His Wild Blue Rose Page 11

  “Oh, my god, so drunk.”

  They all laughed.

  “I’m really surprised he hasn't ever ended up on the wrong side of some charges with that,” Chrissy said casually. She sipped her drink and I frowned. “Don’t get me wrong!” she cried. “I’m glad, believe me I’m glad he never did, but I think we all worried about him.”

  I nodded and thought back on some of the girls he’d seen out the door, how most of them weren’t even like ‘Call me’, they were just ‘Thanks for the good time’ and that was it. I think Golden was a bit better at picking them than he was getting credit for. However, on the flip side of that coin, all it took was one who was packing crazy, and as Ray had proven to me, anyone was really capable of anything at any given moment.

  “I don’t think you have to worry much now,” I said faintly, staring at the back of the chair Golden was in through the glass.

  Pasquale jumped on the statement like a dog on a bone. “How’s that?” he demanded.

  “He hasn’t brought anyone home in weeks,” I said.

  Everyone looked in Golden’s direction and Pasquale said, “Well, fuck me. There may be hope for me to get in there for some beef jerkies, after all.”

  “What?” Lil demanded.

  “It’s what he calls a hand job or a reach-around,” Chrissy said dryly, and at that moment Golden turned to look at us, looking at him, as we all burst out laughing. I shook my head and couldn’t stop grinning at the timing of it.

  “As tempting as you are, I don’t think he’ll take you up on it,” Lil said, staring at the back of Golden’s head.

  “Oh, and who asked you, Ms. Smut Writer?” Pasquale asked.

  “Me!” Aly cried excitedly. “I want to know! Why do you say that, Lil?” Pasquale gave Aly a flat look.

  “I say it precisely because I’m a smut writer,” Lil said smugly and she gave me a wink.

  I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. She wasn’t suggesting… I shook my head and passed the thought right out of my mind.

  “We’re just friends,” I said.

  “That’s how Backdraft and Lil started,” Aly said, helpfully.

  “Motherfucker,” Pasquale muttered, and shook his head in denial.

  Chrissy laughed at him. “To be fair, I think Golden’s already declared his adoration for the fairer sex,” she said.

  “Bitch please.” Pasquale positively glowered at her. “Ain’t nobody fairer than me.”

  Laughter erupted at the table and I had to agree: Pasquale was absolutely, blatantly fabulous.

  “So, what do you do, Lys?” Lil asked.

  “Oh, I’m a florist. I own my own flower shop.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Aly lit up.

  “Yeah,” I smiled. “Indigo Blooms.”

  “Oh, nice!” Lil said. “Do you do event arrangements?”

  “Like weddings?” Pasquale hazarded.

  Lil rolled her eyes. “Oh, my god! Eventually, but not yet. I meant like dinners and galas, and maybe if I ordered some arrangements for my next book signing. That sort of thing.”

  I smiled and nodded, “Yes, I do all of that.”

  “Fabulous!”

  “So you’re an author?” I asked. Aly and Chrissy sort of laughed, and Lil beamed at me and nodded.

  “I write romance novels.”

  “Only, like the best romance novels of all time,” Aly said around her straw.

  Lil rolled her eyes and sighed, “You’re going to probably find out anyway. I’m Timber Philips.”

  I bit my bottom lip. “The name sounds familiar, but I don’t really read romance. I’m more of a mystery kind of girl. Sometimes true-crime.”

  “See!” Lil crowed triumphantly. “Not everybody knows who I am.”

  I laughed, glad she wasn’t insulted. The conversation diverted from Golden and from me, for which I was grateful, and instead turned to books, which led into television shows, and movies, which then led into music.

  Eventually, when the conversation reached a natural lull, I asked, “What do they talk about in there?”

  “Who knows,” Pasquale said with a gusty sigh. “Probably about each other’s penises.”

  Chrissy scoffed, “Wishful thinking on your part.”

  “Bitch, you know it.”

  This of course led the conversation to exactly how Pasquale ended up hanging around in a cop bar with a cop motorcycle club. Chrissy’s story was a sad one, and yet also gave me some hope. I mean, if she could look so put together and be so successful after something so horribly violent, I could too, right?

