Chapter 7
The next week, Vero spent three cold, exhausting nights staking out Terence’s office at the bank, and each one of those stakeouts had been a bust. Terence returned to work every evening after the bank closed, turned on a single light in his tiny closet of an office, and watched the many hours of security footage that had been recorded throughout the day.
Vero knew this because she’d parked by the tanning salon next door, where she was afforded a clear view of Terence’s computer screen through his office window, using the set of binoculars she’d purchased from the Wild Bird Center in the strip mall.
Vero’s disappointment in her failed mission had necessitated a stop at the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through on the way back to Ramón’s for her own large latte with extra whip and several sugar-glazed crullers.
In her defense, she’d left the bank just after dawn, she was feeling premenstrual, and she couldn’t be sure the contents of her cousin’s fridge would support her need for high-fructose corn syrup and carbs.
Balancing her coffee tray in one hand and her to-go bag under her arm, she unlocked her cousin’s apartment, throwing her unburdened shoulder into the door when it stuck.
Ramón’s truck had been gone when she’d pulled into the complex, and some asshole had parked his shiny black Camaro in her cousin’s assigned space, which meant Vero had had to park in outer Siberia and carry her bags twice as far.
She’d paid the driver back by stealing the caps off the valves on two of his tires and using her apartment key to release all the air from them.
Then she’d dumped Ramón’s caramel latte over the Camaro’s pristine windshield.
It hadn’t accomplished anything, but it had made her feel better.
And since Ramón wasn’t home, he wasn’t going to miss the fancy beverage she’d purchased for him anyway.
Vero set down her things and kicked off her shoes. There was a sticky note on the counter in the kitchen from Ramón, saying he’d be working late and wouldn’t be home for dinner. Great. She wouldn’t feel guilty about eating Ramón’s donuts, since apparently he wasn’t going to miss those either.
She collapsed backward onto the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table, licking glaze off her fingers as she chewed.
Her little corner of the apartment was cozy and warm, and after nearly two weeks, it was starting to feel like home.
At some point since she’d arrived, fall had taken hold.
The weather had begun to cool and the heat had clicked on.
Morning sun streamed through the window, casting dust-mote-filled beams over the room.
She snuggled deeper into Javi’s sweatshirt.
The hoodie had been convenient when she’d needed to conceal her face in public, but she’d be lying if she said that was the only reason she hadn’t returned it to him.
It still smelled faintly like him, like the blanket on the back of the sofa, and she draped that over herself, too, tucking it snugly around her.
The romance novel she’d started reading last night rested beside her feet. She’d found the tattered paperback at a neighborhood yard sale, and though she’d never heard of the author before, the first sex scene had been worth the fifty cents she’d paid for it.
Curious, she flipped to the author’s portrait in the back and snorted.
The woman in the photo wore dark sunglasses and a scarf around her head, and the blond locks beneath it were obviously a wig.
Vero held the photo closer, unable to shake the feeling she’d seen this woman before, though she couldn’t place where—maybe the grocery store?
Or the bank? It was hard to tell through the disguise.
Vero ran a hand through her own hair. Maybe a wig wasn’t such a bad idea.
At least then she could run errands without worrying someone might recognize her.
She sank back into the cushions, searching for the page she’d dog-eared yesterday before she’d fallen asleep. It was her first day off all week, and she planned to spend the rest of it curled up right here.
She started at a quiet tap, tap, tap. She could have sworn the sound had come from inside the apartment.
She sat up slowly, listening for it, but all she heard was the hum of the refrigerator in the next room. Then, tap, tap, tap.
Vero stuffed the last of her cruller in her mouth, threw her blanket aside, and set down her book.
Silently, she moved to the kitchen. Reaching between the fridge and the wall, her hands closed around the handle of the broom she knew her cousin kept there.
Gripping it like a spear, she tiptoed down the hall.
The tapping sound was coming from her cousin’s bedroom.
The door was cracked, and she peered inside.
Ramón’s bed was unmade, stacks of tax documents covered his nightstand, and a pair of his socks had been left on the floor, but none of that seemed unusual.
