Say When (13 page)

Or have sex.

Because I do have hormones, and they liked the massage even more than my sore muscles did. In fact, I shift in my seat, feeling an uncomfortable ache between my legs, an ache fueled by lust.

I watch out of the corner of my eyes as Andrés slips off his gloves and walks over to a large tub sink. I admire his toned, tanned arm and back muscles flexing as he lathers up his hands. I don’t remember when he stripped off his shirt, but I’m not complaining.

I stretch my legs out in front of me and squirm in my seat. I can smell the fresh bread and roasted meat from the sandwiches, but I’m not hungry for food right now.

When Andrés turns to me, a bulge pressing against the zipper of his tight jeans, I realize Andrés is hungry for something else, too.

Eyeing him pointedly, I slowly rise, unsnap my bra and toss it on the table.

Andrés freezes, water dripping from his hands and puddling on the floor. His dark gaze is boring into me, as he unbuckles his belt and then unzips his pants.

I lick my lips and admire the large erection that springs out as he pulls down his underwear. Andrés crosses the short distance between us in a few strides. His wet hands are on my breasts. He firmly squeezes each mound before pulling back and tracing each nipple with his fingertips.

I moan and toss back my head as wet heat pools in my underwear. And then he’s removing the rest of my clothes, tossing my jeans to the floor in a tangled heap. He’s stroking my sensitive cleft, coaxing more moisture and causing me to moan louder.

He traces the bud until it swells with painful need. I’m holding onto him, digging my fingers into his arms, panting hard as he trails kisses down my neck and across my face.

The wind whooshes from my lungs as he spins me around and lifts me onto the table. I’m on all fours, my palms flat against the smooth surface. I wince as the hard table presses against my knees, but I don’t say a word. As if he’s reading my mind, Andrés is lifting me, pressing his T-shirt beneath each knee. I smile, amazed at how thoughtful he is.

As he circles my cleft with his slick fingers, my thoughts become a jumbled mess, until the only thing I care about is reaching that orgasm. He pulls away, and I hear a ripping sound. I know he’s slipping on a condom. My flesh hums and my core throbs in anticipation.

And then he’s sliding into me. I press back against him, forcing his entire length into me. I cry out when he reaches my womb, and I bump and grind against him even harder. Andrés must sense my growing need, as he digs his fingers into my ass and slides in and out with sharp thrusts, rattling the table beneath me.

A few more thrusts against my core, and I scream his name as the orgasm consumes me. He presses deep into me and cries out too, his organ throbbing against my center as my sheath squeezes around him like a tightening fist.

I’m so weakened by the wave of euphoria that washes over me, that I press the side of my face against the table, pushing my ass against Andrés’s groin, relishing the feel of him deep inside me.

I sigh when he pulls out and lifts me off the table. He sets me on top of his T-shirt. I’m probably soaking his shirt, but then fatigue washes over me. My sore and aching limbs are now limp, and my sensitive flesh hums from the pleasure of our lovemaking. I give into my fatigue and lie back on the table. I’m just too weak to do anything else at this point.

I can hear Andrés zipping up his jeans, and then he’s pulling paper towels from the dispenser above the sink. He comes to me and wipes between my legs, then he slides on my panties and jeans. He leans over and suckles one nipple, releasing it with a
pop
and then does the same to the other. Finally, he brushes his lips across mine. ”You need to eat, mi amor,” he breathes against me.

“I know,” I say as I splay my hand across my forehead. “I’m just so tired.”

Andrés pulls me up and fastens my bra with surprising dexterity. He slips on my shirt and pulls my hair out from under my collar. “Eat, and you will get your strength back,” he says as he holds out a sandwich. My mouth waters when I look at the monstrosity he’s placed in my hands. It’s a turkey and bacon club, loaded with all kinds of veggies and smothered in creamy sauce.

I’m pretty sure I eat my entire meal in record time, including chips, pickles and chocolate cookies. I swallow the last of my sweet tea and drag my hand across my mouth. Who knew painting could work up such an appetite? But I’m pretty sure my hunger had a lot to do with the amazing sex, too.

Andrés massages my back once more and then he works on rubbing the kinks out of each finger. By the time he’s finished, my body is thrumming with need. Much to my disappointment, Andrés starts suiting me back up. I sigh when he slips the gloves on my hands, but then I catch sight of the bulge beneath his jeans, and I know he wants another round just as badly as I do.