  Right. It just took time and dedication and non-stop exhausting work on myself. All of which, well, most of which I was willing to do; and the rest? Well, even if I didn’t want to do it, I was doing it anyway.

  The door scraped and we all looked over as the guys came filing out of the glassed-in banquet room. They flowed down the ramp and down the stairs, a leather-and-denim pyroclastic flow of hot men. I think all of us around the table stopped talking, and took the time to appreciate. I know my temperature went up a few degrees; I could feel it in a faint blush across my cheeks, though for some reason, my eyes kept gravitating to Golden, as if he had some sort of magnetic pull.

  I reasoned it was because I knew him best out of everyone there. I had met a few in passing, when he’d had them over for some game on television, but it was only briefly, as when I had come home from work that night I had been tired and had stopped to eat on my way home, so I had just gone in to bed. Not even their rowdy cheering had made me stir. Once I’d been out, I’d been out.

  “Hey, Lys. Nice to see you again.”

  I smiled and said, “Hello, Poe. Hi, Angel. Nice to see you, too.”

  “What about me? What am I, chopped liver?” I smiled a bit more.

  “Hi, Oz.”

  “So, you got right intentions by our girl?” Pasquale immediately demanded of Golden, hand on his narrow hip.

  “What the fuck you talking about?” Golden demanded back.

  “We’ve decided we like her,” Lil declared.

  “That’s right,” Aly agreed enthusiastically. “We’ve adopted her.”

  A man almost as short as she was went to her and put an arm around her waist. He laughed and hugged her to him, and the display made me smile.

  “Come here, you.” One of the tallest brothers, broad through the shoulders, went to Lil and bent to kiss her and the way he looked at her made my heart melt for them with happy. Of course, with the sweet, comes the bitter, and it hit me in the form of a pang of jealousy, though, I had to admit, the pain of it was much less pronounced than it would have been, say, a month, or even a week, ago.

  I was getting better, gradually, but better. Golden winked at me as a third man went to Chrissy and kissed her.

  “Oh, you guys are all adorable together,” I said putting my hands over my heart. It was true, even though my own emotions had begun to churn in a vicious tug-of-war in the center of my chest. Once upon a time, I’d had that, but not anymore. I slammed the door inside my head on that awful little voice that tried to whisper Maybe never again…

  I didn’t want to believe that, but for now, while everything was still a disaster and the divorce wasn’t even final, it was easy to believe that particular serpentine hiss of negativity. My line of thinking was interrupted by Golden, who asked, “Did you eat?”

  I smiled and shook my head, “I’m still full from lunch, thank you, though.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he agreed.

  We’d stopped at G&M before traversing the Bay Bridge back this way. It was a place famed for their Maryland crab cakes, although they were more like crab bombs, about the size of a softball and so, so, good! Still, they were super-filling and I just didn’t have the appetite to go for another meal so soon.

  “You ready to go?” he asked, and I nodded but Pasquale had something to say.

  “Now, hold on there, Casanova! We were just starting to get along with our new friend, and she was about to tell us all y
our secrets, you can’t deprive us like that!”

  “Shut it, tramp!” Golden shot at Pasquale, with a grin to take any of the sting out of the insult, but still, Pasquale jerked back as if he’d been slapped, and made a horrified gasp.

  “Now you listen here, whorebiscuit! That was uncalled for –”

  Everyone surrounding the table burst into riotous laughter, including Golden. Oz was bent double and came up, clapping Golden on the shoulders and giving him a shake back and forth.

  “Look! Look here!” Oz gasped and wheezed for breath, almost laughing too hard to be able to speak. “She called you ‘whorebiscuit’!” and he bent back double, dropping his hands to his knees, gasping and wheezing between gales of laughter.

  I couldn’t breathe either, it had just come out of nowhere, and everyone else laughing had just fed it, and as soon as we thought we were done, someone would start giggling or laughing again, and would start it all over again.

  “I’ll be here all week, no, really, tip your waiter,” Pasquale said dryly, snapping his fingers. He didn’t look a bit fazed, but you could tell by the sparkle in his eyes and the slight upturn to the corner of his mouth, he was pleased at everyone’s reaction.

