CHAPTER 11
The warm water cascades down my skin as the shower does its magic. I rub my hair gently, my head tilted heavenward, letting myself lost into my world of bliss and sexy fantasy.
My God, I fucked him again!
First time was a mistake. But what about this time? I ponder. And yet my profligate, shameless face twists into a million roses smile at the marvel of Red's kisses and all the things he did to me earlier.
You're in deep trouble, Mia.
Fresh from the shower, I slip into the closet. I need something simple and homey to suffice my evening that’s just begun. Holy shit, I've got to cook dinner. The thought makes me wary and excited at the same time.
"What should I cook, huh?" I mumble while skimming through the hung up clothes in the open wardrobe. "And what should I wear?" I sigh, glad that my troubles right now are all sleazy and mundane.
I've casted aside all the bigger ones. I want to feel normal.
A red sundress draws my attention right away. Is it the color? I flush. Decidedly, I pluck it from the hanger. Spaghetti straps, thigh length, and loose— it's just perfect for my mood.
Red is still in his room. The kitchen is neat and well arranged, including the forsaken groceries. I wonder when Red cleared everything. I giggle at the sight of our crime scene. Oh boy!
"I miss you, too, but that's not the only reason I called. I want the recipe for that chicken grill you make," I whine into the phone, talking to my mom.
Sophie Diaz gasps loudly enough for me to hear. I roll my eyes while opening the fridge. So what if I'm famous for having a natural feud with the kitchen? A lazy girl can cook sometimes, come on!
"You want to cook, honey? Why? What have you done this time?" my mom asks mildly.
I hold the fridge door open, huffing. "What have I done? What do you mean?" Gosh, she can be so absurd.
"I mean, you only cook when every restaurant is closed, Mia. Or when you want to please someone. So have you fought with your husband and you're trying to make up with him through his stomach?" Mom probes, pretending to know it all.
I chuckle. I so miss her.
"None of that, Sophie." I proceed with my task, taking the ingredients out to start making my intended meal. "I just want to try making that delicious chicken only you can make."
"Hmm. Okay. Tell me what else you're making so that I can decide which recipe to give you," she says happily.
"Um . . . Baked potatoes and cucumber salad," I reply. Putting my phone into a louder speaker right on the breakfast table, I start moving here and there as I follow mom's instructions.
One hour later the chicken is well marinated, even though mom says it turns out best when left overnight. Well, I don’t have time for that. The smell is terrific as I lay every piece on the grill ready to cook.
"So that's it. Lana broke up with that potato-faced guy. Ugh, I'm so glad because she was seriously losing her mind. Can you imagine at that age she started going to club again?" Mom rants, and I giggle with delight.
"You don't say?" I start peeling the potatoes when imagining them as someone's face. Mom!
My mom and Aunt Lana are sisters and best friends. They're both single moms who raised their kids on their own. I grew up in the same home with Lana’s two sons, Marc and Derek. The five of us make our own little family.
I seriously miss them.
"So, you're not telling me what the occasion is?" My mom keeps prying after telling me all the important juicy gossip about everyone's life at home.
"I'll call you later, Mom. I'm taking this dinner very serious for my own needs and not for what you're busy imagining," I blurt, my hands busy.
"Hmm. Okay, I'm going!" she grunts, and I can imagine her pouty lips. "You didn't forget smearing some olive oil, did you? It's important for that golden brown crust. You should do it on the potatoes, too."
"Okay, Mom. Thank you, huh? I love you," I mutter, smiling fondly.
"I love you, too, baby. As long as you're happy, mommy is happy." Her voice is warm and amorous.
Ugh, that sentimental speech. I don't want to cry right now.
"Take care. Say hi to everyone. Will wire you some money when I return to Portland," I tell her.
"Forget about that, Mia. You have problems of your own, honey, so think of yourself only right now. We are okay here," Sophie rebukes.
Stubborn woman! I just smile, for I can tell it's genetic. My mom is so hard in accepting help unless it’s a matter of life and death.
"Yeah, yeah. As if I said I can't afford paying for my mom's health just because I'm broke. I'm sending the money and you're going to get that back checked," I snap quietly.
As I end the call Red is approaching silently. My gaze meets his when I head towards the sink to wash the chopped potatoes. Man, he's looking good: a simple T-shirt and a pair of washed out denim shorts.
"Hi. Need help?" he asks gently, smiling at me.
"Um, no. I'm good." I smile back, my breath taken away.
"You sure?" He eyes the mess I've created on the countertop.
Jeez! So chaotic here. I stifle a laugh. Will clean later.
"Yeah. Thanks for offering," I assure him.
"Okay. I think it's going to rain tonight," Red says ingeniously, and my eyes wander towards the window. It does seem cloudy and dark outside, all of a sudden. "I'll light up the fire in your bedroom," he adds.
Oh my! My poor, perverted mind. Lighting fire in my bedroom? Okay, focus, Mia!
"Sure." I nod, my heart content. Watching Red leaving, a soft sigh escapes me. "How will you survive this, Mia?" I puff out some air and proceed with the cooking.
