CHAPTER FOUR
ALEJANDRA
FREEDOM.
Standing on the sidewalk, I take a deep breath, inhaling the wonderful aromas of chocolate, baked goods, and delicious meats. Freedom on this side of town smells so great. At least grandmother sent me on an errand where I can stuff myself with delicious foods.
The bell dings as I open the glass door into the building, announcing my presence at The Meat Market in the West Loop. The waiting line is massive. Everyone turns to stare at me, as if assessing my worth. All of them are women of different shapes and sizes. Some raise their eyebrows in distain and dismiss me. Others give me small, shy smiles, then turn around to continue waiting their turn.
By the looks of it, this meat market is highly popular.
I resign myself to be here a good while, so I pull out my cell phone, search for an entertaining app, and take my place at the end of the line. I could leave and come back later, but I fear returning to an even longer line. If I don’t get this errand completed today, I run the risk of not having chorizo for my grandfather’s birthday party. That is one of the main reasons, aside from visiting family, that I’m back to Chicago. It’s not every day the patriarch of my family turns a year older.
The party to celebrate his birthday is going to be huge, loud, and festive. Most of our family and friends will be in attendance. Every one of grandfather’s favorite foods, including huevos con chorizo, will be served. The Mariachi will sing “Las Mañanitas” and every one of my grandfather’s favorite songs during the day, then a live band will take over at night. Beer and tequila will flow, but only to those of age. And the floor boards have already been laid out to create the dance floor.
If I mess up this small errand, my grandmother will surely be the one shoving applesauce down my throat with pleasure, and just the thought makes me shudder in fear. Anything is better than that.
With one last resigned look, I check out the front of the line.
My mouth falls open. Standing behind the counter is a hunkalicious, mouth-watering man. His body-hugging black t-shirt stretches over his thick arms, wide chest, and tight abs, and is tucked into well-worn fitted jeans that cling to a scrumptious, juicy ass. Over his clothes, he’s wearing a blood-splattered white apron. It should be off-putting, but the man is such a vision, the dirty apron does nothing to detract from his handsomeness. Where Doctor Gaitan was a tall, lean drink of bronze goodness, this man is tall and big, but no less enthralling with his physique that also rivals the Greek gods. No wonder the line of women is almost out the door.
Chuckling, I shake my head and give my attention to my phone. He’s good-looking and all, but the doctor sure knew how to make my body vibrate with need with only one touch—an innocent touch, at that.
What seems like an eternity later, I’m at the counter. The room is silent, except for the humming of the ice box encasing the fresh meats. Surprisingly, I’m the last customer.
My mouth is dry, and I need to swallow a couple of times before I can croak out my order.
He doesn’t move a muscle except for an eyebrow raised in question.
There’s a moment of silence before I repeat my order. “I need to order one hundred and eighty pounds of chorizo. I’ll need to pick the order up in three days, the day before the event. Will that be possible?”
“Chorizo, you say?” He sounds incredulous. “One hundred and eighty pounds of chorizo?”
“Yes,” I answer, not understanding what’s so hard to comprehend. It’s chorizo, not like I’m putting in an order for the man of my dreams. “It’s for a large event.” I feel like I need to explain after his reaction.
He makes a choking sound, as if to withhold his laughter, before composing himself. He glances down, then up, his face composed.
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “We just got new stock in, so that will be possible.” He grins. “I’ll need you to fill out some forms, and I need full payment today.”
“Forms? Now?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” It’s my turn to be surprised. The cost is going to be a pretty penny for all that meat. It would have been nice of my grandmother to warn me ahead of time. Luckily, I have enough to cover the cost, whatever it is. What else do I spend my money on except retirement savings and family?
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I draw out the word. My teeth grip my bottom lip when I finish.
“Good.” His grin turns to a full, teeth-showing smile. If I hadn’t seen Doctor Gaitan before this or if I were less of a woman, I would melt to a puddle. This man is lethal to the female race.
“Are you like this with all your clients?”
“Like what?” His head tilts slightly to the side.
“Forms. Full payment,” I repeat the keywords.
“No.”
My eyes widen at his honesty. “So just me?”
“Just you.”
“Why?” My question comes out in a huff.
“Because you’re you.” He chuckles and says no more.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I’m equally irked and curious about his statement.
Instead of answering me, he turns and grabs some papers from the counter behind him. “Fill these out and sign here and initial here.” He puts the papers on the top of the glass and points to the signature line with the pen. “Your card?” He holds out his hand.
“What if I’m paying with cash?” He’s not getting my money so easily, especially not after his previous statement—a statement he didn’t bother to elaborate on, I might add.
