Page 49 of Dirty

His lips met mine.

The kiss wasn’t aggressive, nor was it overly sensual. His lips simply pressed against mine fully, and we kissed.

Most women would have wanted more. Much more. But, for me, it was caring, kind, gentle, and absolutely perfect.

The kiss took me to a place I wasn’t sure I’d been before. Somewhere safe, and special. Together, he and I resided there, but only for a short moment. As our mouths parted, my knees went weak.

With my lips still puckered into a kiss, I looked at him, shocked and pleased at the same time.

He grinned. “I’ve been wanting to do that.”

“Oh,” I breathed. “It was, uhhm. Wow. That’s all I got. Wow.”

Any thoughts of not going to dinner with him vanished.

“So, what are you thinking?” he asked.

“About?” the word hung in the air like a wisp of smoke.

“Dinner?” he asked.

“Let me get my purse.”

THIRTEEN

Cholo

I pushed the front door open and waved toward the empty living room. I knew better than to warn my mother of our arrival. As inconsiderate as it might seem, telling her would have caused her to frantically attempt to clean, cook, and get ready at the same time, leaving her half finished with each task.

Simply showing up would allow her to truly enjoy our presence.

With us halfway through the living room, she walked through the kitchen door. Her eyes went wide and she stopped in her tracks.

“Qué emoción!” she gasped.

“English, mother,” I said with a laugh. “This is Alexandra, the girl I told you about. And, she doesn’t speak Spanish.”

My mother was wearing her apron, but it was no surprise – she always wore an apron. The home smelled of her cooking, and it smelled good. She wiped her hands on her apron, and rushed excitedly to where we stood.

A handshake or a nice to meet you remark would have been typical of most mothers, but not mine. She opened her arms and smothered Alexandra with a hug.

After she released her, she leaned back and looked her over. “He told me you were beautiful, but I had no idea…”

“Thank you,” Alexandra said. She leaned forward. “He told me you were a great cook.”

“He knows nothing of good cooking,” my mother replied. “He’d eat rocks if I put broth over them.”

“He made tacos for me the other night,” Alexandra said. “They were delicious.”

“He cooked?” She stopped in her tracks. “My Adam?”

Alexandra looked at me and then at my mother. She nodded. “We ate dinner together and watched television.”

“Television? He doesn’t sit still for very long,” my mother said. “Siempre nervioso.”

I chuckled. “She said I’m always nervous. English, mother.”

“I’m so sorry,” my mother said. “I left my manners in the kitchen. I’m Maria.”