"That works," she says.
Before I can give them one last smile and leave, Franco stands. My eyes squeeze shut for a second as a delusion consumes me. His scent envelopes me and brings me right back to square one.
Eduardo.
But how? How the hell is that? When I was in the chef's presence earlier, Eduardo was but a fragmented memory. Sad but true. Now Spain's hottest man alive is standing before me and I'm lost in thought about Eduardo. And the fresh, Spanish sage scent enveloping me now must be me going crazy. Maybe I'll go search the lagoon where Eduardo hit his head –
"Have you danced, no?" Franco inquires. His face is void of emotion. So unlike the upbeat, comedian that taught the class earlier or even the seemingly friendly version of him who just redirected the ‘All Things Selena' conversation a thousand times to include me.
No, I shake my head.
His hand engulfs mine. "Nobody leaves without at least one dance. Can you salsa, si?"
"Yes, you must!" Selena claps her hands together.
"I can – " Before I can say cannot, Franco's fingers twine around mine and he guides me toward the dance floor. He gives the guitarist a signal mid-song. They glare hard at each other, almost Desperado style, yet the tempo quickens.
My eyes widen.
Like champagne, his gaze bubbles in such an enticing way, Franco assures, "Don't be afraid, Angelique. I'll guide you. I merely wanted to save you from the leech is all."
"The leech?" my eyebrow rises as I feel bubbly and giddy, making the connection.
"Si, it's corny, I know. But the leech." He cocks his head toward Selena.
The laughter threatening to escape takes a sharp turn as Franco clasps the small of my back. His body is thick, hard against mine and I love it. Gone are the tormenting, rotating, thoughts of why didn't I give into Eduardo last night? Virtue is lost to me as, instead, I appear the cheesing idiot.
Chapter 14
Franco
MY HAND GLIDES along her waist, skimming the curves of her hips. Every chance I get, damn right I'm gonna touch her. In those wedges Angelique is almost my height. So I glance into those large dough eyes. As my fingertips skim the thickness of her hip, I determine that this is real. This woman should just be part of a distant memory. A very intense memory, nonetheless, where I alternate from wanting to claim her body to wanting to beat the shit out of her ex.
I want just one kiss, to just show her how much one night connecting meant. Instead I pull her in, curse myself for even wanting to fuck with this good girl, then pull her away from me. Where she belongs. Far away from me. Back and forth we go, close as sin, then the proximities become respectable once again.
By the end of the dance, I've spun Angelique around. Her chocolate brown hair goes flying as I quickly dip her backwards. Then I quote Federico García Lorca's saying about Spain.
When I let Angelique go, she stands there for a moment. The glow upon her face is gone. Fuck me. I jokingly told her the same thing last night after she'd laughed until she had to hold her sides about one of my adventurous stories. A waitress is skirting by the perimeter of the dance floor since seating is packed to capacity. Angelique grabs one of the glasses of wine on her tray. In the blink of an eye, the liquid sloshes all over my face.
Every single person in the room, a room that has already doubled over what I'd bet is fire code in the states, grows quiet. The entire cantina hushes except for the sound of Selena beginning to rise.
I mouth for her to sit back down as Angelique stalks from the dance floor.
"Angelique," I call out to her, as her hips sway rapidly away. Angelique grabs her purse from her seat and heads toward the exit. I rub my forearm across the sticky wetness on my face. The music turns for the worse at my expense.
Soon as the tone is strummed, I realize exactly what song is being played. She made a fool out of me... The lead singer, and one of my lifelong sworn enemies, crones in Espanola. I almost chuckle at the guitarist's attempt to throw a jab, while I move around the crowds of people.
I catch up to Angelique right outside. I snatch up her elbow a little harder than necessary but she gets my point. She embarrassed the shit outta me. "What's that for?"
"Don't be stupid, Eduardo! Matter of fact, don't be a punk!"
