Of Hustle and Heart (10 page)

CHAPTER 17

ZINA

Z
acarias is a cutie, but he’s a sucker, for sure. I’ve been reckless with everything, but I’d do it again. Maybe Blanca was right, and selling my bootlegs at school wasn’t a good idea. But that wasn’t her decision to make. The longing in Zack’s eyes have disappeared because he’s watching someone. He turns to me, his eyes glowing, hardening, and reminding me of caramelized hard candies.

“It’s the jealous boy from your picnic,” he smirks.

I watch as Shannon pauses for a second before effortlessly navigating his way through the parking lot traffic. He catches a glimpse of me and stumbles on the curb.

“He goes to your school, right?”

“Yeah, he does,” I say as my heart attempts to pound right through my chest. My hands are sweating, and I rub my palms together to dry them.
Holy hell, Shannon!
Shit!
I feel like crying again, too emotional from the past week to control my feelings. I’m ready to spill my guts. If I don’t, I might convulse, explode, scream, or get crazy.

Shannon stops in his tracks. He stands on the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his pockets, allowing me to get a good look. He’s everything I want right now—the boy I’d lie down for, cry for, and punch a bitch for. When I think about what I’d do to have him, it takes my breath away.

I see him look from me to Zack and back again. Zack notices too. And now they’re both watching me.

“My restaurant needs me,” Zack says as he gets up from his spot on the bench. Then he turns and looks at me. The light in his eyes has softened, and his smile is sweet. “If you need me,” he takes a few steps closer, “you know where I’ll be.”

He passes Shannon on the sidewalk but doesn’t look his way as he hurries back to work. I scoot over, sit back, and cross my legs. Shannon takes up more room on the bench than Zack did. I can’t look at him right away. I hate this moment. My nerve should be turned up to ten right now. But no, I’m a knot of emotional chaos and scared as shit right now. I’m dizzy from all the crying and tired from trying to control everything. I look as weak as I feel.

Shannon seems nervous. He looks up at the sky and makes some weird comment about how clear it is. He sits back and sighs. I glance his way; the sight of him worries me. Then he looks at me. I guess he can read my expression, because he scoots closer.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, laying his arm across the back of the bench behind me.

His hand grazes the back of my neck, absorbing what’s left of my composure. I shudder as I feel myself growing weaker and more helpless around him.
Is this what love feels like?

“Well?” Shannon pushes me for an answer. “What’s up?”

My eyes burn, and my chest aches. “Nothing.” It’s all I can manage.

“You look like shit tonight,” he says, shaking his head. “There’s gotta be a reason. So…are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or not?”

“What? I…”

“I’m your friend, Zina, so you should tell me things. Besides, I just wanna know. At some point, you gotta trust somebody besides Blanca.”

He seems upset. And for a minute, I’m a little turned off, because I feel he has no right to be. Then I remember what Rocky said earlier about him and Beatrice fighting, and I realize his emotions must still be going crazy.

“I trust other people,” I say.

He cocks a condescending eyebrow at me. “No, you don’t.” I can’t argue; he’s right. I look at Shannon, afraid of the power he holds over me. He moves closer. “C’mon, Zina, you can trust me.”

I literally choke as he says it, and a tear escapes me. I quickly wipe it away.

“You need a hug,” he says with a warm, sexy smile.

“No—”

“Yes, you do,” he says.

“Yeah,” I murmur between sniffles, “I really, really do.”

Shannon pulls me close, and while I resist at first, I quickly come to my senses. It’s stupid as hell to resist anything about him. I let him pull me in with one arm, and he lets me bury my head into his neck. I cry on his shoulder. The world—everything that is or ever was—is lost to me at this moment. I belong to Shannon. There is only us. Nothing else matters.

I feel like I could cry forever, but I run out of tears. As I sit in the shelter of Shannon’s arm, he doesn’t say a single word. He seems content with providing a shoulder for me to cry on. But it’s not enough for me. And while I’m nervous about officially confessing my feelings to this boy, I gather my guts.

“I wanna tell you something,” I whisper.

“What?” His breath is soft against my ear.

I squirm a bit, and he loosens his arm so I can sit up.

“I think you’re a really good friend.” I feel myself getting off track, because that’s not what I meant to say. “I mean…I don’t think we really know each other as well as we could. And school’s almost over.”

