“It’s the b-best fundraiser the center has. We run it once a year, and this year we’re hoping to earn enough to g-get additional resources. Plus, I like t-to run.”
“I’ll be there, too, though I don’t know if I’ll be running yet. Mostly I’m trying to get an idea of all the center does and means to people.”
Something in my chest stirred. “It means a lot t-to the kids who c-come each day. S-sometimes it means food if they don’t have enough. Or a friend when there aren’t any at s-school. It is a place that’s s...s-safe, and kids need one place they c-can let their guard down.”
His eyebrow arched as he looked at me. “You sound like you have a lot of experience. Is it just from volunteering?”
“Not just,” I said, but looked away. “But the center is running on a s-shoestring budget. It’s hard t-to get visibility. S-so the race is one part of it.”
“Well, now I get why Mike is so intense about the rebranding.” Gordo sighed. “This is a big project for me. I’m hoping I can get good word of mouth and networking from it.”
“B-but don’t you have a job already?”
“Oh, yeah, I’d been at a firm for years. But those hours could be crazy, and I didn’t want a nanny to raise Giuliana. I’m her dad, and it’s important that I’m there for her, no matter what she needs. So if I can get some clients from working with the center, I can keep building my own business. It’ll be a lot of work, but work that I can do from home, with the flexibility I need to take care of her.”
When he spoke of it, Gordo’s voice took on a dreamy lilt, but I felt like I had snakes in my guts listening to him. What would it have been like to grow up with a parent like him? How different would I be if my dad hadn’t overdosed and my mom hadn’t run away from the responsibility of me after?
“That’s awesome,” I said, mentally kicking myself for such a banal reply.
“What about you?” He pointed his fork at me. “Mike said you volunteered at the center and… was it that you’re an artist?”
I blushed. “T...t-tattooist. I work at Get Ink’d downtown. I’ve been d-doing it since I was a little older than t-twenty.”
“I love looking at tattoo art,” Gordo said with complete sincerity. “A lot of the patterns we’re naturally geared to recognize. It was some of the first ways we had storytelling as a species.”
I could have swooned. It was rare to hear someone who wasn’t in the scene speak with such love about the art—or really, who treated it like art in the first place.
He went further by saying, “I’d love to see your work sometime.”
While I knew he meant my portfolio, I couldn’t help but think about the ink all over my body—and for a second, I heard him asking to see it. All of it. Heat pooled in my belly, and I refocused all my attention on eating.
“I’d love t-to show you. And t-t-to see what you’re thinking about for the center.”
Talking was coming easier with Gordo. Too easy, really, especially after our disastrous start. I didn’t get close to people quickly. In fact, the crew at Get Ink’d were the only people I’d ever really let in. But Gordo was sexy and smart. He was naturally empathetic, leaning into the conversation with insight that spooked me as much as encouraged me to open up.
He was my neighbor and way too good for me, and I knew that Gordo would never be truly interested in someone like me, not long-term.
But maybe, I thought as we talked and ate, we could at least be friends.
9
Gordo
It was nice for once not to have to rush to take care of Giuliana after dinner. Javi had offered to clean up, which impressed me, but I asked him to take Giuliana to the living room and give her a final bottle before bedtime, instead. It felt huge to ask him to do something so intimate with her, but he’d beamed like I’d given him winning lottery tickets. And I needed a moment to myself.
In the kitchen, I scrubbed the dishes in tight circles, letting the warm, sudsy water prune my fingers. It was repetitive and it was comfortable. And most important, it allowed me a moment to process everything that had happened since I got home.