Ch. 40 – Rico
R ico forced a smile onto his face. It felt like a grimace.
“Good evening, Rachel and Miles. I’m here in the gymnasium of Fort Palacio High School for the annual dance-a-thon. We’re into hour three, and everyone is still looking spritely.” Gripping his microphone, Rico turned as an older couple swayed toward him.
“And how are you doing after three hours on your feet?” Rico asked a slight woman who wore a scarlet skirt and the fierce expression of someone who might just spike the punch bowl to get ahead.
“Never better,” the woman replied. Her silver curls bounced on her shoulders as she shimmied her hips. “We could go all night, right, Ronald?”
Her dance partner wore a dour expression. “My knees hurt, Denise.”
“Get it together, Ronald!” Denise hissed, glaring at her partner before grinning widely for the camera. “We’re gonna win it this year, Rico,” she said confidently. “Last year, Peggy only won because Ronald stepped out of bounds, but that won’t be happening this year.”
“I thought I was having a heart attack,” Ronald explained .
“He wasn’t,” Denise snapped. “So, you’d better watch out, Peggy!” Her cheerful tone turned into a snarl. A large woman rocking a curly perm straight out of the ’80s glared from across the gymnasium.
Rico turned back to face the camera. “Well, there you have it, folks. This couple is in it to win it.” He smiled and smiled and smiled at the camera. Would Jax be watching this ridiculous story? She’d once told him that people needed happy stories to help balance out all the negative news. Did a ballroom full of dancing, scheming Baby Boomers count?
From behind the camera, Chuck waved at him. Dimly, Rico heard a buzz in his earpiece.
“I’m sorry, Rachel, what was that?” he asked.
“I just wanted to remind viewers that you’ll be checking back in on our nine p.m. broadcast,” the news anchor repeated.
“Uh, that’s right,” Rico stammered. “Stay tuned. In another two hours, we’ll see who can really go the distance for this beloved charity event.”
As soon as Chuck gave him the thumbs-up, Rico practically crumpled onto the bleachers where a smattering of people watched the competition. Some old Bon Jovi song played too loud over the speakers, and the red-faced MC was already growing hoarse.
“You okay, man?” Chuck asked. “We’ve been here for three hours, and you haven’t combed your hair. Not once. I’m concerned.”
“Didn’t get much sleep last night,” Rico muttered. As in not a single wink since Jax’s sudden and distressed departure. His mind played the scene over in his head for the millionth time. She’d turned in his arms, rubbed against his cock. That’d gotten him good and ready, and then . . . the fear on her face was like a baby grand piano falling onto his heart from the window of six-story building. She’d been terrified—of him.
Rico dropped his head into his hands as another couple twirled by. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never hurt Jax, and that’s exactly what he’d done. Somehow. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, praying she’d answered one of his six voicemails or his dozens of text messages.
Nope. Nothing. He’d been ghosted for the first time in his life. Rico had to smile at that. Whaddya know, it did feel like shit, just like everyone was always telling him.
Pulling himself to his feet, he began coiling the cable from Chuck’s camera. They’d set up again in two hours for the 9:00 p.m. broadcast, then tape an interview with the winners whenever the hell that was.
“You’re helping?” Chuck stared at him as if he’d just pulled a bunny out of his ass. “Something’s definitely wrong. Is it cancer? Stage four?”
“Do I look that bad?”
“As a matter of fact—”
“Don’t.” Rico had dragged himself to the gym this morning, then left after 20 lackluster minutes spent staring into space between every lift. Even at home, he’d cut his ten-step grooming routine in half. It was all he could do to pour shampoo on his hair. No way did he have the energy to apply his undereye cream and collagen-building face serum.
“What’s going on?” Chuck asked.
Rico handed his cameraman the coiled wires, then slumped back on the bleachers. Chuck followed him.
“Jax,” Rico said.
“Ah.” Chuck nodded. “Did you just now catch that article she wrote about you? She posted it over a week ago.”
Rico looked sideways at his cameraman. “Of course you read it.”
Chuck beamed. “Jax sent me the link. I thought it was hilarious. Spot on. ”
Rico looked between his splayed knees. Could he possibly just crawl beneath the bleachers and please die?
On the dance floor, a woman in a purple belted dress and pearl necklace cried out. Hopping up and down, she smacked her partner on the arm. “You stepped on my foot, you lug!”
“They’re not dancing! They’re out!” Denise hollered and pointed at the couple for good measure. God forbid that woman ever find her way onto an HOA board. She’d get drunk on the power immediately.
“This isn’t about the article, is it?” Chuck asked.
“I fucked up,” Rico admitted.
“Of course you did.”
Rico glared at his cameraman. “Thing is, I don’t even know what I did. But I think she hates me.”
“You try apologizing?”
“She won’t take my calls.”
“Sounds like you’re screwed.”
Wow, Rico hadn’t thought he could actually feel worse, but lo and behold. Chuck possessed a true talent.
