Heavy Love(21)

"Percebes. You can only have them up here, Northern Spain or Portugal." I  smile, not mentioning the price and how dangerous it is to harvest  them, not to mention it must be done by hand. But I continue to give a  short editorial as if Angelique is the crème de la crème of judges and  I'm one part of two final contestants. "The odd tube shaped barnacle  grows in clusters."

"Well, I think dinosaurs must have enjoyed these things way, way back in  the day." Using her glossy pink painted index finger, Angelique pushes  the bowl back toward me.

"Perhaps," I reply, scooting the food in her direction. "You'll enjoy it."

We glare at each other, though my demeanor is peppered with amusement as  I tell her how easy it is to obtain its' meat. She grumbles about this  very item being one of my reasons at an attempt to stall. But when  Angelique takes a bite, I have to look away once more. She's fallen for  percebes even more than with the first course.

And then I tell Angelique about the ass I made of myself during the  aftermath while placing a sprinkle of saffron in two bowls filled with  suquet, a juicy fish stew. By this time, I have finished up the part  where I've made an ass of myself during the aftermath.

Angelique is quiet as I place the triangle shaped bowl before her. Her  first words are, "Wow, Orlando, the Orlando Greene, called you  emotionally homeless."

I don't know which pushes my buttons more, her attraction for my friend  or goddamn it her motherfucking attraction for my friend, since  Angelique cracks up as I finish the story.

"Whew, Franco. I know exactly what you're talking about. A guy's  vasopressin is released during sex, and he'll unconsciously start to  view a female as his territory. Short-order bonding."

"Fast food love you say? Eh, yeah, whatever," I shrug, as Angelique  provides a similar definition as the behavioral anthropologist. "You  ready to eat?"

"Hell yeah!"

What's the fucking problem with me? I glance at the meal on the table  before me. Angelique rubs her hands together. She thanks me profusely as  I pour us both a glass of wine.

Taking a deep breath, I look around, and realize that I'm home. That's  what's my problem. Being here, in Cabo De Blanco, has left me wide open.  I've told her too much, now I feel vulnerable to put it mildly. And  Angelique validates as much.

"Come sit down, big guy." Angelique pats the stool beside her. "Boy,  you're no more in love than I'm made of marshmallows, the best thing  since the invention of hot chocolate. You lived out the fantasy that  every horny ass male goes through when a Vicky Secret commercial comes  on. Coupled with the fact that you met your equal as far as players go."

Lackadaisical, I ask, "How much do I owe ya?"

The kindness that broke through my drunkenness last night glows all over  her face. "Now that we've both purged, we're friends, Franco."

Our eyes meet. No, we aren't strangers on the metro in New York. This  isn't your ordinary destination romance. Fuck that, this isn't a romance  at all, because Angelique needs time to deal with the fluff in her  head. Obviously, she came on vacation alone. I need to sift through the  bullshit in my brain, too.

"Okay, Angelique. Now we eat." She turns toward her plate. I add, "Good, si?"         

     



 

Angelique's head falls back after first bite. The moan is titillating,  making my cock jump. Cool yourself, this is good peoples, I  subconsciously warn.

Though sounding reluctant Angelique asks, "So you're done being a chef?"

"I don't want a pep talk, Angelique."

"Okay, as your friend – "

"We've already established – "

"Let me finish, Franco. And not as a therapist, strictly speaking, I  think this Lido bull is a cop out. That's why you flipped the script on  me soon as I mentioned that you're quitting."

"First of all, I'm no quitter."

She waves a hand. "Like I said, this isn't about being pussy whipped  because you aren't. It's about everything that accompanies you stepping  onto the stadium at the Food Network Channel. The fame is way over your  head."

"Over my head!" I bellow, "Eh, it's about a decade too fucking late to be swamped by the cameras."

