My room is dark except for the square of light coming from the little window that teases me with a small breeze every now and then. Suddenly I feel like an inadequate dolt who can't even offer her a decent bed to sleep on. No matter her motives, the girl doesn't deserve to sleep on gym mats.
She kneels down and pulls out a small piece of clothing from her bag.
"I don't own a blanket," I blurt out.
She glances back at me before standing up, the movement edging the towel down a few inches. The tops of her full breasts are now in full view. "That's okay. I don't need a blanket. Can you turn around while I slip into pajamas?"
I'm standing here like a dumbass trying to act like a girl slips into pajamas in my room every day. She's testing me, and I'm failing. My body is suddenly on fire and sweat drips down my forehead, but for once it's not from the Mexican heat.
"I'll be back," I tell her. "Lock the door until I come back. Don't open it unless you know it's me."
I head for the door, the entire time looking away so I don't get a glimpse of whatever she slipped into.
"Where are you going?"
"To take a shower," I say in a gruff voice. "A very cold one."
Twenty-Four
Dalila
Okay, so maybe I took it too far.
I wanted to make Ryan realize he has feelings and an attraction to me that he can't ignore. I want to break through that wall of his, and if driving him crazy by flirting is the way to do it, I have no problem taking that chance. He's the only one I can trust and rely on, and that scares me.
He's desperate to ditch me, but I can't let that happen. When I'm with him, I don't feel alone and isolated. I feel a tiny bit sorry for him. The way he rushed out of the room a few minutes ago was a telling sign that he's not as immune to me as he'd like to be. My plan is working.
I should feel guilty that I brought a short, almost sheer nightgown with me. When I slipped into it, every inch of my skin was sensitive to the fabric. My entire body is aware and alert as I wait for Ryan to come back.
I stand in the middle of his room practicing sexy poses. I feel like such a dork, standing here waiting for him. What if he doesn't come back tonight? It's almost two in the morning. He's used to sleeping on mats. What if he decided to sleep in the middle of the boxing ring instead of in the room with me?
I'll just wait. He said he was taking a shower, but it's been like thirty minutes since he left.
Sighing in frustration, I plop myself down on his makeshift bed and lean my back against the wall. I'm relieved I haven't gotten any texts from my parents. At least that's good news. I play some stupid game app on my phone and wait for him to come back.
Time ticks by.
I keep waiting, but he doesn't appear.
Discouraged, I toss my phone beside me and, unlocking the door, make a path down the darkened corridor to the bathroom. I step inside the bathroom and focus on Ryan's silhouette behind the curtain.
"What's taking you so long?" I blurt out. "I mean, how clean can one person get?"
Ryan pushes the curtain aside, revealing most of his perfectly sculpted body. "I told you to stay in . . . in . . ." He hesitates as his gaze roams over my skimpy, sheer nightgown that covers every imperfection of mine so he can only see the flawless parts. ". . . in . . . um, I mean, I told you to stay in my room and lock the door."
I step closer to him. "I wanted to talk to you."
He shakes his head. "No way. I can't talk with you when I'm in the shower and you're wearin' that."
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I ask innocently, even though I'm acting anything but innocent right now.
"It's too perfect." He swears under his breath. "Can't we talk about whatever it is tomorrow, when we're on the road? Not here, when all I want to do is . . ."
I shake my head slowly and step even closer. An errant spray from the showerhead soaks the front of my sheer baby-doll nightgown and I feel mischievous and powerful. "I'd rather talk right here and right now, Mr. America."
His eyes boldly rake over me and my entire body tingles with excitement. When his eyes rest on my mouth, my tongue darts out to lick my lips.
"Damn you. You're going to be the death of me," he growls, then with a swift movement his arm goes around my waist and urges me into the shower with him.
His breathing gets labored as the water drenches my nightgown, making it completely see-through. I'm trying not to think about the fact that I'm practically naked here and I want him to look at me.
