One of the Guys (8 page)

Ronnie stood on tiptoe and dragged his bottom lip into her mouth. Diego groaned and kissed her, swiping the tip of his tongue in a quick motion across her upper lip.

“Tell him I’ll see him later this week,” Ronnie whispered.

“I’ll do that.”

She lifted into her vehicle, but Diego angled into the cabin before she closed the door.

“Just so you know, you’re nothing like those other women.” He held her gaze for a minute, as if to drive the point home, and then he closed the door and walked away.

S
ome of Ronnie’s
fondest memories consisted of the time she’d spent with her two male cousins every summer. During the school year, they were busy with after school events and weekend activities, but the boys packed in plenty during the summer months, and Ronnie was right there with them.

While their sister Anika spent time with girls her own age, playing with dolls and experimenting with makeup, Ronnie and the boys climbed trees, fished, and went tubing down the Chattahoochee River. The boys eventually moved away to pursue lives outside the state, but oddly enough, Anika and Ronnie had developed a bond much closer than when they were children.

For that reason, Ronnie confided in her cousin about the relationship with Diego and told her about the upcoming date. As soon as she heard the details, Anika dropped everything and came over right away.

Anika dressed well, always. She knew how to accessorize any outfit with the right brooch, belt, or scarf. Hair and makeup, always flawless. Even dressed casually as she was today, in a purple velour jogging suit and her hair in ponytail that hung between her shoulder blades, she looked ready for a magazine spread. She had the “it” factor, and that was why Ronnie needed her.

Legs crossed, her cousin sat on the bed in the sparsely furnished bedroom containing a queen bed, two dressers, and a bedside table. Never one for fancy decorations or frilly designs, Ronnie examined the room with a critical eye. A splash of paint wouldn’t hurt. Nothing too extreme—something neutral but warmer than the stark white currently on the walls.

A little more color would be nice, too, like the orange gingham bed linens and matching curtains and decorative pillows she’d seen online. The entire set was on clearance and moderately priced, sitting in the online cart, waiting for her to click
Buy
.

“Now I know why you didn’t give Edgar a chance. You already have a man.”

“I don’t have a man.” Ronnie made a mental note to get the small white lamp from the attic. Hopefully, it still worked. She dropped to her haunches in the closet and removed a shoebox that contained a pair of gold sandals she bought a long time ago and never thought she’d wear. She didn’t even know why she’d bought them. She seldom wore heels, but the simple elegance of the design intrigued her and she’d picked them up, thinking that maybe one day she’d have occasion to wear them.

“You’re sleeping with him,” Anika pointed out.

“We’re not doing labels,” Ronnie said. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Uh-huh.” Anika smiled knowingly, her eyes alight with excitement and possibilities.

Ronnie sighed. “You’re hopeless.” Anika loved romantic comedies and believed in love at first sight. There was no getting through to her. If she could, she’d have Ronnie walking down the aisle to Diego within the next thirty days.

She and he were having sex, but still getting to know each other. This was the hard part about seeing someone, and why she preferred terms like “hanging out.” Ambiguity allowed both parties to walk away with their pride intact, and minimized the fallout if the relationship didn’t last. When you held onto someone—took ownership of them with labels like my boyfriend or my man—it made walking away dreadfully complicated.

“What’s in the box?” Anika asked.

“These.” Ronnie lifted the lid on the shoe box and exposed the three-inch heels nestled inside.

“Nice,” Anika said. “We might need to go shopping, unless you have something cute to wear. You’d drown in anything I loan you because…well, these hips and these breasts are no joke.” She patted her hips and they both laughed.

“I have something that could work.” Ronnie went back to the closet and pulled out a blue and gold striped tent dress. “What do you think?”

Anika tilted her head to the side. “Mmm, nice. Do you know where you’re going?”

“He didn’t say.”

“What else do you have?”

“Not much.” A few more skirts and dresses, none of which seemed adequate. The majority of her wardrobe consisted of pants and shirts. “Oh, wait,” she murmured to herself.

In the very back, a sleeveless orange jersey dress hung on a hanger. She’d bought it on the spur of the moment after seeing it in a store window. Ronnie took it into the bedroom, the tag dangling under the arm, and held it up for Anika’s inspection. “What about this?”

Eyes wide, Anika gasped. She leaped from the bed. Running her fingers over the clingy material, she said, “I love it.”

Ronnie did, too. She’d never had an occasion to wear it before, but now seemed like the perfect time.

“You’ll have to wear a thong with this or you’ll have lines.”

Ronnie wrinkled her nose. “Couldn’t I—”

“Thong.”

“All right, all right.”

