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The moment she leaves my lap, and our bodies break apart, I am tempted to grab her hand and tug her back to me. I want to tell her to stay. That in a few minutes, I will be ready for another round, a new position, whatever she wishes. But when she starts pulling on her clothes, it is clear she has other plans.
“We can’t do that again, okay?” she says as she tugs her ugly dress over her head. “This was a one-time thing.”
“Sure,” I reply, amused by her obvious denial. I don’t think I can keep myself away from her now that I’ve had her again. Especially knowing she is so close by. But if that is the lie she wishes to tell herself, I shall play along. “Never again.”
Until it happens again.
CHAPTER 3
SAM
“Never again,” I mumble under my breath for the fifth time this morning as I pour vanilla creamer into my mom’s coffee mug. I can’t stop thinking about Mylo, and it’s starting to piss me off. He’s a good lay. So what? I’ve had plenty of those. Why isheso impossible to resist? I know he’s an alien––an extremely hot alien––but I should be able to forget him like the rest of the guys I’ve been with.
“What did you say, Sammy?” my mom asks from the dining room table.
“Nothing, just talking to myself.”
It’s probably because the sex I’m used to is with guys I’ll never see again, and he’s just a seven-minute walk through the cemetery. Yeah, that’s all it is. Proximity. And a distraction. He’s a fantastic distraction.
I sit next to Mom at the oval cherrywood dining room table and place the steaming mug of coffee in front of her. Desperate to think of anything other than the ridges that run along the length of Mylo’s mouthwatering dick, I launch into the agenda for the day. “Mom, after breakfast, why don’t you take a shower, then we can go for a walk around the neighborhood?”
“Yeah, okay,” she replies, holding the mug in her hands as she stares distantly out the kitchen window.
“We’ll need to swing by the market on Fisherville Road so I can get cilantro,” I tell her. “I’m going to make arroz con pollo in the slow cooker later. Does that sound good? Based on the copious notes Jackie left for me, it looks like that’s been a weekly staple.”
“It has, but can you make sure there’s enough salt in it?” Mom asks, then shakes her head. “I would rather not have my favorite meals at all if they’re going to taste like a pile of sand.”
I go to defend Jackie, knowing that this healthy eating crusade is a big part of slowing down the progression of her disease, but Mom continues, putting down her coffee mug and flattening her palms on the table. “And I want to watchReal Housewives. The New Jersey one. Jackie wouldn’t let me because she thought the fighting stressed me out, but it doesn’t, Sammy. I’m passionate about the way they stab each other in the back. That’s all it is––passion.”
I try to keep a straight face, but a chuckle falls out of my mouth. Her longing for rich lady drama is too cute to resist. “Okay, fine. Two episodes ofReal Housewives,but that’s it for today.” Jackie will be pissed I let Mom get her way, but I don’t care. The woman raised three kids on her own after Dad left. She worked her ass off to provide for us. The least I can do is let her watch her favorite shows.
She squeezes my hand and shoots me a warm smile. “Thank you,Papita.”
Of all the things Mom remembers, it’s that embarrassing nickname from my childhood. Figures.
After she finishes her coffee, I offer my hand as she climbs the stairs, but she swats it away. She takes a shower, and I stand outside the cracked-open door as I try reading Jackie’s notebook, but the letters are jumbled and I can’t focus, so I toss the notebook into my room down the hall and promise myself I’ll try again later. The doorbell rings just as I hear Mom turn off the water, and I make sure I hear her step out of the tub and safely onto the bathmat before I run downstairs to answer it.
I swing open the door to find Vanessa standing there with her arms crossed over her chest. “Hey, Vanil–”
Vanessa puts her hand up, stopping me. “You’ve been home for almost twenty-four hours and what, you just forgot to text me? Rude.” She steps past me into the house with a pouty huff.
“More like twelve hours, actually, but my sincerest apologies.”
“I had to hear about your return from Mylo, you know.”
“Mylo?” I ask in a squeakier voice than intended. Clearing my throat, I add, “What did he say?”
“Just that he heard you were home. Why?” Vanessa says, tilting her head to the side and looking at me far too closely. “Is there something else he should’ve said?”
Christ on a cracker, not this again. “No, no,” I quickly reply. “Nothing like that.”
Her brow remains furrowed.
I decide to change the subject. “Want to sit out on the patio? It’s a nice day out, and you can me tell how that little bun in your oven is cooking.”
“Oh, good idea,” she says, smiling as she looks out the window.
And I cheer silently as my diversion is successful. “Let me check on Mom really quick.”
