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“I just figured that was probably super overwhelming and you could use a little breather before we go back out there.”
“Do you ever stop being so thoughtful?” Libby asked as she took a few steps and sat next to her on the bed, taking her hand in hers. The act prompted Reagan to sit up and smile.
“Do you want me to?” she asked with a quirked eyebrow.
“I’m sure if I try really hard I can be more of a selfish jerk.”
Libby laughed. “I don’t think you could do that if your life depended on it.” She traced Reagan’s cuticles with her fingertips before looking back at her. “How many girls have you brought here?”
Reagan tried not to grin, putting her dimples on display as she bit her bottom lip. “One or two,” she said coyly.
“And your parents really never caught on?” Libby leaned forward until Reagan’s warm breath was falling lightly against her chin.
Reagan moistened her lips before smirking. “I made sure to be very, very quiet,” she whispered, resting her hand on Libby’s bare knee.
“Show me,” she pleaded before closing the tiny gap and capturing Reagan’s lips between her own.
Reagan broke away from the kiss to press her lips against her ear. With each slow breath against her lobe, Libby’s desire grew until she reached out to cover Reagan’s hand with her own and drag it up her thigh.
“Are you sure you can be quiet enough?” she whispered, making her entire body ache.
“Let’s find out,” she replied in a voice that was not her own. She’d never been accused of being adventurous and
would have never considered more than a chaste kiss in someone else’s house.
Reagan smiled against her jaw before kissing her neck and eliciting a soft moan. “You’ll have to do better than that,” she warned as she ran her thumb slowly up Libby’s inner thigh. It took every ounce of self-control not to part them and beg her to ease the pressure building painfully inside her.
A loud knock made Libby jump and fling herself o the bed.“Smooth,” Reagan joked as she shook her head.
“Oye, come on,” Grandma Aba shouted through the door.
“You can’t hide in there. Your Cousin Gloria wants to ask Elisabeth about a guy she likes from work, but the ink hasn’t dried on his divorce papers,” she added with a chuckle.
Reagan dropped her head before she stood and straightened her sweater. “We’ll be right out, Aba. I’m showing Libby the photo album from my quinces,” she shouted back.
If her grandmother thought that was a strange thing to do with the door locked, she didn’t say.
“You do not have to play matchmaker here,” Reagan said as they used her mirrored closet door to rearrange themselves and reapply lipstick. Libby wished there was a quicker way to cool her overheated skin. She didn’t understand the animalistic urges that manifested every time they kissed, but she hated the embarrassment that came after.
“Are you kidding? And miss the opportunity to look competent in front of your family? I’m happy to answer questions all night,” she responded, without adding that it would keep her from turning into a cat in heat again.
Reagan cocked her head to the side and held Libby’s face in her hands. “You don’t have to jump through hoops, Lib.
They already like you because I like you. I promise. As long as you don’t come out as a communist, you’re in.”
Libby swallowed the anxiety twisting into a ball in her throat. “It can’t be that easy. Nothing is that simple.”
“I promise it is,” she said with such ease that Libby nearly believed her.
Emerging from the quiet confines of Reagan’s bedroom, through the empty kitchen and back out to the chaos outside, Libby prayed no one guessed what they’d been doing. She was sure it was written all over her face, but as they talked and ate with Reagan’s family, no one treated them like disrespectful heathens.
After a feast served on mismatched platters, half the family moved to the four domino tables set up on the grass at the edge of the yard. The others congregated on the paved part of the patio while someone turned up the music.
“Do you dance?” Reagan’s dad asked as he stood beside her and held out his hand. His body language indicated that it wasn’t really a question.
“You don’t have to—” Reagan started, but stopped when Libby took her dad’s hand and grinned.
“What good Cuban girl doesn’t dance to Celia Cruz?”