“Next, makeup.” Anika placed her hands on her hips and studied Ronnie. “Do you want to go heavy or light?”

Ronnie touched a hand to her face. “Not too heavy. I need to be able to reapply it when you’re not here.”

“We probably need to make a trip to the mall.”

“We don’t need to do that,” Ronnie said.

“Listen, we need the right tools to work on your face.”

“A trip is really not necessary.”

Ronnie walked over to the larger dresser and pulled open the two top drawers. She collected lipsticks, and one drawer contained tubes in almost every shade imaginable from various brands. From Revlon to Iman, she’d purchased different colors to see which best matched her skin tone.

Her cousin came up behind her and gasped at the collection.

The next drawer contained an assortment of foundation, mascara, brushes, eyeliner—the works.

“I practically had to beg you to wear makeup when we went to dinner at Shula’s,” Anika said.

“Makeup is a hassle to put on. Lipstick always feels heavy and unnatural on my mouth, and it’s not as if I ever go anywhere that warrants wearing makeup.”

“Just going outside warrants wearing makeup. As my mother always says, ‘Never leave the house without your face on.’”

They giggled at her spot-on impersonation.

“Once you get used to wearing makeup, you won’t even remember it’s on.” Anika ran her hands over the tubes of lipsticks, and they clacked against each other. “Some of them haven’t even been opened yet.”

“I know.” She’d always felt strangely awkward wearing makeup, and it was so much easier to get dressed and go out when she didn’t have to worry about “putting on her face.” Whereas some women took an hour or longer to get ready, she only needed thirty minutes, tops, which included a shower.

“Oh, honey, we’re about to have some fun,” Anika said, a gleam in her eye.

They carried a handful of the products into the bathroom where better lighting allowed Anika to experiment on Ronnie’s face. First, she put on the mascara and demonstrated how to dust on powder to take away the shine. They tried bright colors on her lips, starting with fuchsia, then shifted to more neutral tones in the brown family, and finished with a dark purple that appeared almost black. Over an hour later, they ended the session with a wine red and overlaid it with lip gloss—giving Ronnie’s mouth a full, attractive sheen.

“What do you think?” Anika asked, standing back and admiring her handiwork.

Ronnie inspected her reflection, checking out the thicker-looking lashes, the even, matte finish of her skin, and the plump attractiveness of her mouth. “I like it. I don’t look like I’m trying too hard, but it looks like I made an effort.”

“You’re all set.” Anika grinned, rubbing her hands together like an evil scientist from an old B-movie. “Diego must be really something.”

“Why do you say that?” Ronnie continued to examine her face in the mirror.

“You’ve never, ever gone through all this trouble for a man.”

Heart racing, Ronnie touched a hand to her face and stared at her reflection, barely recognizing the person looking back at her. She couldn’t dismiss Anika’s observation.

Because what she’d said was absolutely true.

D
iego arrived
at the Taylor house in a foul mood. The conversation with Loisa on the ride over had made him uneasy. They’d argued, and he vainly kept the irritation out of his voice when he deflected questions about his plans for the night and with whom. A crisp “goodbye” finally shut her down, and he hung up to at least be civil when he arrived to pick up Ronnie.

He pressed the doorbell, straightened the striped gray and blue tie on his white shirt, and waited. After a few moments, Ronnie appeared in the doorway, and the anger disappeared.

Struck silent, all he could do was stare.

She looked different, breathtaking, standing with the light from the entryway behind her. Right away he noticed her hair was neater, as if she’d recently had it trimmed. Light makeup and lipstick in a dark wine color covered her lips and gave them a lusher appearance.

“Hi,” she said. Unbelievably, she appeared nervous, hands folded in front of her, waiting for him to speak.

Meanwhile, Diego fought to pull air into his tightened lungs. He wanted to skip the rest of the evening and take her back to his house.

“
Hermosa, mami,”
he murmured, unable to resist dragging his eyes down the form-fitting dress to her feet, clad in a pair of gold heels several inches higher than the shoes she normally wore.

She practically glowed, the outfit showing off her svelte body—slender but curvaceous hips, small and high breasts, and toned arms. The sleeveless orange dress played beautifully against the color of her dark, burnished skin.

Her brown eyes beamed with pure pleasure.

“Are you ready to go?” Diego asked, mind racing. He needed to get his libido under control, or soon he’d be insisting they skip the rest of the evening and take her back to his place.

“Let me grab my purse.”

She ducked into the house and he stepped onto the threshold to wait for her. When she returned to the living room, she wore a tiny purse wrapped around her wrist and a pair of small earrings. As she walked toward him, a faint smile graced her lips, and his eyes were drawn to the modest switch of her hips with each step.