  People were wiping tears out of their eyes, and Golden grumbled, “Oh, come on. It wasn’t ‒that‒ funny,” which set everyone off some more.

  The older gentleman that ran the place approached from the bar and handed Golden a check for the alcohol we’d brought him. He asked “What’s so funny?” and everyone looked at each other, and it started a whole new fit of laughing and giggling.

  I laughed so hard my sides hurt, and oh, how I needed that laugh. Golden was smiling faintly as he looked me over, and I nodded. While the laugh was needed and very nice, I was about peopled-out. It had been a very long day and I was ready to go home.

  “Okay, you guys have fun, we’re going to head home. It’s been a long day. A good one, but a long one,” Golden declared. I nodded in agreement and picked up my coat from where I’d draped it over the tall bar chair I’d been sitting on.

  There was a lot of moaning and groaning and ‘Aw, come on’s from everyone, but Golden waved them off.

  “It’s not his fault,” I said. “Honest. I have to work tomorrow and I’m not a twenty-something anymore, believe me.”

  I suppressed a shudder. I hadn’t tried to drink since the debacle with Golden’s whiskey a couple of months before. In fact, I somehow doubted I would ever want to drink whiskey ever again, after that. The girls and Pasquale all lined up and hugged me, which was nice.

  “Please bring her back here,” Aly begged, and Golden smiled and jerked his head down in a nod.

  “You got it, Aly cat.”

  And with that parting shot, we departed. It was chillier than it had been when the sun was out, but it wasn’t too bad. At least, not until we started moving. I was glad we only had to go across the city and that the traffic, though it wasn’t awful, slowed us down enough to keep the evening air from getting too biting.

  He pulled up in front of our building to let me off and I swung a leg over, stepping up onto the curb. He paused, then shut off the bike, leaning it onto its kickstand before getting off himself. I cocked my head, questioningly.

  “I’ll walk you up,” he said and I smiled.

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, I really want to walk you up, make sure you’re good.”

  I nodded and he took off his helmet while I took off mine. We went upstairs, the elevator seemingly taking forever and the silence between us thick, almost palpable. I wasn’t sure what was up, but there was something hanging over us, between us, and I grew uneasy with not knowing what it could be.

  Had I done something? Said something? Oh, no…

  He stopped me, his hand finding mine, just in front of our door. I faced him squarely and his hand came up, his fingertips light along the side of my neck, thumb grazing the underside of my jaw, just so.

  His eyes were intense where they bore into mine, searching, and I silently willed him, aching, to kiss me.

  “I don’t want to screw this up,” he murmured, and it was as if he were committing every line of my face to memory. I imagined it was how I looked when I stared at a particularly beautiful bloom in the conservatory. I felt my breath catch and though I wanted so badly for him to bring his lips to mine, my voice betrayed me.

  “Then don’t,” I whispered.

  His lips curved into a sad little smile, and he nodded softly. He dragged my forehead to his lips and pressed a kiss there, murmuring against my skin as my eyes sank shut and peace descended over me from the crown of my head all the way to my feet in a light, tingling rush.

  “This is not where this story ends.”

  I nodded faintly against the press of his lips and he drew back. It was suddenly hard to look at him.

  “It was a good day,” I murmured, changing the subject to a slightly different track. “One of the best days I’ve had in a long time.”

  He smiled and nodded, saying, “More ahead if you want.”

  I smiled and nodded and with a wink, he turned and strode back down the hallway calling, “Be back as soon as I park the bike.”

  “Okay,” I called at his back.

  I let myself into the apartment with a heavy sigh, slightly frustrated with myself for chickening out at the last second like I had. My stupid words echoed back to me. “Then don’t,” I muttered under my breath with disgust. “Way to go, Lys. Way to go.”

  Life went back to business as usual, only much nicer, over the next week. We were still ships passing in the night, but on the nights I was still awake when he got home, we would talk. I would ask about his day and it was quickly becoming the same answer, he would smile this secret little smile that could mean anything or nothing and would say, “I wanna leave that shit out on the street, out at the curb. Tell me about your day.”