I guess I struck a nerve, because he suddenly looks away and stares out into the parking lot.

“I know,” he says. “Tonight was my last game.”

I squint.
Shit. I’d kinda forgotten about that.
“Are you sad about it?”

“No. Well…I don’t know. Not sad, really. I knew it had to end, but I’ll miss it. A lot. I don’t know if I really feel comfortable talking to anyone else about it, though,” he says. And it stings.

“Why not? Who don’t you feel comfortable talking to?”

He can’t be talking about me, because it’s ridiculous to ask me to trust him as a friend if he can’t do the same. I’m not interested in being in a one-way friendship with anyone. I want all of it—the whole dirty thing in its entirety. This has always been my nature.

“’Cause not everyone understands.”

“You don’t think I’d understand?” I say, placing a palm over my wounded ego. He looks at me, unsure.
What the fuck. Really. How can he question it?
I clench my jaw, biting down on my bottom lip. “I do understand,” I say. “When I saw you at the game, I wondered how you felt about tonight being your last one.”

A smile lit up his face. “You came?”

I ignore his question and continue. “I would’ve waited afterward or sat closer, but…” I pause as the image of Beatrice sitting courtside flashes through my head. I don’t want to say her name, don’t want to bring her anywhere near us. She already had her chance. I look at Shannon and smile. “Yeah, I was at the game.”

“Dang, man. I’m sorry you had to watch us lose like that.”

“Shannon, I don’t care that y’all lost.”

“Beatrice does.” He spits her name into the night air. “She said she’d already had a Chesney championship T-shirt custom made. She was pissy because she’d wasted her money.”

Beatrice can choke on it, for all I care. Now
I’m
pissy because he said that fugazi bitch’s name.

“Well, she is the girl you chose,” I say, pulling away from him. “And if you sit next to me and whine about your horrendous bitch of a girlfriend, Shannon, I swear I’m gonna leave.”

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t really like her.”

Understatement of my life
.

And just like that, the spell is broken. I’m so disgusted with how much influence someone like Beatrice has over him.

“Welp, you ruined it.” I stand and brush myself off.

“Ruined what?” he says, clutching onto one of my back pockets. “Sit back down.”

“No! Not if you—”

“I’m not going to talk about her. Just chill, Zina.”

He tugs at my jeans, and I stumble backward.

“All right…okay,” I say. He tugs harder, and I fall next to him on the bench.

“Girl, I swear you have no chill,” he says. “You go off in like, point three seconds.” He shakes his head and then cuts his big green saucers at me. “Passionate…I like that.” He shifts closer. “I like you.”

In seconds, the spell is cast again. A look, a smile, the truth of how he feels, the sound of his voice…I’m under again. He gazes at me; his eyes meet mine, energetic and sweet. Shannon’s lips part as if he wants to say something, and his breath smells like Red Hots. I can’t take my eyes off his mouth. “I…um…I…”

“You what?” he urges me on.

“I want you to leave Beatrice alone and be with me. Just me.”

He doesn’t move at all as I lean in and kiss him softly at the corner of his mouth. It’s just a peck, from my end, but he opens his mouth, wanting more. Shannon presses his face into mine, as his tongue slides along the corner of my mouth. I smile as our lips touch, and he bites down on my bottom lip before pulling away.

I am so pleased with myself and with him. It was perfect! My eyes well up again, though I’m not sure why. I guess I’m just so relieved because Shannon knows how I feel now, and it seems to be mutual. His mouth is so soft and warm. When I throw my arms around his neck and lean in to kiss him again, he turns his head; my kiss lands on his cheek. I pull away, smiling at him. I’m stunned by the worried look on his face. He grabs my arms gently and pulls them from around his neck.

“What?”

“I don’t cheat,” he says. “And I can’t just break up with my girlfriend because we kissed.”

Come again?
He tells me this after he finishes tracing my mouth with the tip of his tongue? I’m too angry to be hurt, and before I can think twice, my hand soars through what little space he’d created between us. My palm lands against his cheek, where I’d kissed him seconds before. He flinches, but it doesn’t really seem to faze him. He’s right—I have absolutely no chill.

“You kissed me
,
” I whisper, coughing away the emotion that threatens to choke me. “I can’t believe how full of shit you are.”