Damn. He was a lucky man.

“Nugget, you heading out?” someone called from upstairs.

“Yes.”

“Hang on.”

Ronnie groaned. “That’s my father. He wants to meet you.” She lifted her gaze to the top of the stairs.

“No problem.”

With a voice like he’d heard, Diego expected to see a giant of a man. The person descending the stairs didn’t appear to be much taller than Ronnie, yet somehow managed to be an imposing figure. Frowning, the older man assessed him through a pair of glasses wearing an old blue and white robe that clearly implied he did not need to impress anyone—he was the one who needed to be impressed.

“So you’re Diego Molina.”

“Yes, sir. Nice to meet you.” Diego extended his hand. Being polite, respectful, and forthright were the best ways to impress any father, no matter the age of his daughter.

“Ezekiel Taylor.”

Both men pumped hands in a firm handshake.

“Daddy, don’t embarrass me,” Ronnie said from the corner of her mouth, in a loud whisper.

Ezekiel didn’t react, as if Ronnie never said a word. “So you’re from Cuba?”

“Yes, but I lived in Miami most of my life before moving to Atlanta a few years ago.”

“I guess that’s why you speak such good English.”

“Oh my god,” Ronnie murmured, covering her face.

The corner of Diego’s mouth twitched. “That’s probably why, yes.”

“Your parents still in Miami?”

Pain surged in the back of his throat and Diego swallowed with difficulty. “No, sir. Both of my parents are dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ezekiel adjusted the glasses lower on his nose. “You a religious man?”

“Daddy, please.”

“I believe in God.”

“You’re welcome to come to church with me any Sunday. Both of you.” He looked pointedly at Ronnie and she pursed her lips.

He viewed Diego over the top of the glasses, gauging his response to the next question. “What are your intentions toward my daughter?”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Ronnie stepped between them.

“I’m not done,” her father protested.

“Yes, you are. Bye.”

“Wait a minute—”

“Good night, Daddy.” Ronnie shoved Diego out the door.

“Good night, Mr. Taylor.”

The door closed behind them and Ronnie rushed to the truck. After Diego helped her in, he hopped in on his side. Ezekiel stood in the window with the curtain drawn aside, watching them.

“Oh my goodness, just go.” Ronnie sighed.

Diego chuckled and backed out of the driveway. Her father was quite a character.

“You have a great dad,” Diego said.

“I have an overprotective father.”

“Has he always been that way?”

“Always. Surprisingly, worse now that I’m an adult.”

They drove in silence for a while.

“His behavior may seem like a bad thing, but it’s not.” Diego barely saw the road ahead for the bitterness twisting inside him. “At least you know he loves you.”

R
onnie was bored
out of her mind.

Well-dressed patrons perused the abstract paintings and mixed-media sculptures displayed at various intervals around the room. A quiet hum of conversation comingled with the soft jazz coming through hidden speakers.

Of course plenty of people would enjoy an evening at the High Museum, an elegant place located in Midtown. The art was certainly…interesting—the most polite adjective Ronnie could think of to describe it. She certainly was no connoisseur of art, but if she did buy paintings she’d prefer that they were of actual images she recognized.

Tipping her head to the left and then to the right, she examined a giant painting—a hodgepodge of red, yellow, and vibrant blue against a backdrop of black. How could this be considered art? The image resembled a project her five-year-old self could have created, something her father would have proudly pinned to the refrigerator door with a magnet.

She felt a pang of guilt for not enjoying herself more. Standing a few feet away, Diego stared up at one of the paintings, but she couldn’t read his expression.

Is he really enjoying this?

She smothered a yawn behind her hand.

Maybe. What did she know? As much time as she spent around men, they were still an enigma.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” a man with long silver hair to her right whispered.

“Absolutely,” Ronnie whispered back, because whispering seemed to be appropriate etiquette. If she gave her true opinion, she’d reveal her lack of refinement and probably offend the man. She stifled another yawn and smiled politely.

“This piece was done by a local artist. Toro. Have you heard of him?” He leaned in, his attention dropping to her breasts before quickly returning to her eyes.

“No, I’m not familiar with—”

“You ready to eat?” Diego had come up behind her and splayed his fingers across her hip. Warmth oozed over her skin.

“Excuse me.” The older man cleared his throat and walked away.

“Yes, I’m ready to eat.”

Ronnie smiled up Diego, who watched the man with a hard set to his jaw.

Was he jealous?

The comfortable jersey fabric of the dress felt soft against her skin, but stretched taut over her torso, hips, and thighs. She didn’t have the type of bodacious body that turned heads under normal circumstances, but she did notice she’d caught the eye of several men over the course of the evening.

