Chapter Thirteen
Dalisay’s back slams the bathroom door open, and she and Evan tumble into the room, lips locked. Making out with Evan Saatchi in the public bathroom at the ice rink was not something she ever imagined herself doing, but she couldn’t wait another minute to get her hands on him.
Evan uses his foot to close the door behind them as they kiss like they’re making up for lost time. Fire burns between their bodies, and Dalisay’s thoughts drown in the feel of him under her fingers. How warm his neck is, how soft his lips are, how strong his hands hold her as they knot in her hair. His mouth crashes against hers and her lips slide against his, taking him in with every breath. God, she thinks. Finally.
She kisses him, cupping her hands against the line of his jaw, her fingers touching the soft skin behind his ears. A small moan melts out of his throat, and she smiles against his lips.
Kissing him in the dream was nothing compared to the real thing.
She presses Evan against the bathroom wall and his hands secure her to him, firmly grasping her hips, like he doesn’t want to let her go. The heat of his fingers burns through the yarn of her sweater. Although her eyes are closed tight, colors dance behind her eyelids. She loses all sense of time, of space, and the only thing that matters is the way Evan leans into her, strong and solid. Warmth floods her whole body. If it were possible, she wants to touch him everywhere at once.
Why did they take so long to get here?
She tangles her fingers in his curls. He smells like spice, he tastes like hot chocolate. Every time they touch, it’s like new.
Evan’s tongue eases her mouth open, and her head drops back. He sucks, and pulls on her lips, dragging his tongue across hers, stealing her breath away.
His hands trace her sides, and she lifts her Christmas sweater to let him touch her skin. If she had planned on doing this, she might have worn something less absurd than an outfit with built-in lights. But she hardly cares about that now. All she cares about is his rough hands sliding up her body, sending sparks of pleasure across her bare skin, before one hand finally lands on top of her bra and he squeezes her breast. It makes her moan.
Evan gasps a little, his eyes open now, half-lidded, his pupils blown out. She can’t see his irises anymore, those gorgeous brown eyes lost in a black hole.
Dalisay nudges his head to the side with her nose as she drags her lips across his beard stubble and nibbles on his earlobe. The muscles in his jaw tighten and she kisses him there, feeling his pulse and the goosebumps that rise under her lips. He wants her, she can tell, the hardness pressed against her apparent, and pleasure rolls through her at the thought. His grip on her only gets tighter.
Dalisay’s head knocks back once more as he squeezes her breast again, and he kisses the slope of her throat. His hand inches down, teasing the waist of her jeans, sending electric shocks of pleasure across her skin. The tips of his fingers skim against the soft skin below her hip bone. He dips lower.
“Evan,” she says breathless. “Evan, wait.”
He pauses, looking at her under his straight, dark brows, shoulders bobbing with every heavy breath.
“I …” It’s like she’s being torn in two directions. Her body pulses with want, but her mind tells her to pull back. To be patient. To take it slow. “I’ve never done that before. It’s just … can we slow down?”
“Of course,” says Evan. Not disappointed, not repulsed, not even turned off. He takes his hand back, the spot where it was now unusually cold, and a part of her regrets letting him go. “It’s okay.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. We don’t have to do anything else.” He dives in to kiss her again, and it makes her eyes flutter closed. She’s drunk off his touch.
They pull back for air and Dalisay swallows a lump in her throat. “You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” His voice is husky and low, and he kisses her again, sending her mind spiraling down into the depths of pleasure.
She always thought that American men were far more promiscuous and sexually liberated, and dating a virgin would be like a professional baseball player pitching in the little leagues. She doesn’t have an answer for him.
She can barely speak anyway, not when he kisses her like that. Open, craving, imploringly full of desire. A desperate moan escapes her, and she wants this, she wants this so badly, it almost hurts. She wants him. But she won’t let herself have him. She shivers under his touch, despite the heat burning through her, and Evan pulls back ever so slightly; his grip on her hips tightens and then eases.
“Do you want to wait until …” Evan pauses before saying, “Marriage?”
“Uh …” A part of her wants to automatically say yes—the good, responsible Catholic girl in her—but another part of her isn’t so sure anymore. She’s hardly let that part of herself run wild, and it’s been waiting for so long. Then again, does she really want to have sex in a public bathroom?
