through my hallway and into my bedroom.
 

He lowered me onto my back on my bed.

“Protection?” I asked.

He grabbed his wallet and pulled out a condom. He shrugged off his jeans in seconds and rolled on the condom.
 

“I want you, Alejandro,” I said, my breath heavy.

He straddled me. He was naked. And he was beautiful. Truth be told, I hadn’t seen a lot of erections. But I do think his might have been perfect. That this moment might be perfect. “I want you to be my first love,” I said.

“You sure? That’s not the plant medicine talking?”

“You better believe I’m sure.”

He lowered himself against me firmly. I looked up into his beautiful face. His hazel eyes flecked with gold were hungry, filled with desire. He entered me as gently as possible and I gasped. After the first few moments, I knew this was by far the best decision of my entire life. “I love you, Bonita,” he said as we found our rhythm, lost our breath, and melded into each other’s bodies.

* * *

Our first time making love was sweet and tender and, well, interesting. Afterward we were famished. It had been a long night filled with all kinds of excitement. He ordered takeout. The sun rose as we sat on my living room floor sharing pizza, fresh chicken soup with noodles and bagels with cream cheese.

We were exhausted, went back to my bed and napped for a couple of hours. We woke up in each other’s arms when Napoleon skittered across the blanket and pounced on our feet.

Our second time making love lasted longer and seemed a little more intense. Definitely more goosebumps.
 

But the third time we made love? I realized that even a semi-orgasmic Chinese foot massage wouldn’t ever come close to satisfying my needs the way Alejandro did.
 

* * *

Pacific Coast Highway was an amazing expanse of a winding road that ran along California’s coast. In some areas it was blocks from the ocean. In other stretches it was actually adjacent to the coast. The highway was one of the few access roads in and out of Malibu and was the address for celebs, moguls and a few rehab centers.
 

Alex and I drove on PCH up the Malibu bluffs, the sun off to our left over the waves breaking on the beautiful SoCal beaches. I wasn’t sure if I should venture out so soon after my nearly disastrous healing experiment. I didn’t want be a burden, nor did I care to be an eyesore or bear the brunt of gossip. But when Alex said Jackson’s folks had whipped together a fund-raiser for the Malibu Fire Department, I was game, and pulled my attitude, as well as a pretty outfit together. I did my hair and applied some makeup. Tried my best to pencil in my half-missing eyebrow.