hand, if Angel disagrees and wants to get physical, that’s fine with me as long as it clears the air. I’d prefer not to have to go a few rounds wearing Brioni…but I have more suits in my closet.
The city air is cooler than Tempérane. And the lack of humidity is refreshing. Louisiana is always sweltering—unbearably or tolerably, depending on the time of the year.
I start toward my car. I take only a few steps before seven men stuffed with excellent Mexican food and wine surround me. Mean, testosterone-heavy aggression pours from their wide, vibrating bodies. I suppose the myth about full bellies making men happy is false.
“Hello, gentlemen,” I say calmly. Then I turn to Rinaldo as something occurs to me. “I wanted to ask but forgot with all the excitement at the dinner. Why are you named Rinaldo? It’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”
Jo’s cousin’s belligerence deflates a bit. “Oh. Yeah. I got named after a pastor who was real nice to my parents.”
“Rinaldo.” Hugo pins him with an evil look.
“Oh, right.” Rinaldo glares at me, raising his belligerence level back to where it was. “Stop trying to distract us. Our parents can pick whatever names they want!”
“Of course,” I say. Perhaps her brothers should get one good swing at me and get it over with. I might do the same if I still had a sister. Pain stabs into my heart at the thought, but I shove it away fast. This is about Jo and her family.
Diego rolls his neck and breathes out heavily. “I can’t believe you got her pregnant.”
“She’s a good girl, you know,” Jorge adds.
Pablo jabs his index finger in my direction. “That’s like taking candy from a baby.”
“What are you going to do?” Rafael demands.
Her oldest brother’s question surprises me. Were they not paying attention earlier? “The right thing. I’ll marry her and provide for our child. I’ll be a good father.” I’ll do everything in my power to do exactly that.
“Forget it, man. She doesn’t love you,” Hugo says, shaking his head.
“And you don’t love her, either.” Angel moves as though he’s about to spit at me, but stops short. “Dick.”
I swallow a sigh and refrain from shaking my head at how they’re muddying a perfectly good offer with emotion. “It’s better we aren’t overly emotionally involved. It would complicate our lives.”
“Complicate?” Rinaldo says, bristling.
“I’m gonna spell it out for you, bro,” Rafael says with the entitled authority typical of an oldest sibling. “You better fall in love with her and marry her. Jo deserves a good man who worships the ground she walks on.”
Dramatic much? How much did he really drink?
“Yeah. What he said.” Pablo places his hands on his hips and thrusts his head forward. But the tie ruins the effect.
Angel cracks his knuckles. “We’re going to postpone the ass kicking for the moment. I’m sure our parents want more than one grandkid.”
I almost laugh at the ludicrous logic. I suppose nobody told them that people are perfectly capable of procreating without a functional ass. No wonder their immediate first response when I said Jo was pregnant was that she’s a virgin.
Still, I keep that to myself. Required for procreation or not, I’m rather fond of my ass as is, and I’d rather not be limping when I speak to Jo after her parents are finished with her.
Chapter Eighteen
Jo
I walk through the restaurant, past all the happy diners and cheery Mexican music. Becky smiles.
“Heading home?”
I muster a smile in return. “Yeah. Have a good night.”
“You too!” She leans closer. “When you get a chance, you have to tell me about that hottie in the suit. He’s the best guy you’ve ever brought here. You shoulda told me he was your man, so I wouldn’t have tried to stop him from joining the dinner.”
My smile grows wan. I don’t want to discuss Edgar with Becky, so I just give her a noncommittal nod and head out before she can add anything else.
What would she think if I told her I didn’t invite him to the dinner? That he just barged in to announce he got me pregnant? Would she gasp at his balls or sigh and tell me to go for him because he’s a “hottie”? Becky seems very good at picking men. She’s engaged to her college sweetheart.
I don’t have a college sweetheart because I never went, but my high school sweethearts didn’t work out. Things always fizzled within about four months, at the most.
Wow. Put that way, I realize