“Are you?” He snorts.
“No.”
“You’re just being difficult.” He shakes his head, grabs my card and runs it, mumbling something under his breath.
“What was that?” I ask, placing my signature and initials on the bottom of the forms without bothering to read them. My grandmother trusts this butcher, then so shall I. Plus, it’s just meat. What the hell do I care about forms? I’ll pay and pick up the meat. It’s not like at work where I have to read everything twice before signing or it’s my head.
“Nothing. All done, and your order is placed.” He takes the papers and then hands me a copy and a receipt, which I fold and stuff into my back pocket. “It was great doing business with you, Alej.”
“You too,” I call out over my shoulder and give him a “peace out” wave, excited to be over and done with the errand.
A few minutes of precious freedom from my over-worried family—though, I can’t blame them—call to me. Yet, as I exit The Meat Market, I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something.
ANTONIO
Jason: Chorizo will be mixing with one of the biggest pair of huevos this side of the Des Plains River. 180-pounds, to be exact.
The text is punctuated with a tear laughing emoji and the date of my event. Like I would find the message hilarious. Damn Butcher, also known as Jason to his friends and the world, thinks he’s a fucking comedian.
Wait—
Me: Did you fucking say huevos?! What the fuck, man!
My fingers furiously fly over my keyboard, typing out the message.
Jason: Relax, Chorizo.
Another one of those tear laughing emojis, which looks more to me like it’s snotting, makes an appearance.
Jason: This chick is banging. Her body and her attitude. Seems to me, you’ll have a hell of a time with her. You’re welcome, by the way.
Me: Hahahaha—not! Don’t give me a heart attack first thing in the morning, fucker. And thank you, for what?
Jason: She’s asking for two days. Paid for it upfront too, so…looks like it’ll be fun.
He includes the tongue emoji, the high-five, and the fist bumping one.
A response is unnecessary. I’m a fucking ball of nerves. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I’m a piece of meat on a menu for anyone to order. If the money is legit, I’m yours.
My life is a damn dramatic comedy. Hilarious for the shit I find myself buried neck deep in, but dramatic because I’m at the edge of my seat, hoping this little side job never becomes public.
Funny or not, shit just got serious. Irrespective of my misgiving on taking this side job, it’s time to step up to the plate. Chorizo, my code name on the menu, and Sal to the ladies, has just gotten his first job.
When the day finally arrives, my heart is beating a hundred miles an hour. My stomach is in knots, so much, I don’t even have breakfast for fear it’ll make a reappearance. A strange mixture of excitement, nerves, and fear runs through me. A feeling I don’t like because it makes me feel out of control. How the hell do the rest of the guys live like this?
Like instructed, I head to our meeting place: The Meat Market.
Outside of the building, I take a few deep breaths.
In…Out…In…Out…
The process continues until my pulse slows to normal. With my thumb and index finger, I pinch the bridge of my nose, lower my head, and for the thousandth time, I send a prayer to the man above, thankful that my mother lives across town, and there’s no reason why she or anyone she knows should be within miles of me today.
The loud ding of the bell, sounding more like a cannon going off, announces my presence. The room is silent except for the humming of the ice box motor.
My eyes zero in on the back of the only woman present. She doesn’t turn around when I enter, giving me the opportunity to look her back side up and down. Her blue dress hits just above the back of her knees, and her feet are clad in dark red sneakers, giving off a tomboyish vibe. Completely at odds to what I expected, but then again, this is my first time. What the hell do I know what kind of women require escorts?
Jason stops what he’s doing, turns, and greets me with a smirk. With an upward tilt of my chin, I acknowledge him. No words are needed between us, and I refuse to speak. Not that I can, for there’s a huge knot in my throat.
My eyes return to the mystery woman.
“Here you go, shorty,” Jason breaks the silence.
She pivots to him. The scene before me plays out in slow motion. Her thick dark hair, loose and half down, reaches almost to her waist. It moves in a wave-like motion as her body twists and her dress swishes with her movements. The back of her head becomes a familiar side profile with lips that are made to be wrapped around a man’s cock. My cock, to be precise. Her smile falters when she notices the empty counter, and her eyebrows scrunch.
“There.” The butcher points to me.
She turns in my direction, and our eyes meet. Her breath hitches, and her eyes get comically wide.
She sputters, and my heart stops.
“There’s your chorizo,” Jason informs her gleefully. “One hundred and eighty pounds of only the best, highest-quality chorizo, at your service.”
This can’t be happening. No fucking way in Hell!