I can’t wait to finish this next mural. I know I’ll paint it in record time, just so I can take another break with Andrés.

Chapter Sixteen

I haven’t given myself time to assess my feelings for Andrés. Truthfully, I’m afraid to, because I already suspect I could easily learn to care for a guy like him. Just about every person I have let into my life has let me down. What if Andrés turns out to be like Jackson? Or worse, like my parents and Karri?

So far, he’s been completely opposite the other people in my life. Actually, he’s been perfect. But I’ve come to learn that there is no such thing as perfection. The canvas is always flawed somehow. My eye just isn’t trained well enough to find Andrés’s faults yet. So I tell myself in case this guy is the real deal, I’m not going to do anything else to blow what we’ve got.

We’re parked in my circular driveway, and I’m so nervous, I fear I’m about to lose my dinner, but I need to get something off my chest. “Andrés,” I say as I clear my throat, which is hard because it feels like I just swallowed a wad of cotton balls. “I want to apologize again for lying to you about where I live.”

“You don’t need to. I totally understand. I should probably leave you off here.” Andrés smiles, but there’s lingering doubt in his gaze.

He must think I’m ashamed of him, and I feel terrible, but that’s not why I’m keeping him away from my mom. It’s not him I’m ashamed of, it’s her.

My mom is peeking at us through the front bay window, and I repeat to myself that what she thinks doesn’t matter. She’s never cared about my opinions, so why should I care about hers?

I unlatch my seatbelt and grip the door handle. Then I pause, and I’m reluctant to go. I don’t want to leave Andrés. Even though I’m still in the truck with him, I’m already starting to miss him.

I tell myself I’m moving too fast. I shouldn’t be pining over a guy I’ve just met. But Andrés isn’t just any other guy. He’s different, and that’s what makes him so dangerous. I could easily lose my heart to a guy like him.

“Thank you for everything,” I say, gripping the door handle harder.

Andrés shakes his head. “I should be thanking you for saving my uncle’s ass.” Then I see what can only be described as a glimmer of pride in his gaze as he laces his fingers through mine. “You have an amazing gift.”

There is so much more I want to say to him, like, “Thank you for all of your support when not even my own mother has faith in me,” but I just can’t get the words past the lump of granite lodged in my throat.

Instead, I lean up and kiss him. It is just an innocent peck, but my lips linger on his long enough to probably give my mother a heart attack.

“Andrés, I won’t let her ruin us. I won’t. I really like you,” I say as I look deeply into his dark eyes.

He strokes my cheek. “I like you, too. Do you want me to pick you up for work tomorrow?”

“What about your job?” I don’t want him to be late to his shop on the other side of town.

“I can be late,” he says, squeezing my hand. Storm clouds are brewing in his eyes as his gaze tunnels on me. “I want to be the one to introduce you to the other guys.”

I hear protectiveness in his voice. “I’d like that,” I say. I am already edgy enough starting a new job, but add to that it’s on the bad side of town with a rough bunch of guys. Andrés told me most of them are reformed gang-bangers. Work tomorrow is going to be interesting, to say the least.

He leans down for another kiss, and I don’t even flinch when his full lips press into mine. I moan and wrap my arms around his strong back when he deepens the kiss, his tongue gently probing my mouth. The kiss seems to go on forever, but it doesn’t and I sigh when he pulls away, instantly missing the feel of him against me.

“You should pack your things,” his voice is a heated breath in my ear. “And come home with me after work.”

“Okay,” I say. At this point, I’m so hot and bothered after that kiss, I’d probably agree to any of his requests.

* * *

The Spitting Cobra is waiting for me at the door with her fangs unsheathed. I’m so tired and sore, all I really want is a hot bath, but one look into her serpent stare, and I know I’m not trudging upstairs unscathed. As she slams the door shut behind me, I turn toward her and brace myself for her attack.

“Who was that?” The words come out on a hiss, one of the many reasons the snake metaphor fits my mother so well.

“Andrés.” I square my shoulders and look her dead in the eyes. A bold move, but I’m channeling the new Christina, plus after having amazing sex twice on top of the break room table, I’m feeling pretty good. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my overbearing mother screw with my buzz.

