Mixed Up Love Read online

  He chuckles. “I think the ex-girlfriend walking in on him drilling his boyfriend is the perfect person. At least in my opinion.”

  “He really was drilling him.” I laugh at the way he said it. I look at him as he takes another chip. The sun setting makes the hanging lights brighten a bit more. His gray eyes almost look darker. “So why are you still single?” I sit up, fold my arms on the table, and watch him.

  “Not five minutes ago, you just told me why I was still single. I believe you said I was not friendly.” He laughs, leaning back into the chair.

  “Yup,” I agree, drinking another sip of my never-ending margarita, thanks to Guadalupe topping it off every time she returns. “Although I don’t think I used the word unfriendly.” I smile at him. “We could add it to the list.”

  “Rude,” he says. His voice is getting softer, or I might be getting drunk.

  “Yes, and don’t forget condescending”—I point at him—“and irritating.” I laugh. “Irritating should be listed twice.”

  “How can I forget those?” He smiles softly at first and then fully, his eyes lighting up in the dimness of the patio. He doesn’t say anything more nor do I because Guadalupe comes out with platters of food.

  “It smells so good,” I say as she sets down the plates on another table next to us. Anthony gets up and moves the chairs away from the table, picking it up and placing it next to the one we are sitting at.

  Guadalupe smiles at him and pats his back when he goes back to sit down. “I made three different tacos,” she says, pointing at the three plates with five soft tacos on each. “Pork,” she says, pointing at the meat that looks like it’s been shredded with a fork, little cubes of onion and some lime wedges beside them. “Beef,” she says, pointing at the ground meat with shredded cheddar cheese, some salsa, and a little sour cream. “And fish.” Golden pieces of white fish with pico de gallo and what looks like little pieces of mango. My mouth waters as I look at the food. “Tamales …” And I stop listening to her, my fingers itching to grab one of those fish tacos.

  “Can I eat yet?” I ask her, and she just laughs, nodding.

  I grab one of the fish tacos and eat it, the flavors of lime and cumin hitting my lips. “I’m coming back here tomorrow,” I say, chewing. “Honest to god”—I drink another sip—“this is the best meal I’ve had in all my life.”

  He looks over at me, chewing on his own bite of taco. “You’re welcome.” He smirks as he chews, and we don’t say anything while we eat. I just savor it because what started as a shitty day ended not so shitty. I wouldn’t tell him that, but it wasn’t so bad.

  I lean back in my chair. “I’m so happy I didn’t wear pants tonight,” I say, laughing while I take another sip of my margarita. Noticing that my pitcher is empty, I look over at him. “I think I’m drunk.” He looks up, raising one eyebrow. “Off food, you jerk.” I laugh at his expression. “It’s safe to say you aren’t going to attack me and eat my insides.”

  “How do you know?” he says. “Maybe this is me setting the scene?”

  “Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “You crossed me off the list the minute you walked in and saw two martinis in front of me.” I look at the door as it opens and watch as Guadalupe comes out with a fresh pitcher in her hand. I throw up my hand in victory as he throws his head back and moans. She grabs the empty pitcher, nodding and smiling at us as she walks back inside.

  “I didn’t cross anything off,” he says, waiting for the door to close. I sit up this time, grabbing the pitcher and pouring another drink. This time, I’m drinking it slower.

  It could be the tequila talking, or it could be the fact that I just don’t care tonight, but I say, “I could be sitting here full on naked, and you still wouldn’t touch me.” His eyes narrow to slits. “Let me enjoy myself, will you? This is the ‘my gay ex is getting married and my blind date was a bust’ celebration.” I get up, grabbing the new pitcher that Guadalupe placed on the table, and walk out to the beach. My feet hit the cold sand, and I focus on walking to the shore without falling. I place the pitcher in the sand and then hold my skirt down while I sit on the cold sand. I don’t even have to look back to know he followed me. “You can be a Neanderthal, but at least your chivalry isn’t dead,” I say, bringing my knees to my chest as I watch the now dark blue ocean go through its own fight as the waves roll onto the sand with a crashing sound.