The hinge creaked as she ventured into the room.
She paused in front of the closed bathroom door.
A light was shining through the gap underneath.
A shadow moved on the other side, and water trickled in the sink.
Someone was in there.
Vero crept closer, her broom poised to strike.
It was now or never.
She reached for the knob. As her hand closed around it, the door swung open, yanking her off her feet. She stumbled into the bathroom, colliding with a wall of firm, wet flesh.
Vero blinked at the V on the dewy chest in front of her.
Her eyes climbed higher. One side of Javi’s face was covered in shaving cream, the ends of his ink-black hair dripping onto the towel around his neck.
She was afraid to look down to see if he was wearing another one.
And then she did. And then she closed her eyes because naked Javi was every bit as spectacular as she’d remembered.
“You couldn’t have locked the door?” she sputtered, trying and failing to look anywhere else.
She could have sworn she saw him grin in the circle of fog he’d wiped from the mirror as he leaned toward it and dragged a razor over his neck. “If it bothers you, you’re welcome to wait outside.”
She lowered the broom, suddenly aware of how tightly she was gripping it. “What are you doing here?”
“No shower at the garage,” he said, tapping his razor against the edge of the sink and rinsing the blade.
“So you had to come here?” Seeing Javi again was painful enough.
Seeing him in a state of undress was a unique form of torture she might never recover from.
He splashed water over his face. She sucked in a breath as he turned toward her, groping for the towel on the rod behind her.
He mopped his face with it before wrapping it loosely around his waist.
“Your cousin said I could come as long as your car wasn’t here.
It wasn’t. Neither was his.” His eyes made a slow pass over her.
Her skin warmed as that last observation sank in.
She was wearing his sweatshirt. He was naked and wet.
They were alone in a very small bathroom, and he smelled like body wash and shaving gel and every fantasy she’d had for the last ten years.
She glanced at the door. It was open, right there, her exit unobstructed. If she wanted out, she knew he wouldn’t stop her.
They moved in a slow, awkward dance around each other.
She felt her backside brush the vanity. His dark eyes twinkled as he took a step toward it, backing her against it as he reached around her to open the mirrored cabinet.
He took out his aftershave, and her mouth went dry as she watched him apply it.
“These are new,” she said, shamelessly staring at the tattoos on his biceps.
Javi had had a handful of tattoos the last time she saw him, but now he was a canvas.
He was covered in bright, bold sleeves of ink that started just above his wrists.
Candy-colored skulls and crosses and thorny red flowers wound over his arms like ivy, and flames licked the sides of his neck.
But there was only one tattoo on his chest. Only one close to his heart. She didn’t want to think too deeply about the reason for that.
He braced a hand on the vanity beside her and leaned in again, his face inches from hers as he returned his aftershave to its shelf. She was eighteen all over again, standing close to him in a tiny bathroom, her mouth sweet with cake frosting, her body aching.
His thumb grazed the strip of bare skin above her waistband, lifting the hem of his sweatshirt a slow, torturous inch. His gaze slid to her lower back in the mirror.
“What about you? Is this still the only one?” She shivered as his thumb made another pass just below the dimple there, tracing the top of the J.
She’d been eighteen the night they’d gotten their matching tattoos.
He had tried to talk her out of it, but she’d been determined, and when she’d hopped rebelliously into the tattoo artist’s chair, Javi had insisted on getting one, too.
It had been the summer before she’d left for college, the night after they’d consummated their relationship on a blanket in the woods down the street from her house, under the same tree they used to sit under after school when they were kids.
Of course the J was still there, that small piece of him etched permanently into her.
But that didn’t mean she’d never regretted it.
She ducked out from under his arm, feeling the color rise in her cheeks. “I’m not stupid enough to repeat my mistakes.”
“Is that what we were to you? A mistake?”
“ I wasn’t the one who walked away,” she reminded him. She waited for him to say his leaving had nothing to do with her. But Javi had never lied to her, and it seemed he wasn’t about to start now.