Evan hears her hesitation and nods, the smallest dip of his chin, and his eyes drop to her lips. She meets him there, pressing her lips to his, tugging his lower one between her teeth. He lets out another soft moan, and she swells with desire. He doesn’t seem to be troubled by wanting to take it slow. He only tightens the grip of her body against his, and he drinks her in as he kisses the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, his breath tickling her ear, his teeth nipping into the soft skin of her neck. “Is this still okay?”
“Ooh, yes. Please.” Her eyes roll back, and she feels his smile against her skin.
This is a good start.
Being with Evan is like being tipsy, all the time. It’s all warmth, and lightness, and everything is funny for some reason. The days are brighter, the sky is bluer, and the air has never smelled so sweet.
Unlike when she was dating Luke, it’s no secret that she’s with Evan. Word spreads fast. The whole family knows within a day that he completed all five stages, because of course Lola would never let something like that stay quiet. Lola’s approval alone at the ice rink was enough for Dalisay to solidify how she felt about him. She can’t remember the last time she’s felt this happy. She even told Pinky about it, accidentally letting slip that she and Evan hooked up in a public bathroom. Pinky almost upended the board game they were playing at The Basement, she jumped to her feet so fast, overjoyed. “Yes! Get it, girl! But also—ew, gross! A bathroom?” she cried.
To keep it professional at work, she and Evan maintain their distance, but Dalisay fantasizes too often about sneaking into a broom closet somewhere and tearing his shirt off. It would be totally inappropriate, but the fantasy makes her feel naughty and sexy, and the thrill alone makes her tremble. During meetings, grocery shopping with Mom, or staying up late at night working toward deadlines, all she can do is think about what she wants to do to him, what she wants him to do to her.
No one else at work, besides Riggs, knows that they’re dating. If HR found out, it would be such a big deal, Dalisay’s head would spin.
During the week, she tries to focus on her work, to lose herself in her words, but Evan can distract her in a way only he knows how. He can give her the lightest touches on the small of her back when he moves past her that make her spine tingle or bumps his knee into hers while they’re sitting next to each other at the conference room table in a way that makes her bite the inside of her cheek to stop from smiling. He sends her emoticon texts throughout the day that say so much in so few characters. Every time times he sends her the kissy-face :-x, their new inside joke, she feels the ghosts of his lips on her skin.
Once, they crossed paths in the elevator going up to work and they spent the twenty-second ride up furiously making out, then breaking away a millisecond before the doors opened, pretending like it never happened.
It occurs to Dalisay that nothing about Evan has really changed, but she notices a slight shift in his demeanor. She doesn’t believe in auras, but she gets the sense that Evan feels more at ease, as if he too is feeling something between them that’s taken root. When he catches her eye across the office, his smile is contagious.
That Friday, Evan convinces her to take a half-day after lunch to see the Painted Ladies. It’s their first official outing as a couple.
Once they turn the corner on Steiner Street, she immediately recognizes the row of historic Victorian and Edwardian houses from countless movies and TV shows she saw growing up in Manila. Their pastel color palettes and architectural cohesion is so aesthetically pleasing, she can’t help but take a photo.
“I had a feeling you’d like them,” Evan says, grinning as he watches her.
“They look like books neatly nestled on a shelf! I love them.” She leads the way, taking probably a hundred photos as they walk together down the street.
“So, speaking of books”—he sidles up next to her—“you gave Maggie that candle I got you, the one that smelled like old books. You threw out every single thing from stage two.”
“Yeah,” she says, cringing.
“I thought you hated me.”
“I know,” she admits. “I was a little standoffish at first.”
“A little?” His baritone laugh makes her smile. “That candle crushed me. I thought I had it in the bag.”
“You almost did. I gave it away only because I didn’t want it to be … I don’t know, personal? If I kept the gifts, it felt too real. I wanted to remain impartial, for the sake of the rules.”
“What changed?”
Dalisay thinks a second before answering. “It wasn’t one thing in particular. I think I needed time.”