"You wanted to talk right here and now," he says, his strong hands still on my waist. His sky-blue eyes right now have a hunger in them I've never seen before. It's empowering knowing that I'm having such an effect on him. "So talk," he says, then swallows hard as his eyes focus on the sheer fabric clinging to my breasts.
Suddenly I'm self-conscious and nervous. I'm trying hard not to look down and admire his naked body.
But I do.
And he's glorious.
"Talk," he orders again as if it's not a request.
But now I'm speechless.
I'm exposed.
And he's very, very aroused.
I clear my throat, pretending not to be affected. "I, um, was wondering . . ." I swallow, then squeeze my eyes shut because I want to take another peek but that would be losing the small ounce of dignity I have left. I step out of the shower and turn off the light so we're cloaked in darkness, then step back into the shower with renewed vigor. My only guide is the tiny glow from the hallway light. "Ryan, I'm not tired."
"Then why'd you turn off the light?"
"To set the mood."
"For what?"
Okay, here goes. I take a deep, calming breath. "I don't know why or even how you walked into my life, but you did and now I can't get you out of my mind." I can feel my face getting hot as I add, "If tonight is the last time we'll be alone together, I don't want to waste it." I tentatively reach out and touch him. "Do you?"
With gentle fingers, he cups the back of my neck. "I can't resist you," he whispers as his fingers deftly slip the strap of my nightgown off my shoulder. My breath hitches as he leans down and gently licks my wet skin, the sensation sending shock waves through my veins.
As his tongue is replaced by his mouth, he places soft, sensual kisses on the hollow of my neck. Oh, my. This is nothing like I imagined. Nothing like the books or movies or stories my friends told me. I grab his shoulders because I'm suddenly deliriously dizzy and my knees go weak. This isn't supposed to be how it happens. I'm supposed to take control and be the strong warrior woman. I'm supposed to make him fall in love with me so he won't leave.
But I'm not in control.
While I'm trying to make him fall under my spell, I'm falling into his.
His hot, wet tongue graces my earlobe and then his lips place tiny, light kisses on my mouth. A fire burns within me that I've never experienced before. I couldn't describe what I'm feeling right now even if I tried. It's like my entire body is experiencing an overload of sensations all at once. This feeling is like a drug and I want more.
With the last ounce of control I have left, I pull back just the slightest bit. Water is dripping on us and steam from the hot water is surrounding us in this darkness, making me feel like we're in our own little cocoon.
This feels so right, it can't be wrong.
My trembling, tentative hands skim over the hard ridges of his chest. With a renewed sense of determination, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body to his.
"Promise me this doesn't mean nothing," I whisper into his ear.
"It won't, but it can't mean everything," he says.
Twenty-Five
Ryan
Living my life hasn't been easy. In fact, I've lived a pretty shitty existence.
Until last night.
I lie on my uncomfortable bed made of gym mats while the most amazing girl sleeps soundly curled against my chest. Last night I carried her from the shower to my room, where we both explored
and experimented and drove each other insane until she said those words that stopped me from taking everything she was willing to gift me.
I think I'm falling in love with you.
We'd agreed to keep feelings to a minimum. At least that's what I meant when I told her that last night couldn't mean everything. I'd have been okay with like or lust because those two emotions don't come with baggage.
But love?
I can't do that.
Love comes with commitment and expectations.
And while I care for Dalila even more than I want to admit, I can't give her more of myself than I already have.
I won't let myself destroy a girl like Dalila, which is why I stopped us from going all the way last night. I'd like to think I did the right thing, but even now as she lies naked with her long hair splayed across my chest I want her more than I've wanted anything in my life.
Including boxing.
She stirs and entwines her legs with mine. Something tells me that if I don't disconnect from her now, I might never be able to do it.
I gently rub her tanned, slender arm. "Dalila, wake up."
Instead of waking, she nuzzles her face deeper into the crook of my neck.
"Dalila," I say a little louder this time. With her so close it's hard to keep my body in check.
"Mmm," she replies in a groggy voice, which only seems to turn me on even more.
