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“Por cuánto tiempoare you in Miami?” he asks, then lifts his glass to his lips. His close proximity allows me to see him better. The scar above his eye is jagged and you can see where the stitches once were. His bottom lip is full, the top lip not too far behind with a perfectly defined cupid’s bow. They look soft, a stark contrast to the hair growing in around his mouth. I can’t help but think what it would feel like to kiss those lips and have the rough stubble scratching my skin.
“We fly home tomorrow. Vacation is over, unfortunately. What about you? Are you here alone tonight or did you come with friends?”
“Mi sociois dancing.” He sips from his tumbler.
“Do you and your friend come to this club often?”
“Sometimes. Nos gustathe live music and it’s not a typical club. I wanted to stay home tonight, but he dragged me out. I’m glad he did because otherwise we wouldn’t have met.El destino.” The thumping in my chest intensifies.
We weren’t supposed to be at this club either. Maybe destiny is real. “I like it. I’ve never been to an open-air club. It makes sense though since the weather is incredible down here in Miami.” I pull from my martini glass hoping the alcohol will calm my nerves.
“Sí, hace siempre calor aquí. Tropical climate.” He scoots a little closer and leans into me, his lips hovering at my ear. “Soledad, eres hermosa.” His finger lands on my temple, tracing the contours of my face, causing a shiver to travel the length of my spine.
My eyes flutter closed in response, my heartbeat quickens, and I take a deep breath. “Thank you.” This man is so assertive. I like it yet it kind of freaks me out after my dating history.
“De donde eres, Soledad?” he asks me, grabbing one of my curls and twirling it in his fingers.
“I already told you, Boston.”
“Sí, peroyour name, Soledad. ¿Eres Latina, verdad?”
“Yes.Yo soy Americana, but my mother is from Argentina.”
“Now that you’ve said something in Spanish,tu acentogives you away.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told.” Spanish is spoken in many countries and although similar, each has its nuances, intonations, and accents. Argentinians are no different. Their conjugations are a bit different as are their pronunciations for many words, most notably words starting with double Ls or Y—pronounced as a sh sound, not the familiar y sound as in many other Spanish speaking countries. Having grown up speaking Spanish with my mother, my accent is heavily Argentinian when speaking Spanish.
“And your father?”
“Puerto Rico.”
“That’s whyeres tan bella.” Heat rises to my cheeks at his words. I’ve never had a man tell me I’m beautiful as much as he has tonight.
“Thank you,” I say, bringing my drink to my lips, letting the cold drink cool me.
“Have you been, to Puerto Rico?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Your father, he never—”
“Sol, you ready? We still have to pack,” Melida says, interrupting Amaury mid-sentence as she stands at the end of the table glaring down at him.
“Sure. Let’s go.” I nudge Amaury so he can move and let me out. Once standing I turn to him and say, “It was really nice to meet you. Thank you for the drink, and the dances.”
“¿Donde es tu hotel? I can drive you,” he says, stepping into me while caressing my arm. The contrast of his rough fingers along my soft skin causes my skin to prickle.
“We’re staying in Miami Beach,” I respond.
“Yo te llevo,I’m going to the beach,” he says, reaching for my hand again.
I glance over at Melida. “He’s offering to drive us because he’s going to Miami Beach,” I tell her. She purses her lips and gives a quick nod.
“What about your friend, are you gonna leave him here?” I ask him.
“He has his car. I’ll text him.Vámonos.” Mr. Handsome turns toward the door and reaches for my hand but instead I grasp onto my purse straps.
As we walk downCalle Ocho,I notice vibrantly painted ceramic roosters in front of many shop windows. “What’s with all the roosters?” asks Melida.