  “What kind of date would I be if I let my date drown?” he says, sitting next to me. I look over at him and laugh. He’s sitting on the beach with a suit, socks, and dress shoes.

  “You didn’t even take your shoes off.” I throw my head back as my feet slip, and I hold my stomach while I laugh, and he rolls his eyes. “This turned out to be an okay date, Anthony,” I say, watching him, and he looks at me.

  “Call me T,” he tells me curtly, then he turns and looks at the ocean, and I watch him.

  “Oh, is that a nickname?” I ask him, and he just nods, still not looking at me.

  “Yeah,” he says one word, one syllable.

  “You’re okay, T,” I tell him and then turn back to look at the water. We sit here for what feels like forever when I finally get up and grab the pitcher and the glass. “I guess I brought this down here for nothing,” I say, looking at the still full pitcher.

  He gets up, dusting off his pants, and then grabs the pitcher from me, and I follow him back up. I notice that the inside lights are off. “Where is Guadalupe?” I turn and ask him.

  “She locks up at eight.” He puts the pitcher in a sink I never even noticed in the corner, then turns on the water and rinses it out. He grabs a towel hanging beside the sink to dry his hands.

  “I didn’t even get to pay her,” I tell him, grabbing my wedges and sitting to dust the sand off my shoes.

  “I paid her,” he says, and I’m not the least bit surprised. He can be rude, but he’s respectful. Once I have my shoes on, I stand and go to him. “Are you cold?” he asks me when a gust of wind comes through, and I shiver. I just nod.

  He takes his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I reach out my hand to hold the jacket closed as he holds my arm and we walk down the path back to his car.

  He leads me to the passenger side and opens the door for me, and as I get in, not a word is uttered. I watch him walk around to his side, my stomach doing a sudden flip. He opens the door. “So where do you live?” he asks, looking at me.

  I lean my head back on the seat. “I’m not supposed to give my address out to strangers.” I laugh when he smirks. “Someone I know would be really, really mad if I did give you my address.”

  “You should listen to that guy. He sounds really, really smart,” he says, turning on the car while I laugh and give him my address. I turn my head to the side, watching the scenery outside while he makes his way to my condo. I watch people walking on the street, and I watch the waves hitting the shore, the ocean looks black. The blinking of lights from a ship in the distance is all I can see.

  He pulls up in front of my condo complex, and I unsnap my seat belt. My hand reaches for the door handle while I turn and look at him. “This night has turned out surprisingly better than I expected it to,” I tell him as I peel his jacket away from my shoulders. “Thank you, T.”

  I pull on the handle, opening the door and taking one last look at him. “It really was fun,” I say, getting out and walking away from him. I turn to wave at him, and I’m not surprised to find him standing in front of his car, leaning back on the hood. “You’re also annoying,” I tell him over my shoulder, and he smiles with his arms crossed over his chest. I walk into my condo and close the door, listening for his car door to close, then for him to drive away. I don’t turn on any lights. I just lock the front door and double check that the back door is locked. Making my way into my bedroom, I go straight to my bathroom, swinging my feet into the tub and taking off my shoes. The grains of sand falling with little clinks in the tub. I turn the water on, checking the temperature with my hand, then put my feet under
the water when it’s just the right temperature. The whole time, my mind replays the date or non-date in my head.

  I dry my feet and slip out of my dress, pulling off the cover and sliding into bed. I fix my pillows all around me, sinking into one, and as my mind drifts back again and again, I fall asleep to the picture of him leaning over in the car and kissing me.

  Chapter Six

  Hunter

  I let myself into my house, and the quietness greets me as I toss my keys on the table beside the door. I kick off my shoes and walk directly upstairs.

  The cold shower is exactly what I need. Putting my hands on the marble shower, I duck my head so the water can run over the muscles in my neck. One date with that woman had me strung up so tight I thought my neck would snap.

