14. July 20th
Angie
“Idon’t understand why they don’t make full rugby kits for infants,” Rafael muses as we sit in the dilapidated sunroom of his historical fixer-upper, scrolling our phones and adding items to our baby registry. I’ve only been here a few times so far, but each time I visit, it’s getting better and better.
“Probably because it’s impractical,” I hum, setting my feet up on the old milk crate in front of me. The first time I was here, I considered checking my online medical chart for the last time I had a tetanus shot. The kitchen was nothing but cheap cupboards that appeared to be actively disintegrating. Both the paint on the walls and the laminate floors were peeling. Grime and dirt coated everything. The back deck was one strong wind away from collapsing altogether.
Since then, everything has been gutted, save for a clawfoot tub. Before tearing out its guts, the house felt huge. At over thirty-one hundred square feet with six bedrooms and four bathrooms, this place now feels like a mansion. A scary, barebones, possibly mold-ridden mansion. But with a wrap-around porch, a formal parlor and giant custom pocket doors, I can look past the rough exterior and see the charm Rafael and Joaquín saw in this place.
We came here today so he could do some yard work. He grumbled when I told him I would help, so I had to remind him he literally chased me in the woods a few weeks ago and that I could handle a little lawn maintenance. After an hour pulling weeds in the blistering sun though, he sent me inside to rest and hydrate, but not before I could daydream wild scenarios between the two of us.
Like when he used the flat head shovel to pry up some old brick pavers.
1I imagine he was lifting hay to feed the livestock outside our humble barn. Our, meaning my husband’s. Because in this fantasy, I”m a married woman, standing on the porch of my Texas ranch in 1970 wearing a dress that screams I don’t do manual labor, watching our farm hand work up a sweat. Watching the muscles of his strong back move under his shirt as he lifts another pile of hay. Watching the sweat pour from under his cowboy hat and soak through his button up.
“It’s awfully hot out here today,” I’d drawl in my best southern belle accent. After, he’d throw his hay, look over his shoulder and I”d saunter toward the fence line with a single glass of lemonade, the condensation beading like his tanned skin.
“It is, ma’am,” he’d say, tipping his hat and turning on his heel to face me as I walked through the gate.
“Would you like a little refreshment?” I’d smile, arching a single eyebrow.
He’d swallow thickly, his eyes going from the glass in my steady hand straight to my lips. “Don’t your husband mind you talkin’ to me?”
Fuck, he sounds good with a southern accent.
“He’s not here right now… he’s gone to town all day,” I’d say, unbuttoning the neckline of my dress and dragging the cool glass across my chest. “And I’ve been stuck inside. Lonely.”
He’d prop the pitchfork against the barn wall. “Well then, seems it’d only be gentlemanly of me to keep you company, ma’am.” Then he’d slowly step forward, closing the distance between us as my thighs clench, until he’s only a couple inches away, and the shadow of his hat would cast over my face.
“Would you like some lemonade, Rafael?” I’d whisper, biting my lower lip, looking up at him and inhaling his musky working man scent.
“I’d like you to take a drink first, ma’am.” When I do, my eyes stay trained on his deep brown gaze. Pulling the rim away from my mouth, I try to lick the drip of tart sweetness away from the corners of my mouth, but he stops me dead in my tracks, his hand caressing the side of my face and his thumb brushing the bottom of my lip, while the other pulls in my waist. “Allow me, ma’am.”
And right there in the open, he’d kiss me. He’d taste me—lick every last drop of juice from my tongue as I melted in his strong arms. Then he’d carry me back to the porch, and when he’d kick the door open, he”d murmur against my lips, “I worked hard today, ma’am. I’m gon’ need more refreshment than that.”
And that’s why when real-life Rafael forced me to go inside and take a break, I listened. Being hot from working is one thing, but being literally hot and bothered by him is another.
I need to stop reading cowboy romance. This is getting dangerous.
