Some nights, p.5
Some Nights, page 5
I flinch like he threw cold water at me. Today may just be the day I hang up on the man named after two presidents.
"What? I can't believe you're comparing that bum to Aaron Judge."
"He's not a bum, Saona. Not all players need to be flashy, home run hitters. Some are scrappy who make things happen with small ball."
"Oh my Gawd, seriously? That’s not small ball. Your city is just trying to patch a winning team with choppy singles hitters."
He pauses mid-sanding-circle and turns around to glare at the phone screen. "I'm tired of you Yankees fans putting down our players. Just because we don't overload our teams with overpaid superstars and throw money at all our problems—"
"You would throw the money if your owner wasn't pocketing the revenue sharing proceeds."
He continues like I didn't say anything. "Small ball, grittiness and intangibles win games."
"No, those don't win games. They bore the opposite team to tears. That's how you probably win. ‘Intangibles’ is something people say when they don't want to admit their team gets lucky often."
He stands there frozen and I want to laugh because he's completely stunned.
"Whatever, man." He goes back to sanding circles on the wall he's prepping to paint.
I chuckle. “Don't be mad, just come to the dark side. It's so good here, with all the superstars, the pitching, the spending, Judge and Stanton in all their young-bodied glory." I smack my lips like I'm savoring. "Come on, Jax. It will be so good to win."
"The answer is no, but can you whisper in that tone when you're climbing all over me next time?"
The flutter in my belly is instant but I’m not jumping into a steamy conversation with him. I will have no alone time to relieve the ache until after my sister’s gone. "You're a sore loser."
"You're the one putting down my players' intangibles. Yankees fans are always pimping out your aura and mystique myth and the rest of us are supposed to believe."
Okay, he went too far this time. "First of all, aura and mystique are real. They show up during playoffs all the time with their winning money shots."
His lips curve into that sexy half smile that makes me tingle and ache. "Money shot is a porn term, sweetheart."
"I know." I give him a wink just as patronizing.
He leans toward the camera. "You watch porn? And here I thought you were a good girl."
He's so close I can see the speckles of gold in his eyes and almost feel the warmth of his entrancing mouth. I wet my lips. "Good girl, yes. But I'm not a prude."
I don't have to tell him that I used to do it in secret. David frowned upon that. He was probably afraid I would start getting ideas and asking him to get adventurous. If I got adventurous, he wouldn't have had an excuse to fuck women outside the house.
"I can attest to that. So, what kind of porn do you watch?"
"You want to compare notes or something?" I lean against my kitchen counter and as close to the phone as he seems to be.
He shakes his head. "No, because I bet you watch soft porn. The guy is some sort of millionaire prince who fake kisses and shit."
I tap my index finger to my bottom lip over my birthmark because it drives him insane. The man mentions it every chance he gets. "It's a sheik, actually."
"What does this sheik do that is so special?"
"He whisks women to his golden palace for long sessions on all the positions in the Kama Sutra and to master tantric sex."
His hands smooth over his stubble. "Interesting. You know, I can teach you all that and you don't have to fly that far."
Desire ripples over my belly. "Now you got me curious."
His smile melts over his lips like chocolate over strawberry.
"I'm a good teacher but a strict one. My methods are not the usual. I feel like students often need to be physically stimulated…"
My thighs rub together. "You mean spanking?"
His smile widens. "I was talking about fondling but, do you need a good spanking, Saona?"
A quiver of desire runs through my pussy because God, yes, spank me. Fuck me like last time.
The banging on the door has me jumping like we got caught in the act. My gaze bounces between it and that knowing smirk in his mouth.
"Gotta go, Sierra's here."
"Answer me first."
I bite my lip.
"Open the door, my hands are full."
"You know how impatient she gets. Tell me if you want me to spank you."
"I'll talk to you later." I turn around and wiggle my ass. I put an extra oomph in my step as I sashay away.
His groan reaches my ears right before I unlock the door. At least, I won't be the only one with an ache tonight.
Saona
I move around my kitchen, making drinks for us like I do twice every week but this is different. Sierra keeps playing with her hair and now has pulled it tight, away from her face. The heavy black eyeliner frames her eyes in a sexy and delicate look. She moves around my living room like it's the first time she's been here and not like the person who helped me pick out most of the pieces.
"Who were you talking to?"
My hands pause on the lime I just cut. I haven't told her about Jax. He's been my secret for almost three months now, because, what the hell is he exactly?
"Let me save you the lie you're about to tell me. I know it has to be a man and he's probably the one that keeps sending you the texts that make you giggle all the time but you won't share."
She's always been able to see right through me, which pisses me off. "I wasn't going to lie. His name is Jax."
"Like Sons of Anarchy? Does he live up to that name?"
I pour the Brugal into our tumblers and take them to the living room. I sit on one end of the couch and she takes the other. The game is playing on low on the big TV. She sips slow and stares at me, narrowed-eyed, like she's dissecting me. Since I was three and she was five, that look has made me fold and blab. It's not going to work today.
