One of the Guys (9 page)

D
iego should have known
Ronnie was not like other women and shouldn’t have listened to his friend’s wife, who’d given him very bad advice. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

They sat in the cab of the truck, Ronnie with her bare feet curled beneath her, and the FM radio tuned to the station broadcasting the sound of the movie, the latest superhero flick, with lots of explosions and CGI. They wolfed down greasy cheeseburgers, chili hotdogs, and fries. He sipped on a Coke, and she drank a Full Moon lager.

He didn’t have to pretend he liked Beethoven when he preferred Led Zeppelin. He didn’t have to pretend he liked foie gras when he’d rather eat hush puppies. He could be himself.

Only one problem marred the otherwise perfect end to the evening. Ronnie squirted ketchup all over her fries instead of squeezing it off to the side and dipping them into the condiment.

“There’s something wrong with you,” he said, pointing. “No normal person eats ketchup with fries like that.”

She stabbed the fries with a fork and cut her eyes at him. “Smothered in ketchup is my preference, and there’s no better way to eat them.” She shoved four fries into her mouth and wrinkled her nose at him.

He laughed. Damn, she had an appetite. He couldn’t figure out where she put all that food, but it was refreshing to watch a woman eat and enjoy herself, without talk about diets and counting calories. They ordered the same items, but she didn’t try to be cute by picking at her meal, which amazed him because she was a tiny little thing, so small he could practically tuck her under one arm and carry her away.

“Did you see that!” Ronnie exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

He didn’t have a clue what she was looking at. He was too busy looking at her.

She was truly amazing. Wearing a T-shirt and jeans, she held her own in a room full of men. For a night out, she’d donned heels and put on a dress that showed off her sexy shape, but was completely satisfied with hamburgers and fries.

Diego was starting to think he might have found the ideal woman.

D
iego didn’t actually make
plans for Ronnie to return home with him, but by the time the credits rolled, they both knew she would. It was just understood as the next step, and when he mentioned spending the night, she agreed.

Ronnie called Ezekiel to let him know she’d be staying out all night, and Diego smiled as she whispered fiercely to her father about being a grown woman.

He lived on a quiet cul-de-sac in a ranch on a basement. They pulled into the two-car garage, which at the moment could only accommodate his truck because one side was filled with furniture and stacked boxes. Shelves lined the walls, holding tools and gardening supplies.

Diego came around to the passenger side of the vehicle and intended on helping Ronnie down. He placed both hands on her waist to do so, but instead ended up lifting her into his arms. Her soft body felt perfect against him.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” she whispered back.

That smile and the beauty in those chocolate eyes melted his boxers.

Her head came down toward his. A charge pulsed through his blood when their lips met and her fingers delved into his hair. He loved when she ran her fingers through his hair, rubbing the tips along his scalp in a soothing massage over the crown and nape. He looked forward to her touch and could barely refrain from sitting at her shop all day, every day. The only reason he didn’t was because they both had work to do.

She captured his face in her palms and moved her mouth across his in a gentle motion. A moan rumbled in his chest at the delicate texture of the kiss. The arms wrapped under her bottom tightened.

They barely made it to the bed. The distance from the kitchen almost proved too long a stretch in the heat of the moment. But Diego endured, carrying her through the silent house to his bedroom in the back.

Still touching, still kissing, he placed her on the bed and then turned on a lamp. His hungry gaze watched the shadows play over her dark brown skin. As he came down on her, her eyes fluttered closed. Her long lashes rested against her cheeks.

Diego pushed his hands beneath her dress, shoving the jersey fabric up to her thighs. Her legs were on display for him—bare, beautiful. He slid the scrap of fabric past her knees and tossed it to the floor. Her legs fell apart, and he pressed a soft, moist kiss to her sex. Her body jerked at the contact and she clutched the sheets, gasping. Encouraged, Diego braced his arms on either side of her thighs and maneuvered his tongue in a more probing motion around her moist clit. Damn, how he loved the smell and taste of her.

Ronnie shivered and whispered his name.