“Zina, you can’t be this mad.”

“I’m pissed! You’re playing around with my feelings, and it’s not cool!”

“Hey! Quit acting like I’m trying to hurt you. I’m not.”

“You
kissed
me…” I swing at him again, but he catches my arm, and I jerk away. The left side of Shannon’s face lights up like Rudolph’s nose. I should apologize, but I refuse.

“What’s your reason for not breaking up with her?” I ask.

“I’m not going to end a relationship with someone because
you
tell me to. It’s
my
decision.”

“Oh my God, Shannon…
shut up
!”

“We kissed
once
. You can’t be mad at me for this,” he says.

“Leave me alone.”

I don’t know if I have a right to be so mad.

“I’m cool with you slapping me—this one time,” he says, rubbing his cheek. “Never again, though.”

“Whatever, Shannon. If I want to slap you again, I will.”

He rubs his face and smiles.

“Did it hurt?” I ask.

“Fuck yeah, it hurt! You stung the shit outta me.”

“Good.”

Even though I feel bad for hitting him, I’m not going to apologize. As far as I’m concerned, he deserved it. But the two of us making out could be a problem. Bad enough Shannon’s officially rejected me. Having drama and shit like that with his girlfriend would make it so much worst. Too close to the end of school to be having girl fights, and whatnot. My bad.

“So what are you going to do if someone saw us?” I ask. “It’ll start so much shit.”

“I’ll deal with Beatrice. Don’t worry ’bout it.”

He shrugs and attempts to put an arm around me, but I swat him away.

“Can you just leave me alone now?” I mutter, but he moves toward me anyway.

“No.” He reaches over and catches a tear at the corner of my eye.

“It’s too much. I just can’t,” I say.

“But what’s too much?”

“I don’t wanna talk anymore, Shannon,” I snap at him.

“Zina…please.”

He’s hesitant to leave and reaches for me.

“Dude, bye. Go away.”

CHAPTER 18

ZACARIAS

I
left Zina on the bench with the green-eyed boy, where she belongs. I hesitated to leave, but I see the way he cares for her. I saw it at the picnic and tonight as he crossed the parking lot, heading her way. If anybody will make her feel better, he will. I admire the way he watches her and how intrigued she is by him. Whitney and I have never been this way. Our relationship has always been about control—her control.

Zina’s anomalous beauty and independent spirit enthralls me. She’s an old soul, only seventeen—almost eighteen—but has depth and understanding that can’t be learned. Her adoration is filled with passion. She must love the green-eyed boy, because she wouldn’t waste her time on naive, petty crushes. And I could see her with an older man.

But as I pass through Rico’s lobby, I put thoughts of Zina away. I have my own romantic fiascos to navigate. Noah had seen Whitney head toward the back, so I make my way there. I have no idea what I’ll say when I find her; avoiding her is pointless and won’t make our problems go away. I should say I’m sorry; she deserves the truth. And I am sorry that we ended up hurting each other more than we loved each other.

I go to the kitchen first. I look in and don’t see her among the cooks and the waitresses checking on orders, so I push through the double doors to make sure she’s not hiding out. When I don’t see her, I turn to leave, but I don’t get far.

“So what are you going to do?” I hear a man’s voice, low, agitated.

I pause to listen.

“I’m not breaking up with Zack. I don’t care what he says, and I don’t care what you say,” Whitney replies.

The sizzle of the grill, the slosh of the running water, and the hustle and bustle of a busy Mexican restaurant kitchen did an outstanding job of shielding her voice from the staff that was too busy to notice my girlfriend having it out with another guy.

Who the hell is she talking to?

“Man, you are one selfish bitch,” the man says.

“Excuse me? Don’t give me that whiney-ass bullshit, Bruno. You already knew what would happen. And the next time you call me something other than my name—”

I pick this moment to walk in. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask to no one in particular.

Their heads turn to see me standing in the doorway of the janitor’s closet. Whitney’s face lights up; her amethyst eyes are smoldering. She looks happy to see me. And I am more confused about her than ever.

“What are you guys doing? You’ve been gone way too long,” I say, my eyes on Whitney.

“You came looking for me?” She smiles warmly as she states the cold, obvious fact.