"I'll tell you about Jax later. You need to tell me what's wrong."
Her smile falters and she takes a second sip, a large one this time.
"Remember when you asked me how I stay with Edwin?" Her voice is foreign, like when she tells stories to her kids.
"Yes."
"He's been playing dad all day. I've been gone since early in the morning. I only went back for an hour to shower and kiss my babies and left again to come here."
I frown. My brother-in-law never spends that much time alone with their kids. Unless he has other reasons. "Tell me it's not what I'm thinking."
She laughs, "Of course it is. He's feeling guilty. This time it’s some chick in Yonkers. Every day he moves farther into the suburbs."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm used to this and years ago, I learned to get mine."
"What do you mean?"
Her face reddens a bit and she looks down at her hands. "Remember my old boyfriend Jose from Washington Heights?"
The Tiguere—our mother's Dominican word for hoodlum, hustler, hooligan or anyone who wasn't the dress-up or kiss-her-ass type—was the bad boy that drove Mom crazy until she pulled every stop to keep my sister away from him. "You're back with him."
"Nah, I'm just fucking him. And he’s the only one. I haven't slept with Edwin since the baby was born."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you are the good girl, Manita, the faithful kind. I didn't think you could understand and I was afraid that you would look at me different."
"I've never judged you." It's the truth. I’ve always envied my sister's personality, and her don't-give-a-fuck attitude.
"The first time he cheated, it hurt so bad. Remember? I wanted to kill him when he showed up at the hospital. I hated Mom for so long for stepping in and saying he had a right to be in the room when I wanted him gone. Thank God you were there."
Our mother has never fully recovered from the way Sierra chose me over her to be in the room when she gave birth. Edwin had to go stand in a corner, far from the bed.
"Why do you stay?"
"Because I let him in, again. And he knocked me up, again. Then I found out he was still cheating, again. I was four months pregnant and he came home smelling like her and with stains in his pants."
The rum curdles in my stomach. She's talking about it like it doesn't mean anything. The first time she'd been irate, broken so much stuff in her house, and chased him with a knife. Now there is nothing.
"I called Jose and he took me out to breakfast. We've stayed friends and I was too ashamed to call you. I couldn’t drink to drown my sorrows. He took me to his house and I let him fuck me on his couch. I needed someone to make me feel good and wanted."
She stares at the lonely ice in her cup and I get up and grab the bottle from the kitchen. I refresh the rum and squeeze more lime and do the same for mine.
"You probably think I'm a ho."
I take a sip of my drink and savor it. "Why? That's how I met Jax."
My sister's head snaps up. "What?"
"The day I found out about David and went to Baltimore. Remember you were joking about me picking up the bartender? It was actually a thing."
Her mouth drops open, her eyes narrow. "And you didn't tell me?"
"Everything got so complicated when I got back. But this is not about me. I wanted you to know that I can't judge you."
"You can. You left him. The minute you found out, your marriage was over. I stayed, like an idiot. I stayed and it became this fucked up shit. Every time I suspected him, I went back to Jose. I let him console me. I keep letting him do it instead of manning up and kicking Edwin's ass out."
"Why don't you?"
“The kids and the expenses. We are all on his health insurance. Can we send them to private schools and pay separate rents? I would worry all day if my babies went to public school.”
“You know I would help you—”
“Stop. I can’t do that to you. You already buy them the things we can’t afford. I’m so lucky you’re their aunt and Godmother but it’s not your job to help me support them.”
“I’m not married and I make more than enough.”
“Stop. Really. I can’t do this right now. Let’s change the topic.”
“Okay, fine. But you need to start thinking about yourself. How long can you live with this?”
“I know. I’m already thinking on it but not tonight. Take my mind off this. Tell me about your bartender.”
I fill her in on Jax. The day and the night job. She waits with rare patience before she pounces.
“He must have been that good since you’re still in touch, right?”
I want to keep a poker face and not give in but my muscles strain and the smile tickles at the corners of my mouth. “Very good.”
She leans in. “Better than David?”
His name sours my tongue. “David, who?”
It’s the most gracious thing I can say about the man who’s been making my life miserable. He’s contested the divorce, though he has no grounds. He won’t stop calling or texting, and worst of all, he’s gotten my mother in his corner.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that loser’s name up.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like I can forget about it. Every day he tries some new shit. Did I tell you he waited outside my job last week?”
“You got the taser, right?”
I nod.
Sierra makes a squeezing gesture with her hands as if she was holding the device. “Fry his balls if he gets too close.”
I will do it if I have to. “I just want to divorce him and never have to deal with him again.”
“Show me a photo of your boy-toy.”
She means Jax and though I shouldn’t, I reach for my phone. There’s a message from him which I try to ignore but can’t. It’s an open palm emoji. I know what that means. It’s an allusion to our conversation about spanking. I can see me naked over his lap and almost feel his big hands clashing with my flesh. A fresh wave of need flares through my core.
Sweet Niño Jesus.