"You can use that Antonio Banderas shouting if it makes you feel better.  No, scratch that, Franco. Don't get defensive. Because, back in the  day, I remember you as an asshole while watching you rip apart opponents  on ‘The Next Iron Chef.' Yeah, you got the badge; you got your feet wet  in the industry. And moreover, just a few weeks ago, there was a radio  segment and all kindsa news broadcasts over your Sweet and Savory show.  Do you know how many horny females got their kicks out of you storming  from the network building? Like a big ass kid, might I add." Angelique  speaks quickly as if making a concluding argument in a courtroom on a  lethal-injection case. She's so cute as she talks. "Listen to me,  Franco. Don't tune me out. Now add little miss supermodel to the  equation, you're not pining for her. It's a simple case of transference,  psych 101. Forget her."

"Yesterday morning, while lying in my arms, Lido offered me a fucking  gig as her side piece. But per Angelique, this is just that simple," I  mumble to myself.

"So, what? Lido offered to fuck you every once in a while. The game  didn't change, Franco. You just misplaced the rules. I'm sure you've had  your share of taken women. That's another thing, why is there such  thing as a ‘home wrecker.' Why do women get such a bad rep?"

Damn, I did misplace the rules. Transference. I consider it. However, I  want to make note that I've never slept with a married woman.

She takes a deep breath, regaining her composure. "Let it sink in."

Shit, it's sinking in... Any other day, I would've been up to the challenge. Sleep with a gorgeous female. Let her go.

I hold Angelique's gaze once more. Angelique isn't deterred by my  intensity. Finally, the left edge of my mouth cocks upwards. "Finish  eating. So we can go."

"Go where?" She's fazed, just as I've desired.

"You're on vacation, Jelly," I tell her as she packs the dishes into the sink.

"It's almost ten pm."

"Bueno. Let's go."

She turns on the faucet and begins to pick up the dish rag, saying,  "But, my parents were laid back in all, but when it came to a dirty  kitchen," Angelique begins.

"The maid will clean up. Vámonos."





CHAPTER 17


Angelique





WE WALKED ALONG the seashore for almost thirty minutes. Not to mention,  talking about everything and anything. No subject left unscathed, each  topic weaving into another in authentic interest. A lighthouse off in  the distance illuminated our path in sequences, then left total darkness  in our wake. With the main Inn lit up as a backdrop, I followed a man  who'd all to quickly became important in my life. His opinion meant so  much to me, and I could tell that with each moment in my presence, my  outlook held the same weight for him.

Now we stand before a long rickety flight of stairs.

"You're hesitant," Franco holds out his hand speaking existence into my current thoughts.

Instead of agreeing to the obvious truth, I think of a witty response.  "These are my most expensive pair of heels. Even Jimmy Choo will take  offense, if I don't put these suckers to good use." I smirk, holding up  the five-inch strappy heels dangling from my fingers. With my other  hand, I take his.

"I'd say, have I ever steered you wrong," Franco begins, a dreamy  chuckle soothes out the concern I have. "But it's too late for that."

"Um hmmm. If this staircase breaks, I'm suing you. And you will have to  take your ass back to work to get me my money," I joke. Hell, I do it  for the laughter. This is turning into one of those summer teenage love  stories, and this isn't the summer, we're a tad too old for that mark as  well. But I've never heard a more pleasing sound or watched a more  tantalizing sight, his tan rock hard abdominals pulsating as his deep  voice bellows with laughter.         

     



 

We begin up the staircase. The steps seem to continue on forever. Franco  isn't breathing hard in the least as we make it to the top. Once there,  we follow the foliage passageway to a wrought iron gate. And I notice  that unlike much of the island, this area is sectioned off.

Franco begins to pull out a key ring, and unlocks the gate. Finally,  we're bathed in illumination as sensors turn zip on. Lush purple vibrant  tropical plants surround us. There is a set of whicker chairs  surrounding a hearth that had to have been built in a previous century. I  could imagine sitting out here and reading.

"Oh, I wasn't given the tour of this area when I arrived." I mumble,  glancing at a large fountain which presents another eye catching focal  point.

"This isn't part of my family's land." He looks me straight in the eye, and then pushes the door open.