Before I can rip off Kim’s clothes, mi madre comes back into the kitchen, catching Kim with newly-mussed hair and swollen lips, and me wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and pressing up to the cabinet to once again hide my erection. Her glare would skewer a lesser man, but I’m at the point where I’m not going to let her control me. I can’t. I love my mother, and I will help her sort out the problems from my father’s debt, but I can’t do what she wants in the matters of my heart, because if I do, I’ll be living a lie.

I’m nervous about the fallout, though, and have been searching for a way to take care of her. I’ve been Googling ways to make a lot of money fast. Real estate. Bitcoin. Multi Level Marketing. Investments. Online gambling. My heart sinks as the challenge mounts. I don’t know how I’m going to fix this. Somehow, some way, I’m going to make the money to save the farm.

Again, I know who to ask. As I stand trying to get my dick to retreat to normal size, I distract myself from Kim’s Kim-ness by writing an email to my cousin on my phone.

---

De: Gustavo de la Guerra

Para: William Thrash

Fecha: 17 de septiembre

Asunto: Trouble

---

My esteemed cousin, Will,

Unfortunately, I was unable to take your advice. The woman in question has captured my heart. My body. My soul.

The problem is that my father mortgaged this farm to the neighbor before he died. I do not want to be ungentlemanly. Allow me to say simply that their daughter has much more regard for me than I for her, and if I marry her, I will save my family from financial ruin. I cannot do this, because of the woman of my heart.

What do I do to save the orchard from this devastating, terrible loss?

Un abrazo,

Tavo

---

By the time I’ve typed my message out, my body’s relaxed, although a single touch from Kim would arouse me again faster than the bulls charge down the streets of Pamplona. I will myself to stay on the other side of the room while my mother instructs Kim—using curt words and jerky gestures—on the timing of cooking paella. I’m using the unspoken excuse that I’m busy sweeping the floor and taking out the trash for them as a reason to observe them. Kim seems to know to hide her feelings from my mother and gives every impression of being the obedient and subservient exchange student rather than the knowing object of my lust.

I know my mother’s onto me—onto us—but I don’t care.

Because of Kim. Soft, sweeter than I’d imagined, more addictive, and unlike anyone I’ve ever known. Her cheerful spirit’s as fresh as the sunrise on Ibiza and as fiery as the fallas in Valencia. She’s someone I’ve chosen because she connects with me on a deeper level than anyone else I’ve ever met. It’s not just that she dominates every pore of my body. She’s shaken me out of my stupor. Because of her, I see the world anew. She makes me forget all that I’m supposed to remember. She’s a respite from not only the crippling financial obligations of the farm, but also the expectations of my family.

But it’s not her function in the matrix of my life. It’s her.

I’m falling for her, and that frightens me, because I’m running off the map into territory with no guide. It sends me soaring, though, because she’s all I’ve ever wanted.

When it’s time for dinner, Kim is at my side, gracias a Dios, and she can’t sit close enough. As I eat the delicious dinner she’s prepared under the tutelage of my mother, I’m noticing that while she’s cooked it traditional-style and followed directions, she’s put a dash of herself into it, making the cuisine new. An extra squeeze of lime instead of lemon in the paella. Fresh mint and honey with the carrots. Perhaps never having had the food before is an advantage, because she brightens it up and reinvents it in subtle and profound ways. This is the kind of food she should showcase on her Instagram.

Everyone else at dinner disregards the seismic shift in my being. While my heart has been accepted by the woman of my dreams, my grandmother tells my grandfather off for eating something that will hurt his digestion. My mother lectures Antonio about studying more and watching less television. I’m seeing them from a distance, and I now understand more how Kim felt coming here. Like she was breaking away from her routine and venturing out on her own.

Sneaking a kiss before Kim goes to bed is the best I can do for now. My mother’s just down the corridor with the light on under her door, talking to someone. I hurry back to my room and sleep, having much better dreams than I’ve had in a long time.

The next Sunday afternoon, I drive Kim to Granada and luck out, securing a parking spot at the bottom of the old Moorish neighborhood called the Albaicín. It’s her first time visiting this neighborhood, which is a tourist attraction, but has its danger spots. Best that she go with a local, even during daylight hours.

