“Take it outside,” the Lincoln’s guy put in.
“What’s going on?” Ava asked from behind me.
“Hector let him go,” I ignored Ava and got closer to Hector.
Hector didn’t let him go and the man’s face started getting red or more red.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d have a shit fit. Christ. I’m sorry, okay?”
Hector gave him a good, old, scorching glare and then stepped back with another solid push while letting go.
Then he turned The Scorch to me and ordered, “Get our shit. We’re gone.”
I thought my best move at this juncture was to “get my shit” and pronto. Which I did.
I grabbed my purse and waved good-bye to Ava and, a bit more hesitantly, Luke. Hector was bent over, nabbing the helmets out from under the table as I saw Natalie walk by, her face pale, her eyes on me. I could swear she mouthed the words, with the barest whisper of sound, “I’m sorry, I was wrong,” and then she hurried away when Hector straightened.
I didn’t have a chance to process this. Hector tossed me my helmet, I caught it, he moved in, his arm curled around my neck and he guided me firmly out to the bike.
“Maybe you should calm down before we get on the bike,” I suggested when we stopped by his motorcycle and he took his arm away.
Hector’s eyes sliced to me. “Next time we go out, I’m not bein’ the nice guy and backin’ down. You’re gonna put on the f**kin’ tank.”
My eyes bugged out.
How did this get to be about me?
“Now this is about me?” I asked.
“You came up behind me, I smelled your perfume. You heard him talkin’ about you. So yeah, it’s about you. This whole f**kin’ thing proves my f**kin’ point,” he shot back.
“That’s very bizarre logic, Hector Chavez.”
“It makes perfect sense to me.”
“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t be seeing me then,” I returned. “Perhaps you should be seeing someone else that people won’t talk about. How about Natalie? I met her tonight at the bar. She seems like a nice girl. No, wait, you’ve already f**ked her!” I yelled.
Hector got close, I could feel his fury, I didn’t have to see it and I retreated until I felt bike.
“Dios mio,” he hissed. “Natalie. That’s why you looked like someone ran over your puppy when you came back to the table.”
“Heck yes!”
“What the f**k did she say?”
“To be careful of you, you were a dawg and that your dawg-ness was not ancient history, like I tried to tell her it was, since you nailed her six weeks ago.”
His hand went up, he tore his fingers through his hair then his hand dropped again to his side.
“And this pisses you off?” he asked, sounding now both furious and perplexed.
I opened and closed my mouth twice before shouting, “Yes!”
“I hate to break this to you, mamita, but I wasn’t a virgin our first time,” he told me sarcastically.
“Count back, Hector. Six weeks. Six weeks!” I yelled.
“Yeah? So?”