Shit, I mouth, pulling the wet shirt away from me. She knows who I am. Or, rather, who I pretended to be.
That curvy shape begins to strut away.
"Wait, wait." In a few steps, I'm in front of Angelique. "I apologize, Angelique. I made a mistake. Can we talk about it?"
"Look," her hands go to her hips. "You can lie to me. Who the hell am I to you, right? But damn, you had me telling you all about Carlton, my life as a kid. I told you everything..." Her voice dips low as the front door opens. Selena steps out.
"Franco, what the heck did you just do to my new friend!" Selena shouts. "Angelique, are you all right or no?"
"I'm okay," Angelique speaks up quickly. "It was a misunderstanding. I thought Franco was someone else. My friend, you see, has these floppy ears. Though, Franco does appear to have one ear that seems slightly bigger than the other. But it could just be my angle looking up. This is all a misunderstanding. Which was very dumb of me, seeing that Senor de León's an internationally known chef. "
"You sure?" Those dark marbles sparkle with concern. Shit, men say we can't understand females. I read between the lines, it's a fucking sin. I want to apologize again, to tell her that using Eduardo was before we connected, but Angelique refuses to glance in my direction.
"Selena, the vineyards? Tomorrow?" Angelique arches an eyebrow at her.
"Yeah, I'll meet you for breakfast in the main Inn?" Selena asks.
"Fine," Angelique's eyes close for a second then she turns to me. Gaze just over my shoulder. "I'm ... The next course is tomorrow evening? I probably shouldn't – "
"Don Franco will be okay. I'll take him to get changed," Selena says.
With Selena, I always try to keep the peace, let her think she calls the shots. Then get the fuck away from her as soon as possible. She's just that type of female. But right now, I blow up.
"Am I your son?" I turn to glare at her. We've never been in that type of relationship as kids. But when I turn back, Angelique is already making her way down the cobblestone pathway.
"Selena, don't do that, don't ever do that!" I bark. My hands are up just so she understands that I'm not trying to be rude. However, with Selena, it seems straight and to the point is the best way.
Her stance goes from defensive to pouty. "Do what?"
"There'll never be a day that I want to be petted. You've known that since you've known me." Women. I calm myself from bursting through the doors of the cantina as I walk back inside.
The waitress has placed the tab for the entire meal in front of me even the glass of wine spilt on me. I begin to dish out money when the guitarist, Miguel, steps over.
"Aye, gilipollas – dumbass, you mixed up with that one again?" He says of Selena.
"Que te Joder!" Fuck you, I tell Miguel, not the type of man to chat about women, period. I toss the money on to the table and a generous tip.
~~~
Around seven pm, with a disposable grocery bag in one hand, I knock on the door to Angelique's bungalow with the other. Dressed in a black button up, tailored leather jacket and jeans, crack my knuckles while closing my fist and wait. Not sure what the fuck I'm doing here, but the idea of preparing her dinner seemed genius at the time. I rub the back of my neck, understanding how this will leave me. In the position to have to tell her about myself. A woman that has opened her entire heart to me, who seems like an old friend in less than twenty-four hours. Shit, an old friend … and I must be no more than a stranger to her.
After a minute, I knock again. She's here. The grounds worker, Gustavo, has been keeping an eye on this place since I went to the grocery store. Besides I heard a faint sound less than a minute after the first time I knocked. Angelique is fucking pissed. I lean back against the wall of the place and wait.
The door swings open. Angelique steps outside in a peach maxi dress that complements those plush glossed lips. Except, that mouth of hers is set in a sneer, "Hey, stop knocking! Don't you get the picture? What are you doing here anyway?"
"I came with a peace offering." I hold up the grocery bag.
"Hmph! Oh, I get it. You wanna redo? No need. I'm on my way out to dinner." She shakes her head, scoffing, "but I should set aside my basic needs because you got your feelings hurt. Sorry, big boy, I call ‘em as I see ‘em. You're a punk."
"Okay, Dr. Curtis."