She grabbed the broom and stormed around him out of the bathroom, down the hall to the kitchen. A dirty frying pan had been left on the stove, and she tossed it in the sink, turning the water on high, feeling a need to scrub the shit out of something. Or hit him in the head with it.
She was just warming up, getting ready to tackle the stubborn coffee stains on the counters, when Javi came down the hall in a pair of low-riding jeans, dragging a snug black T-shirt over his head.
It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to stare at him.
If she scrubbed any harder, she’d strip the Formica off the counter.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he took a cruller from the bag.
“Eating my breakfast.”
“That’s Ramón’s.”
“Ramón isn’t here.”
“The fact that you are here doesn’t entitle you to his food.”
“And the fact that you’re here doesn’t entitle you to my bed, but as long as you’re sleeping in it, the least you can do is let me eat a damn donut and have a hot shower in peace.”
She didn’t have an answer to that. She turned her back on him as he poured himself a cup of coffee as black as her mood.
“How long are you planning to stay anyway?” he asked around a mouthful of donut.
“Why do you care?”
“Because I’d like to know how long I’ll be stuck sleeping in your cousin’s office.”
“I’ll be gone as soon as I get my first paycheck.”
She heard Javi set down his mug. Could feel his eyes on her back. “Paycheck? What happened to your scholarship? I thought the university was paying for everything.”
It was too late to stuff the cat back in the bag. Javi and Ramón didn’t keep secrets from each other, which meant the conversation she’d been putting off with her cousin was sure to happen the minute he got home. “There is no scholarship. Not anymore,” she said bitterly.
Javi leaned on the counter beside her, studying her face. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Does Ramón know?”
“No, and neither does my mother, so do me a favor and keep your big mouth shut.”
“Are you okay?” She knew that tone. Knew that she could scream and holler and spew out horrible things to him in a flash of hot temper, and his voice would only get softer.
Because he knew she was not okay. She was scrubbing toilets in a bank.
She was hiding from the police. She was sleeping on her cousin’s couch.
She was far, far from okay. “V, look at me.” He took the sponge from her and tossed it in the sink.
He dipped his head low, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “What happened?”
Her throat closed around the words. She turned away so she wouldn’t start crying. “I dropped out of school.”
Whatever he had expected her to say, it hadn’t been that.
“Why?” His jaw tensed when she didn’t answer.
“I fucking knew it,” he said through his teeth.
“Was it him? That guy from the garage the other night?” He started pacing, raking his damp hair back from his face like it might help him think.
“You know you don’t have to go through this alone, right?
Ramón and I… we’ll help. Whatever you decide to do, V…
whatever you need, we’ll be there for all of it.
Fuck that asshole! I should have broken both of his legs while I had the—”
“Jesus, you too? I’m not pregnant, Javi! I didn’t come here because of some stupid boy!” If she was going to throw away her future for a boy, it would have happened three years ago.
Javi sagged, putting a hand to his chest like he could finally breathe. “Then why’d you quit school? Ramón said you were doing really well. That you joined some sorority and you were really happy.”
“I just did, okay?” She had been really happy, right up until she wasn’t.
“Okay,” he said quietly. For a long moment, neither one of them spoke. “So… you’re staying?”
“Only until I can find my own place. Then you can have your couch back.”
“It’s yours, for as long as you need it.”
She nodded, once. She wasn’t sure what was harder: being around Javi when he was on her last nerve or when he was being sweet.
“Do you need anything else?”
She shot him a look.
“I didn’t mean it like that, V. I just meant, I can spot you a few hundred, if it’ll help. You can pay me back when you’re on your feet.”
“I don’t need your money,” she said curtly.
He held up his hands in surrender, the perfect picture of bad boy innocence.
The hotheaded rebel who’d shown her how to throw a punch, had taught her how to drive before she legally could, and had gratefully and thoroughly stripped her of her virginity when she’d offered it was the same boy who’d give her the shirt off his back, no questions asked.
Another thought occurred to her. She might not need Javi’s money, but she did need something else.