  And I would; I would tell him about my day, while I watched him visibly relax and unwind from his. Then I would ask if anything funny happened to him during his. That would usually get him talking about something or other, but at least once he just shook his head. A serious look came over him and he said, “No. No, nothing funny happened tonight, Chica.” I learned vthen it was just best to let it go. I’d pushed, gotten my head bitten off, and he’d gone into his room, slamming the door.

  I’d teared up, had gotten very upset with myself, my heart racing, hoping I could somehow fix it, but had tried to give him space the rest of the night. When I’d gone to bed, his door had opened behind me as I had opened the door to my bedroom. He’d apologized, and we’d stayed up far too late talking about it, but it was worth it just to have the communication.

  That had been two nights ago, and tonight, it was his Friday. I half expected to find him on the couch when I got home. Okay, I was super hopeful I'd find him on the couch when I got home. It was going to be a nice change. I stopped at the mailbox in the lobby and opened it with my key, shuffling through the letters as I got into the elevator.

  “Rodrigo Martinez, Rodrigo, Rodrigo, and Rodrigo. Hm,” I muttered as I went through them. Nothing for me.

  I tossed the letters up on the breakfast bar and set my tote and purse on the end of the dining room table. My feet were aching and I tried to remember what had possessed me to wear that particular pair of pumps this morning. I fished out my dirty Tupperware from my bag and loaded it into the dishwasher, and went around to my laptop, which I had left on the bar that morning. I slid myself up onto the stool and sighed tiredly just as the front door opened.

  Manolo burst through and made a silent and sullen beeline for Golden’s room. I looked over at Golden, and he looked unhappy, shaking his head.

  “Hey,” I murmured. “What’s going on?”

  “His dad’s in jail again,” he said softly, and I felt my shoulders drop.

  “Mail come?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Just missed me grabbing it.”

  I nudged the short s
tack of business-sized envelopes at him and he came over and swept them into his hands. He went through them, one, two, and at the third one he stopped gave a triumphant nod and slapped the stack against his other hand.

  “Something you’ve been waiting on?” I asked.

  He nodded and said, “Thanks for grabbing it,” but didn’t elaborate. He headed for his room and called back over his shoulder, “You hungry?”

  “You cooking?” I asked wearily and he laughed.

  “Yeah, I’ll cook, just hold on a minute. Manolo!” he rattled off something in Spanish at his nephew, too fast for me to keep up. Something about washing up, I think.

  I shook my head and smiled to myself as Manolo smarted back in English, and thought that he was just like his uncle in that regard and that this had to be some form of cosmic karma for Golden, if only in small dose.

  When they came back out, Manolo was quite a bit less angry and quite a bit more reserved.

  “Hi, Lys,” he said, dully.

  “Hey,” I said back. “Tough day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “No.”

  I smiled and gave him a nod and said, “That’s okay, too. I have days like those. So does your uncle.”

  “Yeah,” he said glumly.

  “Desperado?” I asked and he scowled at me.

  “I thought that was too violent for you,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “I think I can take it ‒ if you don’t make fun of me for hiding behind my hands.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Popcorn, and you have a deal.”

  “What’s a movie without popcorn?” I demanded.

  “Tío! Lys said she’ll watch Desperado with us but only if there’s popcorn!”

  “Oh yeah?” Golden called from his room. “Sounds good. Dinner first, buddy!”

  I smiled and updated my spreadsheet with the day’s numbers, tracking my profit and loss while Golden fixed dinner and Manolo talked my ear off about El Mariachi. It wasn’t quite the Friday evening I had envisioned.

  It was better.

  19

  Golden…

  I swapped my Saturday with a dude from another shift for Sunday so that I could get a rare Friday, Saturday, and Sunday combo off. I wanted a three-day weekend, and to take Lys out on a date , a real date. First, I needed to work up the nerve to ask. It was Friday, and I headed down to her flower shop. One, I wanted to check it out because it was so much a part of her life, and two, I wanted to ask her. I was nervous as fuck about the second one.