I don't have an agenda here, but what if she does? Trusting anyone isn't my strong point, especially when I've been warned that I should keep my distance from girls who have the power to make me question everything.
Fuck that.
I'm not letting anyone have power over me. I might owe her a favor to take her on a little trip to see her grandmother, but I'm in control of my emotions.
"Come on," I say in a gruff tone as I move out from under her embrace. "Time to go."
I quickly shrug into a T-shirt and jeans, ready to get out of here. Suddenly I'm claustrophobic with just the two of us in this small room.
As if it randomly got cold in the room, she sits up and shivers. Her hair is mussed and she looks tired and beautiful. And she's fully exposed. Damn. Dalila Sandoval could make any guy grovel for her affection. Including me. But I can't . . . and won't.
I shove the last of my things into my bag and toss her another shirt of mine. Seeing her naked affects me more than I'm willing to admit. "Here, put this on. Let's get on the road."
"I'm hardly awake yet," she mumbles as she slips the shirt over her head.
"Well, wake up. We leave in less than five minutes."
I storm out of the room and enter the main gym. Mateo is here punching a speed bag, the staccato sound echoing off the walls. A few other guys are working out, oblivious to the fact that Dalila Sandoval is in the building and that she spent the night. I wish we would've left earlier, because I don't need anyone knowing who I'm spending time with or getting into my business.
"Hey, Hess!" Mateo calls out. "Wanna spar?"
"I can't," I tell him.
"Why not?"
"I'm goin' out of town today."
He stops hitting the bag. "Out of town? What about your training?"
"It'll have to wait until later tonight or tomorrow. A job came up."
"A job, huh?" As if on cue, Dalila appears still wearing my T-shirt. "Ah, I get it," Mateo says, staring at Dalila's back as she walks out. The door slams behind her, the sound reverberating through the gym. "I wish I had your job."
"No, you don't," I say. "That girl expects too much."
"In my experience all girls expect too much. You better run after her. If she gets away, another guy will be waitin' in the wings to snatch her up. Trust me on this, bro."
He's right. I rush out of the gym to find her struggling to start her car. It keeps turning over, then dies.
"What's wrong?"
With her teeth clenched, she turns her attention to me. "This stupid car."
I glance at the gas gauge. She's got more than a half of a tank, so there's no reason her car shouldn't turn over. "Pop the hood."
I'm not a huge car guy, but I might be able to tell if something is off with it.
"You got car trouble?" Mateo asks as he struts outside to join us. I swear the dude walks to an invisible beat he's listening to inside his head.
"Her car won't start. She's got gas," I explain. "But it won't turn over when she turns on the ignition. You know anything about cars, Mateo?"
He looks under the hood. "A little." It doesn't take him long to point to a tube that's completely melted. "Take a look at this," he says. "The tube is destroyed, bro."
"How long will it take to fix?"
Mateo shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe a couple of hours after ordering the part, but it'll probably take a day or two to get. I can ask one of the guys . . ."
"Oh no!" Dalila cries out. "It can't be melted. This isn't even my car."
"We can use my car," I offer, "but I don't have gas. I've got some cash left over, so if I can get to a gas station we can be on our way."
"That car isn't going to last a car trip in the middle of the brutal Mexico heat," Mateo tells me. "And depending on where you're going, it's not a good idea to be flashing Texas plates. I don't know where you need to go, Ryan, but feel free to take my uncle's truck," Mateo offers, pointing to a Chevy pickup. "He's out of town for the week and I can drive another one of his cars. It's no big deal."
"We won't be back until tonight," I tell him. "No way I'm takin' your uncle's truck for that long."
"He won't care. I'll call him if it'll make you feel better." He pulls out his phone and starts dialing his uncle. After talking to him, he holds out the keys. "He said to take the truck. He'll tell one of my cousins to pick me up here after I'm done working out. I'll pick up the truck in the morning. Have fun."
With long, purposeful strides, Dalila heads for the Chevy.
