“Choose now, we shower here or we shower at your place,” he said, not breaking stride as he pulled me up the stairs.
We shower?
We?
“Hector –”
He turned unexpectedly and tugged me into the bathroom.
“We shower here. Ralphie and Buddy might be at your place, here, you can make all the noise you want.”
Noise?
I was going to make noise?
Why would I…?
Then it came to me.
Oh no.
“Hector –”
His hands went to the hem of the flannel, up and then it was gone.
“Hector!” I snapped.
His blazing eyes locked on mine. “Mamita, we don’t have a lot of time, don’t piss me off. Pissin’ me off is gonna take time.”
My mouth dropped open.
Then I snapped it shut.
“Don’t… don’t…” I stuttered then demanded to know, “Why are you angry?”
He put his hands to both sides of my neck, pulled me close and tilted his head down to look at me.
“I don’t know,” he replied sharply. “Maybe it’s because your first thought this morning was that anyone would think you were a murderer, even me. Fuck, you sat in my f**kin’ lap and swore to me you didn’t do it like I would think for one f**kin’ second that you would.”
“But –” I tried to cut in but he kept talking.
“Or maybe it’s because no matter what I do and what you do, you aren’t f**kin’ cluin’ into what’s happenin’ here.”
“And what, exactly, is happening here?” I shot back.
His eyes got dark (or, I should say, darker) and he said quietly, “Now you’re pissin’ me off.”
I threw my hands out to the sides, exasperated. “Why?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you payin’ attention at all?”
“Yes!” I snapped, totally over it and then I went straight into a rant. “But I don’t get it. Excuse me, Hector Chavez, but you saw how I grew up, you know! I’ve never been to a Family Meeting! I’ve never put on lip gloss in the restroom of a club with my girlfriends! I’ve never sat around a dinner table looking through photos and reminiscing! All this is happening while the Balducci brothers are assaulting and threatening me, my father is freaking me out and I’m having conversations with police detectives. Not to mention, you’ve decided not to ‘fuck around anymore’, whatever that means, and I have an opening tomorrow! So, if I’m a little slow, you’ll have to cut me some f**king slack, all right?”
Somewhere during my rant, Mr. Mood Swing decided he wasn’t angry anymore (really! how was I supposed to keep up with this guy?) and his face went soft, his eyes went so warm they were hot and his fingers drifted up into my hair.
As his head descended, he murmured, “All right, mi corazón, I’ll cut you some slack”
“Well, thank you,” I said, sounding snippy which was hard when his mouth had settled on mine.