“Yeah. Where have you been?” I cross my arms across my chest. I’ve never felt like a big guy, even though I’m six feet tall, but after hearing the verbal assault on my girlfriend—and in a closet, no less—I instinctively puff myself up and prepare to defend her.

“I’m sorry,” she says as she walks toward me. “He wanted to talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About a shift change,” Bruno says.

“Why are you talking to Whitney about a shift change? She’s a hostess.”

“I wanted her opinion. I didn’t know if you’d approve it or not.”

“I won’t.” I’m tired of Bruno’s insubordinate crap. “You already had your day off. Remember when you didn’t come in last Thursday for that picnic catering job?”

“Ah…like you didn’t come in the day after that, and I covered for you with everyone?”

“I’m not giving you the day off.”

“Fine,” Bruno says. “It wasn’t that important anyway.”

You could cut through the air with a machete.

“Then why’d you ask?”

“You got a problem?” Bruno jumps at me. I don’t move; don’t even flinch.

“Watch your mouth when you’re talking to my girlfriend,” I say as Whitney gawks at us. “If you call her something other than her name again—”

“You’ll what? Fire me?” he asks, raising his voice. “Fuck this job. Fuck your scheming-ass girlfriend. And fuck that little bastard she’s carrying.”

Little bustard what?

From the look on Whitney’s face, I know she would’ve lunged at him if I hadn’t stepped between them. I don’t want this relationship anymore; it’s become a burden that I hate, and I was going to end it.

“What did you say?” I ask. “Little bastard?” Bruno glances at Whitney’s stomach.

“Goddamn it, Bruno! Shut the hell up!” she growls at him.

“You’re pregnant?” I stare down at her stomach, astonished.

She shrugs at me. “I wasn’t going to tell you just yet.”

I grab her hand and pull her from the closet, through the kitchen, and down the back hallway.

No way!

I shut my office door behind us and lock it. I turn to Whitney, who, other than her anger at Bruno, has remained remarkably calm about the whole situation.

I absolutely do not want this baby—no part of me does—and I’m not sure why. I always assumed I would graciously grow into a strong, loving father one day, but this pregnancy is unexpected…at least to me. I hate to think I’m the victim of a devious woman.

“How long have you known?” I can’t stop staring at her flat belly.

She shrugs again. “Not long…”

“How is it that Bruno knew before I did?”

“He heard me on the phone—I was scheduling an appointment.”

I’m not sure if I should believe her or not. I don’t know which I hated more—Bruno for breaking the news or Whitney for putting us in this situation, to begin with.

“I thought you were on birth control?” I whisper, my breath stolen by the uncomfortable nature of the moment. “Did you stop taking it?”

She doesn’t respond.

“When?”

Another damn shrug.

“I don’t know, Zack. I mean, it…it made me sick sometimes. I didn’t take it like I was supposed to.”

I sit in one of the hard chairs across from my desk.

“Besides, I thought it would be a good thing for us.”

Did she really say that?

“I don’t believe in this, Whitney. Having a baby out of wedlock is not on my bucket list.”

Her mouth drops open as she cocks her head at me. “How is it that guys can say that when they happily, with zero hesitation, fuck their girlfriends on the regular?” Her eyes pierce me like daggers.

“Wait a minute, Whitney.”

“No,
you
wait! I’m not the only one responsible for making sure the two of us remain childless before we wed.”

“I’m not blaming you.”

“Then what are you saying? You’re making it sound like I’ve wronged you by being pregnant, and it feels a hell of a lot like blame.”

I wait for more, but Whitney’s voice begins to quiver at the end of her little speech, so she bites her lip and stands there in silence. I can’t respond, though, because I do want to blame her; I feel like she is tying me to something I neither want nor asked for. She has a point: I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve protected myself in this relationship. But I didn’t. I am weak for her; I always have been.

When I don’t respond, she stomps away from the desk in a huff and heads toward the door. But I know I can’t allow her to leave.

“I’m sorry.”

She stops, her hand on the doorknob.

“I’m sorry, Whitney,” I say as I struggle to my feet. “I’ll be stronger for you…and for the baby.

She turns around to face me. “You promise?”

“Yes.” I swallow my nerves, my inhibitions, and my heart, which is beating so loud that I think it’d beat me.