I turn off the car, and she immediately asks, “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”

The entire drive here, Kim’s been about to burst, peppering me with questions about my secret plans for her, and I’ve been thoroughly enjoying her curiosity. And the withholding of information. This tease, this play, is what I like. But knowing when to give into her, give her the satisfaction of knowledge, is also part of the joy.

“Come on. We’re going to visit a cave.” I open the car door.

Her slow smile builds, and she blinks. “A real cave? Like, in the ground?” We get out, and I come around to her, giving her a light kiss and tucking her under my arm. “Yes. People have lived in caves on the mountainside in Granada for thousands of years.”

“Still?”

I nod.

She pokes my ribcage in her curiosity and excitement and then gestures to the Sacromonte mountain. “There? Oh my God, I see them! Is it all dark? Do we have to go spelunking?”

“What is spelunking?” English has some weird words.

“Exploring in a cave.” Her eyes have an edge of concern. “How far in the cave do we have to go? It’s a real cave? With rocks and darkness and monsters?”

Chuckling, I steer her toward our path. “There are no monsters. Unless you count Sergio.” He’s been my best friend since we started school together and grew up in one of the famous caves of Granada.

Her head swivels nonstop as we begin the hike up the hill from the base, and seeing my hometown through her eyes is extraordinary. We pass crowded whitewashed buildings folding in on cobblestone streets that get ever-narrower as we increase in altitude. Some at the top are too close together to pass through by donkey—just a person can squeeze through.

A block or so in, along the street dotted with tea shops, we run into Trent and Dani exiting one, holding hands. After exclaiming surprised hellos, Trent asks, “Where are you two going?”

“Almuerzo at Sergio’s,” I answer. “He’s up in the Sacromonte in a cueva.”

“That’s a great place to take her,” says Dani, looking tiny next to Trent. “The Albaicín’s so dreamy.”

Kim leans into me. “I’ve never in my life seen anything like this. It’s out of a movie or a travel poster. It’s just so old and twisty and gorgeous.”

“Exactly.” Dani grins. “You never know what you’ll come across when you go around a corner here.”

“I love that!”

Dani and Trent exchange glances, and then Trent nods. Dani asks, “How long are you in town today? Do you want to come over for dinner?”

Raising her eyebrows, Kim pleads silently with me to go. “Yes, we’d love to,” I say.

“Come over around eight, okay? Earlier is fine, too.”

Trent takes Dani’s hand. “See you then.” We wave at each other and take off in separate directions.

As we journey up the hill along the twisted streets of the oldest parts of town, Kim points at a house that’s almost a fortress, with high white stucco walls embedded with broken glass at the top. “I wonder what goes on in there?”

“They probably play chess,” I joke.

She bursts out laughing. “The mystery is what gets me. They could be playing chess, for all we know. Or they could be doing something illegal. Or seductive.” Her eyes lock on mine, and she sucks in her lip. And while I think she’s teasing me, I’m not taking it as a tease. I’m thinking about breaking into one of these houses and seducing her.

Goddammit. The past few days have gone by with us only being able to steal kisses when no one is looking—especially in between classes at school. But at home, that’s hard to come by, since there’s always someone around. Even if we’re in my casita, someone always monitors our comings and goings.

I’m about at the breaking point, though. Her curves are too tantalizing, and I really need to find out if she tastes as sweet as I think she does.

As if she’s reading my mind, she giggles. “You’d never see all these curves in Iowa with our long, straight interstate. I’m the only one with curves.”

Whenever she gives me an invitation to check her out, I take it, stopping in the middle of the narrow street and letting my eye linger on her pouty, beautiful face, starlet figure, and eyes that I now know change color based on her moods. Sometimes they’re more brown. Today they’re almost green. “Absolutely.”

A cat with a white belly and gray tabby stripes meows at us from the sidewalk. “What?” Kim coos from under my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Miaow,” says the cat, and Kim separates from me to kneel down and scratch between the cat’s ears.

“He is a handsome cat. A snow walker.” I admire his coloring—as well as Kim’s luscious backside.

“I don’t think I’ve ever petted a strange cat before. I’m amazed that he let me. I wasn’t allowed to have pets because my dad is allergic.”

“So, this is a Breakfast at Tiffany’s event. It’s something you’ve never done before.”

“Yes! I love it! Even simple things count.” She looks so cute that I snap a picture of her.

When we get to the top of the hill, we arrive at Sergio’s house. He lives in one of many caves on the hill, which from the outside has a regular front door. Although we took the hike at a slow pace, we’re still out of breath and take a moment to regroup before knocking on his door.