Grasping him by the hair, she dragged him up and they kissed. He transferred the flavor from between her legs into her mouth. Their kiss was warm and sweet. As always, he couldn’t stop kissing her. He tried, but each time he trailed kisses down her cheek or over the arch in her throat, he was drawn back to the deliciousness of her mouth. So good. So exquisite.

Diego stroked between her thighs and pinched her clit. Her hips lifted off the bed, silently pleading for his possession. He was anxious, too, and didn’t want to wait any longer. He unzipped and quickly sheathed in a condom. Lifting her hips with one hand, he pushed inside of her with ease, her body wet and welcoming.

He dived back into her mouth with his tongue. They kissed hungrily, hurriedly, as he continued to thrust his length inside of her. She arched off the mattress, panting into his mouth, clawing at his back. At that moment he realized he’d not even removed his jacket, so impatient to get close to her that he’d simply dropped his pants and taken her with impatience.

The sex between them could be like that. Sometimes slow and sensuous. Other times quick and fierce.

Heat crawled up his neck and pressure built in his loins, the pleasure of sinking into her warm, wet heat almost unbearable. His hand drifted between them, and he thumbed her clit, pushing her more quickly to orgasm.

She gasped, lips parted and eyes wide, as if she couldn’t believe it. She cried out as the orgasm ricocheted through her body. Her feminine muscles trembled around his shaft in bursts of spasms.

That was when he lost the fight to hold back. His butt muscles tight, he unleashed in the condom and groaned, struggling to stay aright but failing miserably. He collapsed onto her and pressed his face into her neck.

He inhaled his two favorite scents in the world. Vanilla’s earthy aroma from the light moisturizer she sprayed on her hair, and the enticing sweetness of her hibiscus-scented soap.

“Welcome to my home.
Bienvenida a mi casa
.”

Ronnie laughed breathlessly. “It’s nice.”

“You like it?” he asked, lifting his head.

“From what I’ve seen so far, the ceiling is great,” she deadpanned.

He chuckled and pressed his face into her covered breasts. He kissed the left one, and the nipple pressed against the material.

“Have I told you how much I like this dress?” he asked, looking down at the way their bodies were joined and the dress shoved up to her waist. He liked the fact that most of the time she wore clothes that hid her body. That she wore this outfit for him aroused a sense of masculine pride in him and stroked his ego.

“You mentioned it,” she said.

He eased out of her and went to the adjoining bathroom to discard the condom. When he came back, she was sitting up and had pulled the dress down. Without a word, Diego helped her from the bed and undressed them slowly.

They didn’t make love again. They burrowed under the covers and he wrapped her in his arms. They should have done this sooner. She belonged here in his bed like this.

He cupped the back of her head, caressing the soft, tight coils of her hair with his fingers.

“Good night,” she whispered.

“Good night.” He kissed her forehead and drifted off to sleep.

R
onnie awoke slowly
in the lamp-lit room, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The big bed was in the middle of a surprisingly neat but masculine bedroom decorated with a padded leather headboard and gray and white bed linens.

During the night, she and Diego shifted, and now she lay on her back with his arm thrown across her waist. She tried to ease from under him.

His arm tensed and he looked at her through slits in his eyes. “Am I too heavy?” he asked.

“No, but I need to get out. I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get you something to drink.” He groaned as he rolled onto his back. Ronnie set her hand on his chest and stopped him.

“I can get it myself. I know where the kitchen is.”

His head dropped back to the pillow. “Hurry back.’

She left the bed and grabbed his sleeveless white undershirt from the floor. She slipped it over her head. It bore the scent of his cologne—a musky fragrance with spicy undertones—and his own natural scent.

She flipped the switch in the hallway and squinted when the light came on. Photos lined the wall. She looked at them as she advanced to the kitchen.

In one, a younger version of Diego, with a beard and short cut low to his scalp, stood with his arms around a short, older woman. Based on the similarity in their features, he assumed she was his mother. They stood in front of a house, smiling.