  The way she pushed me at every corner, it took everything I had not to take her over my shoulder and tie her up until she caved. Meanwhile, I would worship her body. “Fuck,” I say when my cock, which finally went down after two hours, is up again and straining. I wrap my hand around myself, the water getting colder and colder, but I don’t stop until I spill with her face on my mind.

  Once I get into my bed, it takes me two seconds to fall asleep, but then sleep comes to me for just a couple of hours. For the rest of the night, I’m tossing and turning. When five o’clock hits and I’ve already been awake for an hour, I give up. I pull on my shorts and go downstairs. Sitting outside, I watch the sun come up while I work.

  By seven o’clock, I get up and slide on a T-shirt, my socks, and my running shoes. Getting in the car, I drive to the beach where I like to run. After parking my truck, I get out and hold each foot up to stretch. Then I take off, pushing myself the whole way but especially the last mile just for fun. Usually when I run, all my thoughts are buried. I clear my mind, and it’s nothing but the push to run. This time, by the beach, each time my foot hit the hard, wet sand, I heard her laughter ring in my head. I heard her sass, her fucking sass, and I heard the softness in her voice when I wasn’t pissing her off. No matter how many times I try to clear my head, my mind keeps replaying the night before with Laney and her sass. I haven’t had that much fun with a woman … well, since ever.

  I finally make my way back to my car, my chest heaving when I stop and sit on the sand because the rising sun is starting to heat fast. I look around as families start making their way to the beach. The mother carrying the kids while the father lugs the chairs and the umbrellas, no doubt cursing in his head.

  I stop at the little shack on the beach and grab two ice-cold water bottles, draining one before I get in the car and another one as soon as I sit in the car and open the windows to let the heat out. My chest still heaves as I work my heartbeat to get back to normal. I’m about to press the start button when I hear a buzz coming from somewhere in the car. I take my phone out of my pocket and look at it, but it’s no surprise that no one has called or sent a text. I put my phone in the cup holder and start the car, rolling down the windows and letting some of the heat out.

  I wait a couple of minutes for the air conditioning to cool the car down some, then close the window. I pull out of the parking lot, but then I hear the buzz again. I look around, not sure what the hell is going on, but then I hear a beep and realize

  it’s coming from between the seats.

  I slide my hand between the seats and pull out a huge white iPhone with a marble looking case on it and a sparkly button on the back. I don’t even have to wonder whose it is. I look down and see that it already has ten missed calls and a text message. What in the hell? I scroll down to check the notification, and when I press the middle button, the phone automatically opens with a picture of the beach in the background. I click on the green message box with a red number of twenty in the corner. I see a bunch of messages—a couple from her mother, one from a Sandy, but the one that is on the top is under the name Me.

  If you are reading this, can you please return my phone to the following address. REWARD WILL BE GIVEN!

  “What is wrong with her?” I ask myself aloud, shaking my head. She actually just gave her address away.

  I make my way home to shower, pulling on a pair of blue jeans and grabbing a simple white T-shirt. Sliding on my white Adidas running shoes, I grab my sunglasses and the phone in question. I look down at it and see she has sent another text. This time all in caps as though she’s yelling at this person who found her phone.

  EVEN IF YOU DON’T RETURN IT, CAN YOU AT LEAST ANSWER ME THAT YOU HAVE IT?

  This woman is out of her mind, I think as I lock up my house. I get into my car and make my way over to her house. I park exactly where I did last night, getting out and locking the car over my shoulder. Jogging up the stairs to her apartment, I knock once. I wait for her to ask who is there, but she doesn’t. Instead, she opens the door, and my mouth gapes open.

  She’s standing there, her long blond hair hanging over one shoulder, her blue eyes crystal clear. Not a trace of makeup; she needs nothing. My eyes roam up and down her body as she stands there in silky pale pink shorts and a tank with white lace. The matching pale pink robe hangs open, covering nothing. “What the hell are you wearing?” I ask her, and she looks at me and then down at my hand and squeals, jumping up and down. “Can you not do that?” I ask her between clenched teeth.