She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit a small part of her enjoyed the attention, but an even bigger part of her felt thrilled that Diego might be a little jealous.

They exited the main hall and walked outside where the valet quickly retrieved his truck. Once on the road, Diego sent a quick glance in her direction. “What did you think?”

“It was nice,” Ronnie replied, keeping her voice neutral.

Diego flipped the left indicator. “How is business at the shop? You mentioned once that revenues were down.”

Ronnie plucked at the hem of her dress. “Not much has changed. I have to figure out how to increase business.”

Diego reduced speed when they neared the Fox Theatre. Pedestrians crowded the streets, having left a live performance only minutes before. Traffic slowed to a crawl.

“Advertising hasn’t helped?” he asked.

Ronnie shook her head. “We’ve been in a slump for months.” She sighed. “How about you?”

“Steady. Better since we won the contract to tow at Flower Power Plaza.”

“What? Congratulations!”

He laughed, a throaty, contented sound that spiked warmth in her chest. His laughter, his smile, his energy always sent a charge through her.

“I’ll have to hire another employee soon.”

They smiled at each other. She was genuinely happy for him, if a little envious.

She simply didn’t have the marketing savvy to generate business, but she was a helluva mechanic, and so were her guys. In an industry where unethical technicians tarnished the reputation of all in the field, they conducted business in an honest and dependable manner. She wished she knew of a way to convey that message to customers and bring more business to the shop.

Diego pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, a posh eatery located in a converted warehouse that served up an eclectic blend of Asian and Latin cuisine. “I heard this place has great tapas,” he said.

Attendants on either side opened their doors, and Ronnie slid out.

She remembered when the restaurant opened a few months ago, but had never come by. She had a big appetite and wasn’t a fan of tapas. Tonight, however, she chose to keep an open mind.

“Can’t wait to try the food,” she said, injecting enthusiasm into her voice.

A host dressed in black seated them near a window, where they could look out at the city street. The sound of silverware hitting plates and the gentle hum of dinner chatter filled the dining room. Food at the surrounding tables looked delicious, presented on small ceramic plates. Meats nestled in thick sauces, the vibrant pink of shrimp on a bed of lettuce, and miniature tacos with chopped cilantro sprinkled over them like a garnish. But the portion sizes couldn’t possibly fill her, much less Diego, and a glance at the menu showed such exorbitant prices, he’d have to take out a small loan to pay for the five plates she expected to order just to satisfy her appetite.

“What made you choose this restaurant?” Ronnie asked. The candlelight flicked over the chiseled lines of his face.

“A friend recommended it.”

His gaze remained on the menu, and Ronnie observed his stiff posture and the way his brows sank low over his eyes.

“Too bad this place doesn’t serve hamburgers,” she said in a conversational tone, throwing out the joke to test his reaction. “I could go for a juicy hamburger with grilled onions, cheese, and bacon.” Simply mentioning the combination made her mouth water and stomach do anticipatory somersaults.

“Yeah.” Diego scratched his jaw, flipping to the back of the menu, and an even deeper frown of consternation marred his forehead.

On a hunch, Ronnie leaned across the table and said, “There’s a cool movie playing at the drive-in tonight.”

His gaze shot across the table, surprise in his eyes. He slowly lowered the menu. “You want to go to the drive-in?”

Ronnie tried to gauge his interest, but couldn’t quite.

“Tell the truth. Do you really want to stay here?”

A slow smile spread over his face. “Let me guess, this isn’t your type of place?”

“I’m seriously trying to figure out why you brought me here,” she admitted.

He laughed, and folded his arms at the edge of the table. “Seems I received bad advice. Would you believe I was told it was something you might enjoy?”

“Did the same person suggest the art exhibit?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“A woman made those suggestions?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you even realize who you’re talking to right now?”

One corner of his mouth lifted into a sideways grin, one part cute and one part sexy. “I’m starting to figure it out,” he said.

The waiter came over with pen in hand and greeted them both, showing plenty of teeth as he launched into a listing of the night’s specials—the usual spiel from waiters and waitresses in every nice restaurant she’d ever been to—voice barely louder than the murmurs around them. He finished with, “What can I start you off with to drink?”

“We’re not eating after all,” Diego said, holding out the menu.

The server took it. “Is something the matter?” His face was tinged with concern.

Diego immediately tried to put his mind at ease. “Nothing’s wrong. We just decided that we want to go somewhere else.” He looked across the table at Ronnie. “Let’s get out of here.”

She handed her menu to the waiter and jumped up from the chair.