When he came back in an hour later, looking like he just played a full rugby match—he was even wearing those short rugby shorts that show off all his thick, defined legs. He sat down next to me on the one piece of furniture in this place—an antique couch that should be thrown to the curb. After taking one long swig of my giant thermos of ice water, he saw I was creating a baby registry, and all thoughts of yard work flew out the window.
He’s been sitting next to me ever since, oblivious to my hormone-fueled daydream, adding impractical things and researching the hell out of the practical things.
It’s been weird in the most normal way possible: after our Catskills camping trip, after finding out that Rafael actually wanted to kiss me all those years ago—that he in fact did not reject me because I’m fat—my brain chemistry changed. I believed a lie that I fabricated, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I took that hurt with me for many years. I let it seep into my self-esteem. It wasn’t until much later that I finally forgave him for what he unknowingly did to me. Forgave him in the sense that I never spoke a word about it to him, but I released that negative energy from my being and built my confidence from there.
Whatever possessed me that night next to the creek to demand he tell me what really happened, I’m grateful for. Because now I’m sitting next to my best friend, picking out car seats and onesies, and I know as soon as we get home, he’ll be on his knees with his face buried between my legs, relieving the ache that’s already formed from watching him do manual labor in tiny shorts.
That’s if I ask him. Since we got back from our camping trip, I haven’t been totally forthcoming about my needs. We’ve only been together two times since then because I’ve been afraid of wearing him out—of letting him see how much and how often I need the relief. It’s borderline embarrassing if I’m being honest. It’s shocking to see my sexual appetite increase so dramatically. He’s been nothing but willing and eager when I approach him at home, but there’s something holding me back from showing him the whole truth.
Even with this drastic shift in our friendship, it hasn’t seemed drastic at all. That’s the best fucking part. Sure, we’re experimenting with our kinks and that’s thrilling to say the least, but the fact that we added this whole new sexual layer to our relationship is simultaneously mind-blowing and right.
And maybe that’s what scares me.
“What’s impractical about a tiny rugby jersey, shorts and socks?” he asks, settling his head on my lap as he continues to scroll, one long leg splayed over the sofa’s edge and the other planted on the chipped tile floor.
“Considering my due date is December 28th, I don’t think we need to worry about a proper rugby kit until the summer.”
“Fine,” he mumbles. “But I’m adding this USA Valor onesie.”
Humming a small laugh, I look down at him. “Maybe Robyn can sign it next time we see her,” I say, referring to our friend who plays for the highest level of rugby one can in the United States and our Olympic team.
“I love watching her play on TV. She’s a beast,” he smiles, then looks up at me from his phone. “You know I brag all the time that I know her?”
“So do I! Have you seen her on social media?” I ask. “She’s all about body acceptance and giving the haters a solid middle finger.”
“I know. She’s a fucking badass.”
“Whatever happened with her and Isaiah? They were such good friends once upon a time.”
“I was hoping you knew,” he frowns.
When my phone starts buzzing with an incoming call from Dane, I say, “Maybe he knows,” before swiping to answer. “Hey, little brother.”
“Angie-Pangie, what’s going on?”
“Sitting here with Raf in his decrepit fixer-upper.” When he pokes me in the side, I smile, but slap his hand away. “You?”
“Driving to Dad’s house to help him with the sump pump.”
“He can’t fix it himself?”
“Of course he can,” Dane huffs smugly, before his tone turns sober. “I think he’s lonely now that everyone is out of the house.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “We should probably make sure to invite him to more stuff.”
“Yeah,” he drawls.
“So why’d you call?”
“Oh yeah,” Dane says. “Jonah is being a little brat. He’s always ten to fifteen minutes late to sevens practice if he shows up at all. And when he is there, he’s half-assing it. I’m the fucking captain of our team now, and he’s making me look like I can’t lead.” My eyes draw to Raf’s where his lips thin and he nods in confirmation. “He was never like this when Isaiah was captain.”
“I’m sorry, Dane. That sucks. Do you have a plan?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t involve me. But alas, a person can only change so much.
“Can you talk to him, Ang?”