Pinot Gris slides smoothly as Red pours it into our glasses. Looking me in the eyes, the fire in them a bit smoldering, he slides one glass to my side before taking a seat beside me. Why am I blushing?
"Thank you," I murmur and take a soft sip. Spicy and sweet— Hmm, so exquisite.
"No, I should thank you. The food smells nice." Red beams, watching his plate filled with everything I made.
I'm proud of the results.
"You're eating carrots?" I tease when he feeds on the cucumber salad I mixed with carrots.
"Because it's raw," he says, savoring the taste with clear delight. I bite my bottom lip. "I only hate it when it's cooked."
"Oh? I see." I hold my fork and knife, ready to try my yummy looking chicken.
"Wow, and I love the chicken," Red mutters, disbelief lacing his voice as he gazes at me. "You really know how to cook, Mia!"
Oh Mom! I smile indulgently.
"See? I told you so," I brag, taking a bite myself. Aw, the rosemary, the garlic, the lemon zest— holy hell, I can feel the flavors blending perfectly.
Red chuckles lightly, and it's definitely not Red the Bodyguard.
"Um, did you manage to reach that Thompson?" he asks after a short silence, his mood serious. My face turns cranky at the name. Discerning this, Red quickly says, "I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to—"
"No. It's a clear message that he doesn't want to work with me anymore," I reply, my appetite suddenly sunk, my eyes on my plate. "I guess I'll have to try a bank loan to see if I can cover the production costs to make another line; that is if my clients are still interested." I look up at him, sadly.
He's long stopped eating, his eyes tender on mine. "You're going to make the same designs? As the one burnt?" he asks, and he sounds deeply concerned.
"I guess. At the moment I can't even come up with something new. I'll have to sort out what can be salvaged among the loss I've incurred. My employees are what I'm fighting for. If I lose, if I give up, then some people will lose their jobs." I can't even imagine the horror.
"I see," Red utters with a nod and gets lost into thoughts. He doesn't say much, but I can tell how he wishes he could help.
"I know things will be fine in time." I try to sound positive, pulling him back to Earth. He smiles tightly. "More wine?" I ask him.
"Sure." He's not really into wine, and it makes me smile that he can probably finish the whole bottle finding it like a grape juice.
I giggle at the thought and he scowls at me.
"What's funny?" he asks while eating the baked potatoes, his eyes glowing amusedly.
"Nothing. Eat up; I want to wash the dishes and sleep. I'm very tired," I mutter, and from somewhere deep the yawn approaches.
What a day!
"I'll wash the dishes. Go to sleep when you're done eating," Red says and adds, "And thanks for the food. You're amazing."
I'm baffled, words stuck to my throat. No, he's amazing.
Dinner turns beautiful and Red is still easygoing. Will he remain like this even when we go back home? Will what we have right now continue even when the magic is over? I can't help thinking of our future as I watch him clearing the table.
I get up after gulping the rest of my wine. "Goodnight, Red." I'm suddenly filled with pure disquietude.
"Good night.” Red smiles softly, and I stop in my tracks before leaving the table.
I want to say something, but I don't know what it is. Sighing, I nod and slowly leave the kitchen. I find this situation a bit tricky. What am I to him? And what is he to me? We've gotten intimate twice by now, but what drives us into it?
"Is it lust?" I think out loud while banging my bedroom door shut and then lean against it.
But I've never desired any other man aside from Patrick. My husband has been always the center of my attention. But why have things changed upon Red's arrival in my life? Couldn't I desire someone else before?
No, this is driving me insane. I put it aside by reaching for the balcony doors and close them up. The wind rustles capriciously and I think the rain is indeed about to pour out. I change into a floor length, silky nightdress.
The minute I climb into bed it starts raining, heavily. Great! I'm glad there's enough warmth from the fireplace. I pull the duvet and hug myself. Now I can't stop thinking of him, so I hug the pillow tight, imagining him.
Some minutes pass as the downpour turns intense. I squeak sharply when it thunders out, flashing my entire room. Fuck, I hate lightning! I’m astraphobic. I bury myself like a child, closing my eyes. I'm not even sleepy damn it!
“Oh no!” I jump out of bed when it flashes the room like daylight, and then it roars deafeningly. “Red.” I’m going to stay with him downstairs.
As I open the door Red is standing outside it; he was about to knock, I guess. He's as surprised to see me, and I'm panting from my own demons. A grown up woman scared of thunder? No, I can't let him find out.
"What?" I bold up.
"Nothing. I wanted to ask if you need anything," Red says calmly, and I think he's sincere.
"Um . . ." I'm about to say no but I think it's a total lie. "There is but I think it's too much to ask."
How can I ask him to sleep with me? I want to lie in his arms. Jesus, what have I become? I narrow my eyes, flushed, and it thunders again, loudly, taking electricity with it. I hurl up into his arms.
“Oh my God!” I’m super embarrassed, my face buried onto Red’s chest, his arms tightened around me, and I think he can clearly tell that I’m a scared cat.
Silence envelopes us, the dankness pooled all over us, and I don’t want to move. Sighing soundly, Red whispers, “Sleep with me.”