“You sure there are no monsters?” pants Kim.

“Absolutely.” I rap on his door. When Sergio opens it, I shake his hand and say, “Hombre.”

“Welcome.” He bends over to give Kim two kisses on her cheeks. While it’s our custom, I have to prevent myself from snarling at him in an overprotective fit. He waves us in. “Venga. Come in, come in.”

We step foot into his naturally soundproofed house, which is painted all white inside. There’s electricity, and our eyes and body adjust to the coolness of the cave. “It’s so comfortable in here,” she whispers, taking in the couch, television, dining room set, kitchen, and bed at the back. “I can’t believe this is a cave. It just looks like a regular house with no windows along the sides. Or maybe a Hobbit hole.”

“This is the Sacromonte,” Sergio says. “People have been living here for thousands of years. Passages crisscross in the mountain that have been here for centuries. Some even cross under the river, underground, to the Alhambra.” He gestures in the direction of the famous fortress across the way. “Living in a cave has some real advantages. The temperature is about the same year-round, which makes it quite healthy.”

Kim looks at his pictures on the walls, the arrangement of his furniture, the plants by the front door. “I thought it would be more shadowy in a cave. That it would be darker, more mysterious.”

“Sometimes you just have try something new and realize there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he says.

He’s right. You can build yourself up to be afraid of the dark, when really you’re more at home there than you realize.

Kim wanders around and gets the sense of the place while I talk to Sergio. “What’s for lunch?” I ask, pulling out a bottle of wine I’d tucked into my jacket.

“Tortilla del Sacromonte.”

From the corner, Kim spins around, sputtering, her eyes bugging out. “Not the one with testicles and brains!”

He laughs loudly, rummaging in a drawer for a wine opener. “Tavo told me your reaction to that one. No, I’m just kidding. We’re having a regular tortilla española. Omelet with potatoes in a sandwich. Plus a salad.”

It’s beautiful and amusing to watch the relief wash over Kim’s face. Maybe having lunch in a cave is “something new” today.

Sergio opens the bottle of wine and pours three glasses. In a low voice, he says, “You and Kim are juntos?”

“Yeah.” He knows the significance. In Spain, even first dates are in groups. It’s not until we’re serious that we go out on a date with just one person. We don’t pair off alone in public until it’s official.

But I don’t care. Kim’s for me. I don’t need to hide it from anyone.

Sergio raises an eyebrow and a glass to me in respect. He hands Kim a glass of wine. “So I have news.”

“What about?” I take a sip.

“My little brother? The one we’ve all known was gay?”

I nod.

“He finally admitted it.”

“He came out?”

Sergio takes a drink. “He did. And the whole family now heaves a sigh of relief because Grandma can stop bothering him about finding a girl.”

“Must be a weight off his back to tell people the truth.” I think about all the secrets I’m keeping right now. And I wonder about my brother Antonio. He’s so overtly flirty, but …

Kim comes back from her inspection of the cave and joins us. “I agree,” she says, catching the end of our conversation. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to keep something like that to yourself and not be able to tell anyone. I hope he has some friends to help him.”

“He does. And we’re glad, really.”

“Spain is one of the most progressive countries in the world as far as LGBT rights.”

“Yet another reason why I feel so comfortable here,” Kim says. “It’s so welcoming to all.”

After lunch we sit in Sergio’s patio outside, watching the city of Granada below us transition to late afternoon. Kim and I drink wine. Sergio lights up a cigarette and drinks an Aguilar beer.

“¿Quieres uno?” He offers Kim a cigarette, knowing I don’t smoke.

She hesitates, but takes one. “I’ve never smoked before, but I want to try it. I mean, I know it’s bad, but when in Spain … I want to remove the things tying me down.”

I want to tie her up more than ever. I can’t say that in front of Sergio, though, so I shrug. “It’s just another part of your Desayuno con Diamantes.”

“What are you saying about breakfast?” asks Sergio as he ignites his lighter and holds it at the end of the cigarette in her mouth. The cigarette doesn’t belong there, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

But.

He lights her cigarette. She inhales and dissolves into a fit of coughing.

Sergio cracks up, and I try not to, but a smile pushes the edges of my mouth up. I give her my most serious look, almost like a professor. “It’s okay to try new things and decide you don’t like them, too.”