“Andrés?” she says haughtily, and then her face twists into such a tight scowl, I’m afraid she’s going to bust a stitch or pop those collagen balloons she calls lips.

I shrug a shoulder, but I don’t dare avert my gaze. Once I do that, she’ll think she’s won. “Andrés Cruz. The new guy I’m seeing.”

She folds artificially tanned arms across her chest. “Is that where you were all day?”

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. I will not let her force me to back down. “I was painting at his uncle’s shop.”

She arches a thin brow. “His uncle owns an art studio?”

“A body and paint shop.” I do my best not to shrink back. The Cobra is about to unleash her venom.

Her jaw falls open. “For cars?”

“Cars, trucks, boats, whatever,” I say in the most casual attitude I can muster. My heart is pounding heavily, but I do not let on that my anxiety is building. “I painted one of Dad’s boats today. You should see how it turned out.”

“So this Andrés paints cars, too?”

Figures Mother doesn’t even care about the boat I painted. I fist my hands by my sides, and prepare to drop the bomb. “No, he fixes them.”

Her hand flies to her chest, and she stumbles backward. “Oh, dear Lord!”

I can tell her theatrics are staged, because, despite her abnormally high heels, she quickly regains her balance. Her expression has turned from shock to outrage, her spine stiffens, and her fingers curl into claws.

Her attitude only fuels my resolve. “I like him, Mom.”

“You could have been set for life with Jackson.” Her tone is condescending, demeaning, like I’m her errant toddler who’s just pissed her pants in front of her country club friends.

I shake my head. “I wasn’t happy with Jackson.”

Her face is as red as an over-ripe apple. “But a mechanic?” she shrieks. “A
Mexican
mechanic?” she adds in a voice so shrill, I fight the urge to cover my ears with my hands.

I gape at her.

And then in the blink of an eye, her demeanor changes. She turns up her nose and smooths her coiffure, pretending to be pressing loose strands back into place on her hair helmet. “It’s not that I mind you dating minorities,” she says in a haughty tone, “as long as they’re…” She pauses, acting like she’s looking for the right word, when I know exactly what she’s thinking.

“Rich, Mom,” I answer with a groan. “You don’t care as long as he’s rich.”

“Exactly. I mean, I’m hip to the new trend of dating dark-skinned men. Look how well it turned out for Tiger Woods’s wife.”

I swear to God, I must have been descended from aliens. I rub the sudden pain above my left temple. As if my aching body isn’t enough, now I have a Mother-induced migraine. “Mom, he cheated on her, and they divorced.”

She nods a little too eagerly. “Yes, and she got a ton of money out of it.”

I clutch my purse and turn away. Forget the damn bath. I just have to get out of this house and far away from this woman. “I’ve got to go.”

“Where are you going now?” she snaps.

I don’t answer her as I jerk open the door and stomp toward my car.

“We are not through discussing this, young lady,” Mother calls at my back in that nails-on-chalkboard voice. “If you want to live under my roof, you must bring home respectable young men.”

Respectable? What makes her think Andrés isn’t respectable?

I almost turn back to unleash a torrent of angry words, but it would do no good. She’s set in her ways, a selfish, prejudiced bitch. That this woman is my mother makes my heart ache, and I wonder, not for the first time, if she even loves me, if she has ever loved anyone but herself.

As I get into my car and start the ignition, I know where I need to go. I need to go see a mother who loves her children, the woman who has been the only real mother figure in my life. She’s always been there for me, and I need to be reassured now more than ever that loving parents exist.

* * *

“Christina, sweetheart. How nice to see you.”

I’m staring at Karri’s mom, and I’m suddenly at a loss for words. The woman looks so worn. Her once bright hazel eyes are now dull and lifeless. Brittle strands of long, grey hair cascade loosely down her back. Her sallow skin hangs off her bones. She’s lost a lot of weight these past few years, because she’s so busy taking care of everyone else, she has no time to eat.

Two years ago, Karri’s father suffered a major stroke, and now he just sits in his wheel chair, motionless. Karri’s family doesn’t have good insurance, so Mrs. Peterson had to quit her teaching job and become his full-time nursemaid. They live off a modest retirement income. I honestly don’t know how Mrs. Peterson manages to keep afloat and still remain so nice to everyone.