  “You found my phone,” she says, reaching for it, and I see that it’s the same color as her outfit. “Thank you so much. Where did you find it?” I’m about to answer her when she says, “Oh, wait, come in. I was just making breakfast.” She doesn’t even wait for me to answer before she just walks away from the door, leaving it wide open. I watch her walk down the white hallway, putting the phone on her counter and then grabbing her hair and tying it on the top of her head. I have an internal debate with myself about going in or not, but my feet move before my head can catch up on the argument.

  “Someone needs to discuss the dangers of today with her,” I say under my breath. I follow the same path she did and see the white plush couch against the wall with two gray plush chairs on each side. I look for the television but don’t see one.

  I continue and see that she is in her kitchen at the stove doing who knows what. “What are you doing?” I look at her kitchen, and it’s no surprise it’s also white. The only color is the beige counters. The kitchen is a small square once you walk in to it. The counter goes all around, only stopping at the stainless-steel stove on the left and then the sink sits right under the little window, that has a small pot of flowers on the sill. The counter continues till you get to the stainless-steel fridge.

  From my side of the counter, I see she has two frying pans out. “I’m making huevos rancheros,” she tells me. Turning to open one of the cabinets, she takes out two square white plates. “It’s a good thing you showed up because I made way too much.” She puts the plates on the counter, then grabs one of the frying pans and starts to distribute the food. She loads my plate with more food than hers, grabbing the second frying pan and placing what looks like turkey bacon on her plate. Then she opens the oven and grabs a mitt, reaching in and taking out a small tray with bacon and sausage. She places three slices of bacon on my plate and then puts two sausage links on hers.

  “Laney,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. My mouth waters, and my stomach rumbles. “We need to discuss a couple of things.” I’m trying to keep calm, but when she looks at me and smiles, my mind goes blank. The whole part of me determined to give her a firm lecture is almost gone.

  “Do you want a mimosa?” she asks me as she grabs the plates. “Can you grab the OJ and champagne?” She shrugs her shoulders, tossing her head to the side at the fridge. “Meet you outside on the patio.”

  I watch her walk out onto the patio, placing the plates down on the table, and then she turns and comes back in. “I’ll get the utensils.” She walks past me, her silky robe flying back a bit as she walks, and it hits my hand, my fingers moving when she moves away. “Do you want hot sauce?” she asks when she gets back into the kitchen,
opening the drawer to grab forks and knives. Then she leans up, her top rising a bit to reveal a little skin, and I’m at a loss for words. “Don’t forget our drinks,” she says, walking past me, still fucking smiling. I just look up and think that this is God’s way of getting back at me for something. Maybe because I never called my mother back. But whatever it is, please forgive me.

  “There has to be a reason,” I whisper, walking into the kitchen. Opening her fridge, I grab the orange juice and champagne. “Do you need glasses?” I shout, hoping she hears me, and when I don’t get an answer, I open the cabinets till I find the glasses and carry two outside.

  I have no idea what I’m going to find, but I’m not expecting her patio to be so cozy. She has a small L-shaped patio set with huge plush pillows. A small table in the front of it has two candles. I look over at Laney, and she is sitting at her small square table with two chairs, looking out at the ocean. “It’s such a pretty day,” she says, looking at me. “It’s going to be a hot one, I think.”

  I sit in front of her, scanning the place with my eyes and watching the door again. “Laney,” I say, then watch as she picks up the champagne and pours herself some and then tops it off with orange juice. “I don’t even know where to start with you,” I say honestly.

  She laughs at me, throwing her head back. Her bare neck open for me to lean in and bite, then slowly suck. “Well”—she picks up her glass and holds it up—“considering this is our second date, you should start with last night was awesome.” She brings the glass to her mouth and takes a sip.

  I look at her, and I feel my blood pressure rise. I put my hands in front of me flat on the table. “You gave a total stranger your address.” I shake my head.

  She looks at me confused. “How did I do that?”

  “You sent your address to your phone,” I tell her. “Why?”

  “Well, for one, my phone is locked, so no one can steal my information,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.