CHAPTER FOURTEEN ALARA
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALARA
“Delicious as always, Loretta.” I grin at Mrs Ramirez as I scoop some guacamole into a tortilla chip.
“Thank you, sweet girl. Diego actually made it,” she says, while laying out some ingredients on the counter. From the looks of it, she’s going to make black-bean enchiladas.
I was out with Gaby and, when I dropped her off, she asked if I wanted to eat dinner with her family.
The day I refuse Mrs Ramirez’s home-made meals is the day I die.
Her cuisine is excellent, and I make sure to tell her so every time I have the honor of sitting at her table.
The dish that brings me the most comfort is her famous tinga de pollo – that shredded chicken is to die for, and the way it melts on my tongue and bursts with flavors is nothing like I’ve ever had.
After slumber parties with Gaby, she’d make us chilaquiles, those fried tortilla chips simmered in tangy salsa, which is eternally one of my all-time favorite breakfasts.
At the mention of Diego, my palms get clammy. I try to feign indifference despite my thrumming heartbeat. “Impressive.” I swallow my bite, nodding. “This is really good.”
Mrs Ramirez – whom I still have trouble calling by her first name, even though I’ve known her my entire life – grins at something behind my shoulder. I sigh, knowing Diego is standing there, probably smiling like the smug bastard he is.
In fact, I feel his gaze on me as he enters the kitchen. He sits across from me at the table, dimpled grin on display. “Did you just compliment me?”
“I’m impressed by the fact you didn’t burn this.” I point at the guacamole.
He gives me a casual look. “Hard to burn something when it’s not supposed to be cooked in the first place.”
“With your abilities in the kitchen, I wouldn’t be surprised if you—”
“God, you’re so mean to me.” He puts a hand over his heart, but the amusement shining in his eyes indicates he loves sparring with me.
His mom chuckles, but she starts getting everything ready and pays no further attention to us.
I’m completely hypnotized by Diego anyway. By the way his eyes darken when he glances at my mouth. His chest rising and falling as his feet lock around my ankle under the table. The tip of his tongue wetting his lips when we hold eye contact. The little smirk making itself known.
It’s been twenty-four hours since our heated moment in the storage room at Rock Snow.
And there hasn’t been a moment where I haven’t replayed the way he made me feel.
How he kissed me breathless. How he managed to liquify me.
Sometimes, I feel like pinching myself, thinking it’s just a fever dream.
But when he looks at me like this? Like he wants to devour me?
I know it was very much real, and this is just the beginning of my teenage dreams come true.
There’s still a throbbing pang in my chest, though. When he mentioned not wanting to pursue anything romantic, that he just wanted sex, I felt my heart crumble to pieces. I still don’t know how I managed to find a sliver of strength to accept his deal.
But I have Diego, and it’s all that matters.
I’d rather have him like this, even if it’s just for a few weeks, than not have him at all. With me, he’s unguarded. Carefree. Relaxed. I’m honored to have been able to peel off the layers surrounding him. So I’ve accepted that having bits of him is all I’m allowed to have.
If you’d told me ten years ago that I’d be able to kiss him, touch him, sneak around with him, I wouldn’t have believed you. But here we are.
He reaches for a tortilla chip and dips it into his concoction, winking as I blatantly check him out.
I am desperate to feel his hands on me. Feel him putting his mark on every inch of my skin.
“How was PT today?” his mom asks, opening the fridge.
“Fine.” He doesn’t let my foot go. “I’m not sure, but I think I’ll be able to ride soon.”
I tilt my head to the side. I don’t ever ask him about the way he’s physically feeling, afraid to push his buttons too far, but if he thinks I don’t notice how he winces every time he makes too much effort at the resort, or asks to be on front desk duty at Rock Snow so that he can make minimal movements, he’s a total idiot.
I know he’s still hurting, and I fear that his pride will kill him.
I wonder how truthful he’s being with his physiotherapist. Does he lie in hope of getting out of here early?
I’m conflicted – should I confront him about this?
“Really?” Mrs Ramirez asks, a hopeful edge to her voice. It must upset her to see her son look so sad. “Did Dr Ellis tell you when you’ll be able to go back to Utah?”
Diego cranes his neck to look at his mom. “Nope. No doubt it’ll be at the end of the month, though. I’m feeling confident and better.”
She smiles down at him. “That’s good to hear.”
The way my stomach twists is concerning. Every time he mentions leaving, every time he reminds me that he’s only here temporarily, it makes my heart bleed.
I wish I could be someone to him. Someone worth loving, or perhaps worth considering staying in Blue Ridge Springs for, for the sake of his recovery.
This is immensely selfish of me, but I hope he stays until the end of January as planned.
So far, he’s been focused on leaving before New Year’s.
I just want him to stay a little bit longer.
And not just for me – for his mom and sisters, and Jordan too. I don’t think Diego realizes how happy his loved ones are to have him back. I don’t think he understands how much he’s wanted and adored.
Valentina enters the kitchen, and Diego untangles our feet. Mrs Ramirez asks Val to help with making dinner, then Diego stands up.
“I think I hear my phone ringing,” he says, after clearing his throat in the most non-discreet way.
Once he’s standing in the doorway, he lightly nudges his chin toward the staircase. I get the memo quickly, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. He rushes upstairs, and I wait a minute, two, before pushing my chair back.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Loretta and Valentina.
If either of them notices how obvious Diego and I are, they have the decency to stay quiet. Still, I don’t miss Mrs Ramirez’s cheeky grin as I exit the kitchen.
Gaby is still showering, so when I slip into Diego’s bedroom, I’m relieved to hear the water running. I don’t have time to look around or ask anything before Diego pushes me against the wall, closes the door behind us with a soft click, and slants his mouth down on mine.
I melt into him, sifting my fingers through his hair.
God, he feels divine.
“I’ve been waiting all day to do this,” he rasps.
His hands slide down to my waist, my hips, the back of my thighs until he hoists me up and pins me to the wall.
His forehead rests against mine, warm fingers slipping beneath my sweater.
Uncontrollable shivers rise beneath his touch. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing?”
“Is that your answer? I saw you pulling a weird face when I mentioned physiotherapy.” He gently brushes a strand away from my cheekbone.
I need to be careful around him. The fact he noticed that I got upset at the thought of him leaving is sweet, but I can’t be reckless. We agreed on not letting feelings get in the middle of this, so I have to work on not showing my emotions. On not laying my cards down so quickly.
A chill rushes over him when I lightly kiss his lips. My fingertips run down his chest. “Or maybe I was pulling a face because of how vile your guacamole is.”
He snorts at my lie. Featherlight kisses are pressed to my jaw, my neck, the dip of my throat. He groans, using a hand to unbutton my jeans and tear the zipper down. “You smell so fucking good, baby. But you’re getting punished for being so rude.”
“Oh, no,” I deadpan. The thrill of doing this here, with my best friend on the other side of the hall, makes molten heat pool in my core. “That’s terrible.”
His grin is entirely devilish and, as soon as he steals my breath away again, I forget about everything except the way he touches me as though he can’t get enough.