She tries another few puffs and then stubs it out. “I think it’s not for me,” she rasps out. “It doesn’t taste good at all.”

I love her willingness. I love her honesty and her open mind. I hand her a bottle of water to drink. “It still counts as something you’ve never done before. And it counts if you don’t like it, as long as you try it.”

“Right. No risks, no rewards. I’m just discovering myself.” She gets a far-off gaze in her eyes, then snaps to. “Well, by process of elimination, I won’t be trying that again.”

Several hours later, after drinking two more bottles of wine, several large beers, and eating a bag of crisps, Kim and I say goodbye to Sergio, who invites us back again, and decide to mosey down the hill and dar un paseo in town until it’s time to go to Trent and Dani’s. Most shops are closed on Sunday afternoons, but there will be plenty of people about on such a lovely evening.

As we make our way down, I notice the streets are more wobbly than they were on the way up. Or maybe we’re more wobbly.

“Let’s go to the Alcazar.” I pull her towards it. “It’s sure to be open since it’s touristy. But it’s authentic, too. People have been selling their wares here for centuries. You’ll love it.”

“Yes!” She’s cheerfully holding my hand, and I want to haul her into an alley and kiss her. Spending the whole afternoon with her, she just gets prettier and prettier, chatting with my friend in both English and Spanish. Being attentive and asking questions and offering her opinion and listening. She’s so vivacious and animated. I love it.

We leave the Albaicín and cross the street, heading into the central downtown area of tightly-packed shops near the cathedral. When we enter the old market, Kim’s eyes are like saucers, and we go very slowly, since there’s so much to see. She’s snapping so many pictures with her phone. The vendors have packed the outside spaces of their shops with leather goods—shoes, purses, belts—baskets, and all sorts of scarves. The scarf shop also has fabric, ribbons, and traditional Spanish clothing and fans. Kim fingers a cream-colored scarf with red embroidery, edged with cream fringe.

God, what I could do with her and a scarf.

“What?” she asks. “Why do you have that look on your face?”

“I only wish.”

“What?”

Do I tell her? I stroke the back of my neck, wondering if I can trust her with my secrets.

I think I can.

Letting out a breath, I use a low voice in her ear. “I would very much like to do things to you, using that scarf to tie you up.”

Her eyes widen.

“So, you’re like into—”

“Exploration. I have been longing for a partner who I can devote my energy to. My desire is to give a woman pleasure.”

Her breath begins to come out in pants, just like in my dream. She grips my hand and yanks me from the shop to a narrow alley where she presses me against the wall, kissing me in a full embrace. I suck on her lower lip and plunder her mouth with my tongue. She kisses me right back, just as hard.

But I break it off. “We need to talk about this.”

“What, Tavo?” she asks, still kissing my neck, holding me to her.

“There are parts of me that you don’t know about.”

She says against my skin, “I’m sure I don’t know about most parts of you. But nothing you could say would make me change my opinion of you. I know that we are right for—”

“Kim.” I gently pull away.

She looks at me, and the world wobbles a bit more. “What?”

“My desire in bed is adventurous. I enjoy the feeling of control. I want someone to submit to me, or I’ll submit to them. Entirely. I’ll switch. But I get off on the play.”

“Play.”

“I’ve been looking for a partner who is willing. Is that …” I’m suddenly shy. “Is that something you’d like to try?” A ramp of delicious tension goes through me, and I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.

Her glowing face betrays her nervousness, but her words give me hope. “I can think of nothing I want more than to let you have your way with me in the bedroom. That’s all I ever wanted since I’ve first laid eyes on you.”

With a flush on her cheeks, she beckons me closer, and her voice is a hot, strangled whisper on my skin. She tells me about a dream she had after she first met me, where she’s naked on a white fur while I use a feather and my fingers to make her come.

My heart is beating so fast, and my brain’s gone haywire. I am falling badly for this woman, and it could not be worse for her or for me. But instead of pushing her away, as I should, I hug her so tight I’m sure she can’t breathe and whisper fiercely, “You are, without a doubt, the perfect woman for me.”

She nods and presses her fingers to her lips. Then she kisses me and we go back into the store. We buy the scarf, some ribbons, and in another shop down the way, a blindfold. I don’t know who’s more excited—Kim, or me.

At about eight o’clock, we arrive at Trent and Dani’s garret apartment a few blocks over, having stashed our purchases in my car. When Trent opens the door, he says in English, “How nice to see you two. Come in.”

