Andres 9.
I want to be different for Jenna. I am different with her. She’s changed me so much in such a short time and I’ve embraced every single second with open arms. When I look into her dark soulful eyes, I see thousands of sunrises and sunsets together.
However, it will be my own fault if I don’t live to see tonight’s sunset.
I care about her so fucking much, she consumes me body and soul…
which is why I forgot to give her a head’s up that I invited my parents over for dinner to meet her.
It was an honest mistake; I was caught up in all the sexing we’ve done since she knelt at my feet in my foyer.
There is a long moment of silence, where my soul withers inside me and my balls retreat to my lower abdomen.
My dad tosses his head back and lets out a loud, boisterous laugh, while my mom leans on his shaking shoulder as tears stream silently down her face, her hand on her abdomen as she too laughs at my expense.
“Had I known you two were joining us, I would have packed more suitable clothing.”
“You look beautiful, Prickles.” I argue, uncovering an unknown death wish.
If looks could kill…I wouldn’t need a burial, there’d be nothing left of me to mourn.
However, she does look fucking edible. Snug red leggings that highlight her high and perky ass, and one of my old Pittsburgh t-shirts tied at her waist, showing off her flat stomach and full tits.
Mom sobers quickly, glaring at me with a look of censure only a mother can achieve.
“Jenna, dear, why don’t you and I grab a bottle of wine from Andres’ wine cellar, and you can tell me more about yourself, while my husband assists my beloved son at the grill.
” It’s phrased as a question, but it is in fact a command.
Elena Abbott could go up against any coach or military general and leave them shaking in their boots.
Which is why my father bounces to his feet and ushers me toward the grill on the other end of my back patio.
I stare, open mouthed, as mom leads Jenna back into my house.
Jenna doesn’t even look at me once. She’s pissed. Fuck.
I’ll make it up to her with my tongue. Fingers. Cock. And then do it all over again until she forgives me for a minor faux pas. Besides, mom is great. She’ll have Jenna over her mad in no time.
The grill has been heating up while we were talking, so it’s ready to go.
I uncover the tray of food and start putting the potatoes on first. As they cook, I’ll add the chicken, zucchini and squash medley, and then the steaks.
Dad hovers, his burnished copper hair glinting in the late afternoon sun.
He hums, checking over my marinades, that I’ve cut the vegetables properly, my steak and chicken are trimmed… basically making himself a nuisance.
“Ok, old man! Seriously. Back off.”
He chuckles. “You’re always so easy. Marcos inherited all my easy going. You got your mother’s type A nerve bullshit.”
“If I remember correctly, it was that type A bullshit that you fell in love with.” He gives me a toothy grin.
“How is my dear brother?” I haven’t spoken to him in over a week, but that’s not unusual.
He and I are close, don’t get me wrong, but we’re both busy.
He’s the assistant coach in Arizona and it’s rare for us to see one another for anything other than work from July to February, sooner if one of our teams loses early in the playoffs or doesn’t make them at all.
“Hunky dory. As always.” Marcos doesn’t let anything bother him, ever.
For as long as I can remember, he’s been easy going.
As a baby, I’d stare at him and wait for him to cry or make a sound like my friend’s baby siblings did, but he didn’t.
I even pinched him twice and still nothing.
He just stared right back at me, daring me with his irritatingly calm baby blues.
Smug bastard. “He said that he expects to meet your lady soon, perhaps at the Steel Bridges Foundation gala.”
I rub the back of my neck with one hand and shift the potatoes around on the flat grill surface. “Yeah. Probably. I just have to ask her.” Dad pats my shoulder with a chuckle, then leans against the brick and stares me down. “She’s not going to be too receptive to anything I ask her right now.”
He snorts. “No, she’s not. Your woman is good and mad and it’s gonna take an act of God to get her to forgive you.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You ambushed her.”
“It was an accident!”
“Ok,” he says, and I recognize that tone, I’m about to get schooled. “You remember the Scagoza hit from a few years ago?” Shit, I do. We might be a football family, but we love us some hockey.
“That hit was fucking brutal.”
“It was. And Szypulski was sorry, damn sorry. It was an accident, he didn’t mean to trip over him, didn’t mean for his skate to catch his throat, didn’t mean for him to nearly bleed out on the ice.”
“I forgot to tell her you two were coming for dinner, I didn’t slash her carotid!”
“No, you didn’t. But I get the impression that woman isn’t a fan of surprises, and definitely not ones where she might make a bad impression. She doesn’t know us, doesn’t know who we are or what we’re like. She had no idea what to expect and had no time to prepare. You caught her off guard—”
“She fucking hates being off guard,” I mumble, knowing I’m gonna have to do some major groveling. She’ll forgive me, I know she will, but I get his point. It isn’t our intention that matters, it is how our actions are perceived, the consequences that are out of our control. “I’ll make it right.”
“Good. I like her.”
Smiling, I glance at him, putting the veggies down. “She’s incredible, Dad.” He returns my smile.
“I can see that. Do you need your grandmother’s ring?”
I answer immediately, absolutely no hesitation. “Yes, but not yet.”
“Why are you waiting?”
“Because it isn’t the 1970s and people don’t go around getting married after a month of dating.” I laugh, knowing my parent’s epic love story by heart. I also know my girl. “I’m sure.”
“You think she’s not?”
“She’s reticent. She’s been burned in the past and is cautious.”
Dad hums as he processes that information. “That’s good. She’s smart. I gotta tell you though, that woman wouldn’t be nearly as upset about this little ambush if she wasn’t head over heels for you.”
“I just got her to admit that…in a roundabout way.”
“Women like her, like your mother; you cherish every admission, every concession, because it pains them to put that trust in someone else. She is giving you the ultimate gift, don’t squander it. Don’t bruise or break that trust because you will never get a second chance.”
“I know.” I swallow, forcing down the emotion rising up my throat. I can see the effort it took for Jenna to give me as much as she has. I honestly made a mistake about dinner tonight, but I won’t ever hurt her.
Dad leans toward the open door that leads into the kitchen. I look over my shoulder inside but don’t see anything. “What is it?” I can’t hear anything, Jenna and mom aren’t back from picking out a bottle of wine.
Dad shakes his head forlornly. “It’s quiet. There’s still no pitter patter of my grandbabies’ feet. Don’t wait too long.”
“Jesus, Dad!” I bark a laugh, shaking my head as I stare down at the grill. He scared the fuck out of me for a second there.
While I’m ready for the rings, the “I do’s”, the babies, and the dog, I know Jenna is trying like hell not to run scared.
I’m patient. You have to be as a quarterback, waiting for the right time, the right player, the right pocket.
I can wait a little longer for her to accept that I’m not going anywhere but forward with her by my side.