Another framed photo showed him and another young man who could be his twin, if not for the fact that he appeared to be younger. His brother, probably. With their skinny bare chests on display, they lounged against the hood of a Chevy, trying to look cool. Neither one looked older than sixteen.

Several pictures contained a little girl with laughing brown eyes and a bright smile. One in particular struck Ronnie, and she paused to examine the photo more closely. The little girl looked about three in this one, sitting atop Diego’s shoulders and laughing heartily. They both were, and so was the woman holding onto his arm. She reminded Ronnie of the actress/singer Cristina Milian—very photogenic, with a light brown complexion, long, shiny hair, and dark eyes. Gorgeous, really.

Someone or something had tickled them, and the photographer caught them at the right moment to capture their joy and the uncanny resemblance between Diego and the child—not obvious in the photos of the little girl by herself. She was the spitting image of him right then, with their mouths half open, eyes squinted almost shut in the throes of laughter.

Did Diego have a daughter?

Frowning to herself, Ronnie went into the kitchen. The refrigerator contained juice, water, and some fruit, and a covered dish of what looked like leftovers.

She poured herself a glass of water, and while she drank it, something furry rubbed against her leg. She gasped and jumped back, sloshing water on the floor. A black and white cat looked up at her and meowed.

Pressing a calming hand to her chest, Ronnie laughed shakily. She never figured Diego for a cat person.

“Hey there,” she cooed. She scratched the kitty behind the ear, and it purred, eyes squinting into fine slits.

Ronnie cleaned up the spilled water and left the kitchen, walking quietly back down the hall. She cast another glance at the photos, turned out the light, and entered the bedroom.

She crawled into bed, and Diego wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“What’s this?” he asked in a disgruntled voice. He tugged on the shirt.

“Your shirt.”

He started pulling it off her body, and she lifted up so he could get it all the way off. He tossed it to the floor and closed his arms around her.

Ronnie nestled her bottom against his pelvis. “What’s your cat’s name?”

“Bonkers. This is her house. She just lets me stay here.”

Ronnie giggled. “What kind of name is Bonkers?”

He took so long to answer, at first she thought he wouldn’t.

“When she was a kitten, she had an inner ear infection that caused bouts of dizziness. She bumped into walls and couldn’t jump for shit. We called her Bonkers before we realized she needed to see the vet. She’s all better now, but the name stuck.”

Ronnie played with the fine hairs on his forearm. “We?”

Another pause. “Me and my ex-fiancée.”

“You were engaged.”

“Yes.”

“I saw the photos.” She paused a beat before asking the next question. “You have a daughter?”

The silence lasted even longer this time. His body became very still.

“I don’t mean to pry, I—”

“Had. I had a daughter,” he said, his voice sounding raw and pained.

D
iego should have told
Ronnie everything before, but this part of his past was not only painful, it opened him up to judgment when he fully explained how he responded to the trauma of losing his child.

He rolled away from Ronnie and stared up at the ceiling, bracing for the jagged pain that always materialized when he went back in time.

Ronnie stirred and turned onto her side to face him.

“My daughter’s name was Matilda. She was three years old when she died,” he whispered. Agony stomped all over his chest.

Ronnie placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“The M in D&M Towing is for my daughter. To honor her memory in a small way.”

“Diego, if you don’t want to talk about this, you don’t have to.” Her voice vibrated with concern, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He wanted to tell her everything—share every aspect of his life with her. The good and the bad.

“My father was a mean sonofabitch who regularly got drunk and beat my mother. When he tired of beating her, he turned his rage on me and my younger brother, Javier.”

Bitterness shadowed his voice. The memories of living in constant fear of the man who should have been his protector and guide into adulthood lived on as a nasty reminder of the kind of man he should never become.

Ronnie kissed his shoulder. The touch of her soft lips further encouraged his confession.

“Matilda wasn’t planned, but when Loisa, my girlfriend, became pregnant, I was excited. Right away, we moved in together and started saving money to get married and start a life together.”