“Where’s your Spanish, amigo?” I ask, handing him a bottle of wine we picked up down the street.

He looks abashed. “I know, I know. Sometimes it’s easier in English.” Studying the label, he says, “Thanks for this.”

I give my friend a quick, tight hug. Kim steps in, hugs him, and waves to Dani, who is bustling behind him, setting the table.

“I love this place,” says Kim, peering out the open, floor-to-ceiling windows to the street below. “It’s exactly what I thought Europe would look like with the balconies and cobblestones and narrow streets. The bell tower of the cathedral’s off in the distance.” She takes a picture.

Dani comes over and gives her a hug. “I love it too.”

This tiny, unconventional apartment doesn’t have enough room for guests, so two people are going to sit on stacked suitcases and a low table serving as a chair. But as long as Kim is with me, I don’t care where I am.

Trent hands me a beer. Like I need one after lunch at Sergio’s. But I’m not drunk. Just happy. He clinks his bottle to mine and asks in a low tone, “Are you and Kim together?”

I hedge. “I want to be.”

He gives me an understanding nod. “I know what that’s like. I waited so long for Dani. It was wrong timing.”

“This is wrong timing too.”

He sips his beer. “You’re meant for each other. It’ll be okay.”

“I hope so too, amigo,” I say. I call to Dani. “Need any help?”

“Absolutely not. Go sit on the couch and drink beers and scratch your belly with Trent.”

Before I sit down, my phone buzzes in my back pocket with an email.

---

De: William Thrash

Para: Gustavo de la Guerra

Fecha: 17 de septiembre

Asunto: Asunto: Trouble

---

Tavo,

Come visit again. Money will figure itself out. Can’t tell you much about the heart, though. I think you know what you’re doing.

Will

---

He’s right. I do. I sit by Trent and keep watch on Kim helping Dani, enjoying the easy way she works in the kitchen.

After a delicious dinner with soup, pasta, and lots of vegetables, Trent and I lounge on the couch watching an old movie from the 1970s with extraordinarily huge cars driving fast in a lot of chases, while Kim insists on helping Dani clean up. They shooed me and Trent out of the kitchen, although we offered to help. I think they just want to talk to each other.

Trent shakes his head when a vehicle the size of a bus goes off the cliff and explodes. “Spanish TV is hilarious.”

“This was originally American. We don’t have the resources to make movies like you do in the United States.”

“I think Spain has so many untapped resources,” says Dani, wiping her hands on a towel and picking up a glass of wine. “The world wants Spanish things. Not just your olive oil, but your way of life. Your way of thinking. Your culture and music and stories.”

Does the world want to hear my music? Want me to show my voice? My guitar? My dance? My art?

In my alcohol-enhanced brain, I think it’s a good idea.

While Trent and I watch the movie, Dani and Kim sit at the table and talk about tattoos and makeup and dying hair. In between car chases and laughing with Trent, I see Dani show her tattoos to Kim. Then she and Dani go into the bathroom together.

Trent and I exchange a glance. We’re both thinking dirty thoughts that every man thinks when two women go into the bathroom together. Then we both smile and go back to watching the movie.

I don’t know how long they’re in the bathroom, but the movie finishes and we watch the next one. I hear the sound of water running. A hair dryer. Muffled giggles.

It’s getting late.

When Kim emerges, my heart goes into my ears. She’s Marilyn Monroe with multicolored hair—a rockabilly bombshell. With her polka dot shirt and white skirt, she’s taken her sweet, all-American look and put an edge to it. Her makeup is dark, sultry, with black around her eyes that make the hazel even more green than before, and her lips perfect and shiny.

I’m fighting a chubby.

“Well? What do you think?” Kim asks, twisting and picking at her lip, spinning around, fluffing her hair. “Dani had this wax dye that colors your hair, so we made it unicorn.”

It’s pink, green, purple, and blue, in a pretty pattern where the purple is on top and the other colors show when she lifts up her hair.

I think I can’t stand another second without her.

I rise from the couch and address Trent and Dani, giving them a bow. “Thank you for dinner. We will return the favor, and we’ll see you soon.”

Trent smirks, and Dani claps her hands. “Kim! I told you he’d love it! See you guys later.”

I turn to Kim. “I like your hair like that. Let’s get you home.”