Ryan
Tonight definitely didn’t turn out as planned. I thought I’d be doing a bogus bodyguard job for some rich Mexican girl. When it turned out to be Dalila’s party, and I saw her in that sexy red dress that hugged her curves, I knew I was in trouble. When she kissed me it should have been a bonus, but instead it made me realize how much I want her.
The gunshot was a wake-up call in more ways than one.
After Dalila and her father left the guest room, the woman named Lola came in and dressed my wound. She handed me a pair of cotton jogging pants and a T-shirt to wear to replace my mangled suit. The bullet grazed my side, but it didn’t do much damage. It bled a lot, though, all over Mateo’s friend’s white shirt. Now the shirt has a big bloodstain and a hole in it. The suit jacket didn’t fare much better.
I didn’t see the shooter, but I’m pretty sure he had an automatic weapon. Luckily, his aim was way off. If he’d been a good shot, I wouldn’t be here to analyze what happened. I’d be dead.
I can hear the last guests leaving when Mateo appears in the doorway. “How’re you holding up, bro?”
“I’m fine. The bullet just grazed me.” I look down at the bandage on my side. “Looks worse than it is. I swear when you jumped over the wall I thought you’d be jumpin’ to your death.”
“Didn’t I ever tell you I’m bulletproof?”
“Dude, nobody’s bulletproof.”
“Maybe it’s luck then. Or I’m just luckier than you.” He inspects my bandage. “They told me I couldn’t check on you until my shift was over. Sorry about that.”
“It’s cool,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“At least you can brag about surviving a gunshot wound.” Leave it to Mateo to look at the bright side. “Gives you street cred. As a gringo, you gotta take whatever cred you can.”
“I don’t need street cred, Mateo.”
“Ooh . . . I forgot. My boy’s bein’ trained by the one and only Juan Camacho.” He holds up his hands mockingly. “No other street cred needed.”
I gesture to the big sculpture in the shape of a cobra in the corner of the room. “You mocking me in front of the cobra?”
“What the fuck is that thing?” He saunters over to the silver sculpture and flicks the sharp gold fangs sticking out of the cobra’s open jaws. “You think this shit is real gold? Man, these people have way too much dinero. Did you see that spread downstairs? You’d think it was the presidential inauguration with all that damn food. And that sniper who got a piece of you, shootin’ up this place as if it’s filled with diplomats and royalty?” He hesitates. “Or kingpins. I swear this life is unreal.”
“Did they find the guy who shot me?” I ask.
“Don’t know.” He shrugs. “I didn’t ask the dude in charge, and he didn’t offer any info. I’m pretty sure Don Sandoval is connected to some cartel.”
I was thinking the same thing. From the huge compound they live in to the massive amount of security tonight . . . my protective instincts perk up. “Who or what was being targeted?” Were they there to try to kidnap Dalila or just cause havoc?
“I have no fuckin’ clue, man.” He walks over to my jacket and shirt strewn across the back of a chair. He fingers the hole in the jacket and stares at it, amused. “Why are you so interested?”
I shrug. “I got shot, Mateo. I’m kind of involved now, you know.”
He crosses his arms on his chest. “Maybe you’re involved because you’re hot for the birthday girl.”
“No. It’s definitely not that,” I tell him. “My focus is on boxing, not girls.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “Who wouldn’t like to date above their means for a night, or longer?”
I shake my head. I’m not going to end up like my dad. “Not me.”
“Well, I would. But I’m not you.” He picks up the suit from the chair and tells me he’ll figure out how to get it back to his friend. “You think Gerardo will notice the hole and bloodstain when I give it back to him?” he asks.
“If he’s got half a brain he will.”
“Here,” he says as he tosses an envelope onto the bed. “Two hundred cold hard American dollars.”
“How much do you think your friend will want to replace the damaged suit?” I wave the envelope, fanning myself. “If you say two hundred, I’m gonna kill you.”
“I’ll cover it,” Mateo says. “It was my fault you took this job in the first place.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
Mateo holds a hand up. “What are friends for if not to bail each other out. Right? Besides, if I pay my friend off for you, you owe me one.”
“All right, man. Thanks a lot.”
“Good luck tonight,” he says as he pulls his cell out of his pocket and takes a selfie with me in the background. “I’ll bet my left nut that sleepin’ on an expensive mattress will make you crave the good life, especially if the rich chick finds her way into it.”
“Not gonna happen.”
He raises a brow. “I’ll bet you two hundred dollars it will.”
“I’m not takin’ that bet.”
He laughs heartily. “Well, I’ll catch you on the poor side of town, amigo.” He pushes down on the mattress, feeling its softness. “Makes me wish I was the one with the bullet hole in my side.” With a flick of his wrist he waves and walks out of the room.
After he’s gone, I lie on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. For the first time in what seems like forever, my body sinks into a mattress that isn’t made out of gym mats.
It’s late, but I can’t sleep. I keep tossing and turning while attempting to forget the stinging pain in my side. When I close my eyes, all I can see is a Mexican beauty in a red dress . . . with her lips on mine. I slowly relax and at some point fall asleep.
It’s hours later when I wake up and, for a second, forget where I am. The stinging in my side is a reminder of what happened and that I’m in Dalila’s house. The events of the party flash before me. Kissing Dalila. The shooter. Wondering if Dalila’s father is truly some kind of drug lord. Hell, for all I know he’s being targeted by some rival cartel because of his connections.
What the hell am I doing coming up with stupid, random thoughts that don’t make sense? It just underscores the fact that I don’t have a clue how things work in Mexico.