He welcomed the opportunity to have the joys he missed growing up. Stability. A normal family. Things other people took for granted.

“How did she die?” Ronnie asked quietly.

He took a breath. “She attended a kids’ birthday party at a friend’s house and drowned in the pool.” He closed his eyes to stem the force of the pain that filled him at the thought of his little angel, so young, so innocent, dying like that. “Waking up every day was too hard, and every time I looked at Loisa, I blamed her.”

“Why?” Ronnie asked.

He glanced at her. “Because I never wanted Matilda to go to the party in the first place. Not without one of us present. But I was at work, and Loisa let her cousin take Matilda to the party. Said it gave her a break to run errands…or something. I can’t remember the explanation anymore.” He ran a hand down his face. “I know it was an accident. I know it wasn’t her fault, but I struggled to forgive her.”

Wounded and hurt, he could hardly stand to look at the woman he’d once loved and planned to marry.

Ronnie touched his jaw, and the simple gesture encouraged him to continue talking.

“Bonkers was Matilda’s kitten. She kept bugging me about a kitten. ‘Papa, I want a kitty. Please, Papa.’ She wore me down.” He smiled.

With his father spending his paychecks on women and drinking, he’d missed out on so much growing up, and didn’t want the same for his own daughter. He took extra shifts, worked overtime whenever he could, to make sure she and Loisa were well provided for.

He surprised Matilda one day when he came home from work. He hid the kitten in a cardboard box with a red bow around her neck, and presented the gift to his daughter when she rushed to meet him at the door. For several days they didn’t have a name, but Matilda hugged and kissed her kitten at every opportunity. The two were inseparable.

“When my daughter died, I self-medicated—started drinking heavily.” Diego laughed hollowly. “You’d think I’d know better, but I needed to numb the pain.” He swallowed hard, and felt his features tightening. “I lost myself down a dark hole of self-pity and pain and regret. Wishing I—
we
could have done something different. My self-destructive behavior cost me friends and family. They couldn’t tolerate being around me anymore. They lost their sympathy for me, and I sank deeper into depression. My relationship with Loisa tanked, obviously.”

“That’s why I never see you drink,” Ronnie said.

“That’s why you never see me drink,” Diego confirmed with a nod. He searched her face for disappointment or disgust, but saw neither. Only a wrinkled brow and eyes filled with concern. “I’m an alcoholic, Veronica.”

She didn’t flinch or blink. “What prompted you to get sober?”

He heaved out a breath. “I was sitting in a jail cell, six weeks into a three-month sentence. Everyone had turned their backs on me. Not my cousin Tomas, though.” He laughed softly, still not comprehending how or why Tomas stood by his side, believing in him, encouraging him. “I didn’t hear from Loisa. I didn’t hear from Javier. One day, Tomas asked me if I was satisfied. If this was all I wanted in life.” He fell silent, going back in time to that day. “I thought about his question later when I was lying on my bunk. I realized that wasn’t all I wanted in my life. I could do better. I was meant for better.”

He tilted his head toward Ronnie. She watched him with rapt attention and nonjudgmental eyes.

“When I got out, I attended AA meetings and cleaned up my act. Tomas invited me to Atlanta to start over, said I could stay with him, but I didn’t want to be a burden. Both of my parents were gone by then, so I sold their house, gave Javier his cut, and found a place of my own here.”

He didn’t spend much, and when the opportunity presented itself to buy the towing company, he jumped at the chance.

He turned onto his side and looked into Ronnie’s eyes. “I don’t drink anymore, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy. I’ve been sober for three years and twenty-one days, and I don’t see any reason why I have to go back down that path. But I should’ve told you from the beginning.”

“Thank you for telling me everything, but I’m not worried. I’m pretty tough. And I’ll hit you upside the head with my crescent wrench if you get any ideas about drinking again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Diego chuckled and she grinned at him.

Ronnie traced a hand down his nose. “It’s okay, you know. Everybody makes mistakes.”

“That was a major one.”

“But you overcame. Doesn’t matter if you fall. As long as you get back up.”