Mateo is trying to hold in laughter. "Buena suerte, Hess," he says with a knowing wink. "That means good luck."
I don't tell him I need all the luck I can get to keep my distance from her.
In the truck, Dalila directs me to the highway. I use her phone to call Camacho and tell him I need to take a day off. He's not happy about it. He said if I don't keep training while I'm away, he'll know I'm not committed and won't hesitate to give up on me. I have to get back soon, because I'm not forfeiting everything I came to Mexico to do.
After I hand her back her phone, I tell Dalila to call her parents and let them know our plans.
She drops her phone into the cup holder. "I texted them last night. They already know where I am." She looks at me sideways and I can tell something's up. "I just need to be home by dinnertime."
A little voice in the back of my head tells me there's more to the story. Her father seems like a super-strict dude. Why would he just let her spend the night with me? And why aren't her parents accompanying her to visit her dying grandmother?
"What if we're late getting back?" I ask her.
"Then my dad will ground me," she says matter-of-factly. "After he kills you."
The crazy thing is, I don't know if she's joking or not.
Twenty-Six
Dalila
We drive through Sevilla and head for Tulanco, where my abuela lives. "Tell me something good about your childhood," I ask, trying to get to know more about Ryan as I direct him on which way to go. "You've mentioned a bunch of bad stuff, but what about the good?"
He thinks for a minute. "This teacher back in Chicago, her name was Mrs. Berman. One day after school in first grade, she pulled out this little present wrapped in sparkly candy cane wrapping paper from under her desk." He chuckles at the memory. "I thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. When she handed it to me, she told me Santa left it under her tree but he must have dropped it off at the wrong house because it had my name on the little tag attached to it."
"That's so sweet. What was it?"
"A little plastic superhero figurine kids used t
o bring to school. They'd always play with them, and I felt left out because I didn't have one." He smiles at the memory. "It was the Falcon, who lived in a rough neighborhood and for a while led a life of crime. He'd lost his mom and dad, so he was pretty bitter. In the end he fought injustice."
"Mrs. Berman really liked you."
He nods. "She was great. Once she found me hidin' in the janitor's closet after the kids made fun of my old, ripped jeans. The next day she came to school wearin' ripped jeans and told the kids she got them at the expensive boutique in town. You should've seen the kids' faces when she said she had to pay more money per rip. Nobody made fun of my jeans after that. Okay, your turn."
"My life has been pretty boring."
"Have you traveled a lot?"
I nod. "I've been to Rome, New York, and London." All of those cities look very different from my country. I look out the window at farms and small towns outlining the highway and think I could pick a Mexican town out of any other in the world. The sounds, sights, and smells of Mexico are familiar and comforting.
"I haven't been anywhere," he says. "Well, besides Mexico."
I hold my arm out the window and let the wind blow against my fingers. "Tell me your impression of my country."
"It's got its own flavor and attitude, like Chicago, where I used to live. I thought we had authentic Mexican food in Chicago, but it's nothin' like the tamales and tacos I've eaten here." He shrugs. "I haven't seen one ground beef taco since I've been here."
I raise a brow. "Ground beef taco? Seriously? That's not Mexican, Ryan. That's something you'd find in the US."
"People in Mexico also love music. I've seen more radios here than I have in my entire life. The guys play music while they're workin' out or hangin' out . . . or sittin' on the front stoops of their houses."
"We do love music, from classic to contemporary. It's in our veins."
"And punk," he adds. "You like punk music."
"I think I'm the only one in Mexico who likes American hardcore punk. Besides Demi, but she pretty much likes everything that's out of the norm."
"And what's this morbid fascination with skulls?" He points to a mural on the side of a building with colorful skulls painted in bright colors.
"It's not morbid, Ryan. Mexicans like to celebrate people's lives and decorate skulls to bring their spirits closer to us. We even have a special celebration called Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. We decorate tombstones with painted skulls and bring our deceased family members their favorite food. I swear you can feel their presence."