I switch to photos and this is probably the worst decision of my day. The first image of him that comes up in my photos is the bed-head selfie he sent me on Sunday. I flip over to one of him at work. I shove the phone at my sister and she whistles low.
“Damn, Saona. ‘David, who’ is right. He’s hot. Is he packing?”
“Sierra.” I’m more bothered by the memories she just conjured—exactly how much he’s packing and how good he is at using that package—than by her nosiness.
“You can tell me.”
“No.”
“I know he is. That blush says it all.” She shoves the phone at me but she smiles again. “Don’t you go to Baltimore next week?”
My inner walls clench and release in anticipation.
“Yes.” I’m proud because I say the word calmly and not with the desperate need to be petted and stroked that is assaulting me.
My sister smiles like she can read my thoughts and I worry. Am I that transparent?
“We need to go shopping. A man that buff, who can obviously put it down, deserves some beautiful panties he can take off with his mouth or tear right off your ass.”
My jaw goes slack and Sierra grabs our glasses and heads to the kitchen.
“Don’t play innocent with me, Saona. I’m just pissed I had to wait three months to find out how dirty of a girl you’ve become. I’m going to refill our drinks and you’ll tell me everything about your hot little bartender.”
Oh God.
7
Jax
* * *
Shit.
I stare at my phone screen, willing it to tell me something different. It won’t. It will continue to torture me with the two hundred dollars if I let it. I lock the screen on my low bank account balance and place the phone on my lap. Fuck my bank, with their continued reminders of how broke I am. Fuck the plumbing issues that ate my extra cash. Fuck the love at first sight for this house, as Saona calls it. What the hell was I thinking when I sank all my money into this old house?
I take a swig of my beer and look around my first floor, looking for signs of my big mistake and validation is everywhere. The windows will need to be replaced before next winter. The kitchen has to be gutted and I’m not even going to think of the upstairs or the basement. But just then, my eyes are drawn like a magnet to the Herringbone floor and ping pong to the powder room I just finished. They look so good, better and more valuable than new floors.
It’s a reminder of what this house can be. I’m restoring her glory without taking her charm.
I’ll have to wait ’til next Friday to buy materials for the kitchen. It sucks. I guess I’ll get started on gutting it until I can buy the materials.
I pick up the phone again. This time, to text the manager at the bar. Any open shifts?
His reply is so quick he had to have been desperate. Tony had to go out of town. Mon through Fri all yours if you want.
He is desperate. Unfortunately, so am I, and I can’t turn even a day down. I’ll take them all.
I put the phone on my lap and go back to my beer and the slow inspection of tonight’s work. I’m sitting outside the powder room door. Saona’s advice of the royal blue walls and grayish blue ceiling had paid off. It looks different, like something you’d see in a fancy hotel. She has amazing taste. I think of it every time I stare at the floors. I wanted a slick polish. She’d argued the smoke stain finish would make it look sophisticated.
I wanted to tell her that it’s my house and my choice but she ended the argument with one single sentence. “If you indulge me in the library, I’ll show you my boobs.”
I wanted to scoff and say that wouldn’t work but, inside every man, there’s still that twelve-year-old boy that would do anything for a boob shot. So, I agreed and hand-to-heart swore and she showed me halfway. On the day I finished, three things happened: I fell more in love with the house than ever, I got to witness the sexiest, slow breast striptease, and I beat off three times to the bra on photos that followed.
All fucking worthy. I’m semi-hard just remembering but mostly I’m excited and I need her to see the powder room. I want her to know I listened and even though the woman can be impossibly smug, I want to see her face when I show her.
I tell myself not to bother her. I can tell her tomorrow. I can even just send her photos, but that won’t do. I want to talk to her.
I call her on FaceTime and she answers on the second ring.
“Hey.” She sits up on the bed.
“Did I wake you?”
She shakes her head. “I was watching TV and trying to fall asleep. It’s not working.”
She’s whispering and turning away from the bed.
“I know it’s late but I want you to see—” A movement behind her cuts me off. There’s definitely the outline of a body next to her.
Cold flashes through my chest. There’s a man in her house, in her bed. Is she fucking someone else? She didn’t mention she’s been seeing anyone but why should she? We’re not anything—
“Are you fucking kidding me, Saona? Go talk in the living room.” The voice is female and definitely annoyed.
Relief courses through my chest and I’m almost embarrassed for myself. It’s not even the jumping to conclusions, but what if she was seeing someone else? What the fuck, Jax?
Saona rushes out of the room. The door clicks closed and there’s a black blur on my screen and a few seconds later, she’s on her couch with the light on. “Sierra is staying over. She’s been drinking a lot so she’s bound to be a pain until she sleeps it off.”
I feel fucking weird now. “Did you have a lot to drink?”
“Not as much as her.” She smiles but it’s not her usual smile. The birthmark barely stretches and her eyes don’t look as bright. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s tired or sad?
“Are you okay?”
She blinks for a second as if my question surprises her. The little laugh is forced. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.”
But she just told me she can’t sleep. “Why weren’t you sleeping, then?”