Evan hums, tucking his hands into his front pockets, and turning his head to gaze across the Painted Ladies’ white eaves. Dalisay can’t help but admire his profile, the sharp lines of his face, the arch of his brow. His face belongs on a coin.
“No one’s ever done what you did,” she says.
“Not once?”
She shakes her head. Not even Luke. “I guess I misjudged you.”
Evan’s lips curl, amused, and an instinct to press her own lips to the shape of them overwhelms her. It’s so easy picturing herself kissing him. He’s magnetic.
“I didn’t think I had a chance with you either,” he says. “Not after our first meeting.”
Dalisay grins. “And yet here we are.”
“Here we are,” he repeats. Evan shakes his head, grinning, and his eyes shine in the sunlight.
Two blocks down, he brings her to his favorite ice-cream shop. It’s a small boutique, with a dozen homemade ice creams in aluminum bins in a glass display. While everything looks amazing, she gets her favorite, chocolate with sprinkles, and he gets cookie dough and pays for them both. Ice cream in hand, they sit at a small table on the sidewalk under the shady canopy of a nearby laurel fig tree.
They’re halfway through their cones when Evan asks, “So what are your plans this weekend?”
“Mama, Lola, Nicole, and I were going to have a Ramos Family Bake-Off.”
“What’s that?”
“We watch a season of The Great British Bake Off and then try to re-create what the contestants make at home, just to see how hard it is. It’s usually a disaster. A delicious disaster.”
Evan laughs and it’s easy to join him, but Dalisay’s heart hitches a little. Things are still a little awkward with Nicole. There’s a wall between them that Dalisay isn’t sure how to navigate around. It’s hard to accept that maybe it’s not her place to do so.
She’s been told she’s a fixer, and it’s true. When presented with a problem, her mind automatically starts working on a solution. Nicole has called her out on it more than once. Sometimes her sister just wants to rant about work, or school, or life in general, and Dalisay defaults to trying to find a way she can make it better, even though all Nicole needs in that moment is to be heard. Dalisay hates seeing the people she cares about suffer, and the only way she can think to help is to try to make everything better. It’s gotten worse ever since the moment she sat down in the chair next to her father’s hospital bed and realized she couldn’t do a damn thing to help him. She’d never felt so useless.
One thing’s for sure, it’s not Dalisay’s place to out Nicole. She can’t tell Evan despite wanting to. And she’s not sure how to help Nicole, especially concerning their mother.
Dalisay knows the world is changing, that family means a lot of things to different people, but their mother is a product of time and place. Her culture has always been a fundamental part of her identity and she doesn’t exactly distinguish between the good and the bad aspects. She sees it as a foundation to lay the groundwork of their lives, a compass to guide them through the difficulties of life. All that matters is family. It’s the one thing that can be relied on, and that means finding a husband, and settling down, with bunches of kids. And when Papa died, those traditional views felt like something that needed to be preserved, to ensure that he lived on in a way, because it was his culture too. But how would her mom react if Nicole came out now, being in America? Would she still uphold those narrow-minded opinions? The possibility is haunting enough without Dalisay’s fear that she wouldn’t have the courage to stand up to her mother and tell her that she’s wrong.
“Hey.” Evan’s voice cuts through her thoughts. When he looks at her with that small smile on his face that crinkles the corners of his brown eyes, Dalisay’s mind settles. His presence is like a warm mug of tea on a rainy night. “What are you thinking about?”
“Just … family stuff.” Some ice cream dripped down the side of her cone, so she licks it before it can get on her hand.
“Everything okay? You know you can tell me anything.”
“Oh, really?” she says, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “Does that mean I can ask you anything?”
“I’m an open book.”
“Past girlfriends?” she asks, taking him up on the challenge.
“One. Well, one serious one. Becca.”
“Oh right, Pinky mentioned that.”
“What did she tell you?”
“No details. Just that it ended poorly.”
Evan huffs a sigh and manages a grin. “Did she mention it ended with a champagne bucket full of ice dumped on my head?”
“She did not,” Dalisay says, eyes wide. “What did you do?”
Evan shakes his head, still smiling, and says before taking another bite of ice cream, “We’ll just leave it at that.”
“Okay, Mr. Open Book,” she says with a teasing grin.
“You got me. Becca is in the past. I don’t want to distract from what’s right in front of me.”