My stomach grumbles and I realize I haven’t eaten anything. After she bandaged me up, Lola told me to grab something from the kitchen if I got hungry.
It’s two o’clock in the morning. I think about what Mateo said—that there was a shit ton of food at the party. Suddenly I feel hungry enough to take a big chunk out of those leftovers, so I head out of the room in search of some fancy grub.
The house is eerily quiet. The only sounds are the humming of the portable air conditioners and fans throughout the house.
When I reach the kitchen, I expect to be alone. It’s dark and I figure everyone is asleep, but I stop in my tracks as I see a silhouette by the refrigerator.
It’s Dalila, holding open the refrigerator door with the light shining on her silky nightgown.
Damn.
She looks more angelic now with her flowing nightgown and her hair settling over her shoulders and running down her back. I should alert her that I’m here, but just watching her is mesmerizing. I’m not usually speechless, but when it comes to this one girl I’m at a loss for words.
She pulls out a glass pitcher and closes the fridge.
I clear my throat, alerting her to my presence.
She gives a little shriek before I walk into the glow cast by the dim nightlight on the counter. Her hand goes to her heart as she lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re still here?”
“Yep. Your old man didn’t really give me a choice.”
Her eyes dart to the bandage. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
“I’ll let you know after boxing practice later today.”
“You at least have to take a few days off, Ryan,” she says. “You’re injured.”
“No days off for me. Besides, it’ll heal quick. The bullet just grazed the skin.” I gesture to the clock above the microwave, my movements seeming stiff and unnatural. What is it about this girl that makes me nervous? She’s just a girl you kissed, nothing more, I try to tell myself. “It’s late. Why are you up?”
She sighs. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m so freaked out by what happened tonight. I know the police said they’d do extra patrols around our house, but I have a feeling of dread deep in the pit of my stomach that tonight was just the beginning.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head as if shaking off negative thoughts. “I don’t want to talk about it. Papá said Lola took care of your wound. I would have come by to see you, but my father was watching me and insisted I leave you alone.”
“Smart man,” I mumble.
She tilts her head to the side in an innocent gesture. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m not good for you. And you’re not good for me.” I pop a grape from the fruit bowl into my mouth, trying to make light of the conversation. “If there were somethin’ going on between us, it’d be a bad thing.”
I take in the sight of her nightgown clinging to her body. I have the urge to pull her close and this time kiss her without any distractions.
What am I thinking? The only reason she kissed me in the first place was to make a point, not because she really wanted to make out. I need to stop thinking about that kiss. To stop myself from digging a deeper hole or acting like a complete moron, I open the fridge and peruse its contents. Boxing. Boxing is my only focus, the one thing I’m good at. Anything else puts me dangerously close to following in my father’s footsteps.
“Are you hungry?” Dalila asks, coming up behind me.
I try to ignore the heated electricity in the air between us. “Very.”
Think about the food, Ryan. Not Dalila.
There’s a lot of food staring back at me, but I can’t focus. I absently start pulling out random platters.
“Here, let me help you. At least it’ll get my mind off things.” She starts arranging unrecognizable food on a plate. “Some of this needs to be heated.”
“I’ll eat it cold,” I say, abruptly pulling the plate from her. “I’m not picky.”
She snatches it back. “You can’t eat this food cold. Trust me.”
“Chicken is good cold,” I tell her.
“Not stewed chicken.”
“Are you ever gonna stop bein’ bossy?”
“No. Are you ever going to stop being a hero?”
“I’ve never been a hero, Dalila.”
“Right,” she says. “You only took a bullet for me. No big deal.”
Giving up, I sit on one of the stools and watch as she expertly heats up a hefty portion of leftovers. After she places hot food in front of me she says in a soft, apologetic voice, “I’m sorry I kissed you in the gardens. It was stupid and really immature.”
I stab a piece of stewed chicken with a fork. “You don’t see me complainin’, do you?”
“It took you away from your job. I distracted you and then you got shot.”
I wag the now-empty fork in her direction. “I can’t argue with you there. You are a distraction.”
“Why did you do it?”
I take a bite of a tamale and my mouth waters for more. “Do what?”
“Put your life in danger? You could have died.”
“Yeah, and who would care?” Hell, I don’t even think my mom would shed a tear if I disappeared forever. On second thought, maybe one or two tears when she sobered up, but that’d be it. Paul would throw a party celebrating my departure from this earth.
I’m aware that I’m shoving the food in my mouth like a pig, but it’s so damn good. The flavors are so sweet and spicy, I could eat it every day. And the chicken dish has just the right amount of heat.
“Slow down,” Dalila says with a look of shock as she watches me shovel the food in.
“I can’t. It’s so damn good.” I point at the tamales. “Whoever made those is a genius.”
“I’ll tell Lola to make you more.”
Her words linger in the cool night air.
Time to be honest with her, because we can’t pretend this is something it’s not. “We’re never going to see each other after tonight, Dalila. I’ve got to stay focused and you’ve got to realize that it’s not me who’s caught up in some kind of cartel power struggle. It’s your family who’s caught the attention of somethin’ bigger than you’re willing to admit.”
“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she says in a soft, wistful voice. She swipes at her eyes a couple of times and I realize she’s trying not to cry. “I’ve got to go.”
Before I can call her back, she’s disappeared into the dark house.
I’m in trouble, because I’d like nothing more than to take Dalila Sandoval in my arms and comfort her until the sun comes up.