Rafael shifts to get a better look at me, watching me silently sigh. He knows how hard I’ve been trying to set boundaries with my siblings. I’ve been their default mother for most of their lives, and I’ve been trying to back off. Trying to let them be more self-sufficient so I can stop being their emotional support—their fixer.
“Dane,” I say calmly. “If you think you’re capable of being captain, then you’re capable of handling this. You don’t need your big sister cleaning up for you.”
“But he’ll listen to you,” he whines.
“Figure out a way to make him listen to you. Or else he never will and you’re going to be going through this again and again with him.”
He groans loud enough to make me turn my speaker volume down. “Fine,” he mutters.
When a new call pops up, it’s the devil himself. “Hey, Jonah is calling me right now. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
When I do, my baby brother’s cheery voice fills the room. “Hey, sis! Do you wanna go to the shore tomorrow?”
“Hey,” I smile, fighting the urge to fix my brothers’ issue immediately. “Yeah, I don’t have plans.” I look down at my best friend still laying in my lap. “Raf, you coming?”
“Count me in,” he smiles.
“Yes!”
“Hey,” I say with trepidation. “Have you talked to Dane lately?”
“Ugh. Yeah, he’s being a dick. Can you tell him to stop being such a jerk at practice?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. “No. You need to talk to him yourself.”
“Fine, whatever,” he says as if Dane being mad at him isn’t affecting him. “Hey, do you have a spare TV I can have?”
That has me chuckling. “No, Jonah. Who just has a spare TV laying around?”
“I don’t know. You just moved, I thought maybe you had enough TVs at Raf’s place.”
I roll my eyes. “I keep my TV in my room. Nice try. What happened to yours?”
“Um…” he drawls, panic evident in his tone.
“Jonah,” I say through a tight smile. “What happened to your TV?”
“My dog knocked it over.”
“When did you get a dog?” I exclaim. He’s nowhere near responsible enough to own a dog—and this is why!
“Um, last week…when I got two from the shelter.”
Rafael jerks upright and spins to face me, his knee bent across the cushion, as if to gain more leverage to understand the situation. “You what? You got two?” I scream.
“They needed me!”
“Jonah, oh my god. You just barely graduated college, are subletting an apartment with three roommates, and what ever happened to the dog you adopted in college?”
“Paris and I broke up! She took the dog, you know that.”
Yeah. I do. And I warned him then that he shouldn’t get a dog with a girlfriend he’s only been with for two months—especially while living at college.
“Jonah,” I sigh.
“You can meet them tomorrow! I’ll bring them to the beach with us. Hey, I gotta go, see you tomorrow!”
“Jonah, youcantbringdogstotheshore—” I try to scramble out before he hangs up. Raf’s laugh shakes the sofa as he leans his shoulder against it. When I see my call with Dane has been disconnected as well, I toss my phone on the cushion, throw my head back and let out some cross between a sigh and a scream.
“I’m sorry,” Rafael chuckles. “I don’t mean to laugh. But you’re doing great, Angel. Really. As difficult as it may be, you’re setting those boundaries. And Jonah will get there. He’s gonna man up some day. You can only do so much to help that kid.”
“He’s gonna give me gray hairs before this baby ever will.”
“Oh shit, that reminds me,” Raf smiles, leaning his tall frame down to show me the top of his head where he’s parting his dark hair. “I found these the other day.”
“Gasp!” I hiss, clamoring to push his hands out of the way and see for myself. “Oh my gosh, there are so many white hairs! One, two, three, four—”
“Alright, that’s enough,” he chastises me and sits upright again. “No need to count them all. That stays between you and me.”
“Until everyone else can see them,” I smirk, inclining my head in search of more.
“Leave me alone!” He slaps my hand away and jumps off the couch, running to the creaky door and letting it slam shut.
With a smile, I pick up my phone to see a text from my sister.
Ivy: why are Jonah and Dane texting me about rugby? i’m kind of busy delivering babies in another country. can u fix this? luv youuuuu
1.Alone at the Ranch by brELAND