“You’ve never gotten bent out of shape over a girl before,” Chuck noted.
“It’s Jax.” He said it like that should explain everything. “She’s different.” As in wickedly funny, sharp enough to cut through leather, beautiful, fun, and more than a little intimidating.
“Whatcha gonna do?” Chuck asked.
Rico closed his eyes. “I don’t know.” His heart felt sick. Hollowed. Because he was starting to realize he might be half in love with Jax . . . except for the half part.
*
Around midnight, Rico dragged himself into his apartment, Sancho’s traveling case under his arm. Peggy and Denise had fought it out on the dance floor to the bitter end. Poor Ronald had staggered on his bad knee over the last hour until Peggy’s husband had fallen asleep standing up and been disqualified. Rico had to smile as he remembered Denise triumphantly lifting the small trophy while Ronald sprawled across the bleachers in clear agony.
After carefully lifting Sancho out of his case and placing the rat in the larger enclosure on the coffee table, Rico dropped heavily onto the couch. His eyelids were heavy, but he didn’t want to go anywhere near his bedroom. Even just looking at the door to the room reminded him of Jax’s terrified face. Of the accusations in her eyes. The tremor in her voice.
He felt absolutely fucking empty.
The wheel in the cage started moving. Rico watched Sancho sprint in the wheel, his tiny feet a blur of motion.
“Go get ’em, buddy,” he said to the rat. Sancho’s dedication to daily cardio was truly an inspiration to all.
Rico’s phone rang.
Jax. Thank fucking God!
He practically peeled back a nail shoving his hand into his pocket to extract the device. When he looked at the screen, his heart deflated.
Blocked number. Still . . . maybe it was her.
“Hello? Jax?” His voice cracked. Please, please, pleeeeease be her, he prayed. What do you want, universe? I’ll give you anything. Take my undereye cream. My secret protein shake recipe. Henri, the only barber I’ll allow to touch my hair.
“This Rico Torres?” A male voice spoke on the other end of the line. A vague tingle of recognition jacked Rico into sitting up in alert.
“I hear you’ve been asking questions about me and my business,” the caller said .
It clicked. “Mayor Bishop?” Rico said. Shit. The story was almost ready. He’d planned to drive out to Yucca Hills on Friday to confront the mayor. But obviously, someone had talked.
“You’re making a big mistake,” the mayor said.
“Am I?” Rico’s tone was acid. It wasn’t the first time he’d been threatened. “Because it looks to me like you’re trying to personally destroy a beloved business in Yucca Hills in order to directly benefit your biggest campaign supporter. Trying to sneak through that zoning update at the very end of last month’s council meeting with no notice was a nice touch. I can’t wait to tell Yucca Hill residents everything you’ve been up to.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The mayor’s voice was a growl.
“You’re the one with your ass in the wind, Mayor,” Rico replied, relishing the moment. “Of course, if you’d like to comment on my allegations, I’d be happy to add them to my story.”
“There’s not going to be a story.”
Rico had to actually laugh at the mayor’s audacity. The man sounded so damn sure of himself. Bishop didn’t scare easily. Rico had to give him that. Then again, Rico wasn’t about to back down, either. He channeled his inner Denise—in it to win it.
“I might not be able to prove everything you’re doing, but I’ve got enough,” he said. “And if you even think about touching The Rose and Thorn again, I’ll put you behind bars.”
Bishop chuckled. The sound poured ice down Rico’s spine. “You know how long I’ve been mayor of Yucca Hills?”
“Eleven years,” Rico responded automatically. He and Jax had done their background research for the article.
“Yup.” The mayor’s tone turned sharp. “It’s still a small town. The kind of place where everyone knows everyone’s business.”
What the hell was he getting at ?
“Like, for instance, I’ve heard so many good things about your mother,” Bishop continued. “Sarita. That’s her name, right?”
Ice poured down Rico’s spine and his grip tightened on the phone.
“I’ve heard she’s an absolutely delightful woman,” Bishop continued. “Goes to church every Sunday. Heart of gold.”
Rico’s voice was a growl. “Don’t even say her name, you son of a bitch.” If Bishop had been standing in front of him, he might have wrung the bastard’s thick neck.
“You know, I’ve heard an ugly rumor that she’s in the country illegally,” Bishop said softly through the line. “I’m sure it isn’t true, but I might need to call ICE just in case. You know, there’s a right way to come to this country and a wrong way.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Rico vowed hoarsely.
“No, Mr. Torres, you’re not.” Bishop’s voice oozed with satisfaction. “What you are going to do is kill the story. And if you or anyone else goes after me again, I’ll destroy them. Have a good night, now. Oh, and say hello to your mother next time you’re in town.”
The line went dead.
Rico stared at his phone, then hurled it across the room. It crashed against the wall, denting the drywall and evaporating his security deposit. Rico slid back onto the couch and pressed his elbows between his knees.
What was he going to do?
But he already knew.
Jax was gone and now so was his big story.