Dalisay understands. She’s not entitled to anyone’s history, and when Evan’s ready he’ll tell her. She has to remember that, even with Nicole.
“What about you? Any boyfriends?”
Dalisay groans. “One. It ended pretty quick, though.”
Evan hears the tone in her voice. “What happened? If you don’t mind telling me.”
Dalisay hesitates, then realizes it no longer bothers her to talk about it. Evan will understand. “He just … He was a little pushy and I wasn’t ready. We did go pretty far, but I didn’t want to have sex, even though I thought I loved him. He tried to pressure me into doing it by threatening to lie to everyone that I wasn’t a virgin, so we might as well. He had some pictures … Anyway, Daniel found out and scared him off, and I was kind of relieved he did.”
“Shit,” Evan says. “I’m sorry.”
Dalisay waves her hand. “It’s fine. My parents didn’t know about him. I was too afraid to tell them; dating him was a secret. My mom especially believes that I need to wait for marriage, to be ‘pure,’ and I think it would have broken my dad’s heart.” A lump forms in her throat and she swallows it down. “What about your parents? Are all American parents so chill about their kids dating?”
“Depends. My parents are both academics, so they were too busy with their work to micromanage my love life.”
“What do they do?”
“My dad’s in physics, and my mom’s got a doctorate in engineering.”
“That’s impressive.”
“They’re divorced now, though.”
“Oh,” Dalisay says, frowning. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
Evan shrugs. “It happened when I was seven. No big deal. My mom lives in India now, teaching at an engineering school, so I don’t really see her all that much, but at least I’ve got my dad.”
She can tell by the way he says it that it was a big deal, despite Evan saying otherwise. “Are your parents divorced too?” he asks. “I haven’t seen your dad around.”
She knew this would come up eventually. “Papa died. Two years ago.”
He was about to take a bite of his cone, but he freezes. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“It’s okay,” she says. It’s automatic saying that. She’s not sure it’ll ever be okay, really. “Lola is his mom. We look out for each other.”
“Do you …,” Evan starts to say, but he changes course. “How did he die?”
“Cancer.” And in an instant, she’s teleported back to those long days at the hospital, sleeping in a chair at his bedside, watching as he withered away. “So then, what got you into writing? And traveling?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood.
Evan takes her in for a moment, perhaps wondering if he should let her change the subject, but she’s too skilled at pulling herself back before the riptide of grief can take her under. Evan seems to realize that and answers her question.
“I always loved traveling. When I was little, I told my mom I wanted to be Indiana Jones. You can imagine how well that went over. Initially, she was excited that I wanted to be a doctor, but I wanted to be an adventurer. Writing is kind of its own adventure, you know? You?”
“I always loved reading, and started writing as soon as I could hold a pencil. I guess I was really good at it. In high school, I entered a creative writing contest at a local independent publisher with this story about a girl who clones herself so she can live two different lives, and I won. I was first published at fifteen.”
“That’s amazing! You’re selling yourself short.” He makes a psh sound, forcing air between his front teeth.
Dalisay blushes and looks at her shoes. “Well, the thing is, my parents took that as a sign that I had peaked, and it was time for me to start being serious about a medical degree.” When Evan bobs his head in understanding, she says, “You too?”
“Yeah. My dad didn’t really see the point in studies outside of applied sciences at first, but he came around in the end. But my mom keeps asking me when I’m going to stop writing and get a serious career.”
Dalisay huffs out a laugh through her nose. Turns out parents are the same everywhere in the world. “My family just thinks they know what’s best for me, without really asking me. Like what Daniel did to you at Mass. He was trying to protect me. He wants to make sure I don’t get hurt.”
He reaches over the table and brings her free hand up to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. His lips are cold from his ice cream, but they feel nice against her warm skin. “Family is important. But we need to live our own lives, you know? We can respect what they say because they want what’s best for us, but the only thing that’s right is what we want.”
She couldn’t have put it better herself. She wants this, being right here, right now. With him.
Evan’s eyes playfully light up. “And what I want, is to kiss you till I can’t feel my lips anymore.”
“Funny,” she says, failing to suppress her grin. “That’s exactly what I want too.”