Sol (Love in Translation Book 1) Page 11

  Yoga practice didn’t always make me feel good, but it was all I had. When my life got fractured, spending time paying attention to my body made me whole again. Although it was hot, I went through the motions of lighting incense. When I went to light a candle, the match sparked out of control.

  Kind of like my emotions this week.

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I settled on the mat and focused my attention on the air going in my nose and down my throat. The years of practice helped me, helped my racing brain to stop spinning around on ideas like a merry-go-round and letting them go.

  Was this a form of bolting too? Was I leaving by being present?

  The summer night breeze touched my bare shoulder through the window. After breathing in and out for a few cycles, I began a series of movements, reaching up, bending my body down into forward fold, plank, cobra, and lunge.

  The movement got my blood going and my focus on my body, not the uncomfortable thoughts I’d been having. Perspiration beaded on my brow. After a few rounds of sun salutations, I shifted to triangle pose, feeling strong and grounded. Centered.

  Being here now, I could do this. I could stay. My toes scrunched into my mat, my body stayed here and so did my mind. But then I moved to a pose called wild thing. Leaning back, almost like a backwards push-up with my arm extended, it opened up my heart, my chest space. Suddenly, a sob migrated to my throat.

  Not again.

  Tears ran down my face unchecked. I collapsed to the floor on my back, whimpering yet again. Why did this pose make me cry?

  I wiped my tears on the back of my hand and I realized in the dark, lit only by a candle, that I was lonely. So very, very lonely. I’d spent so long running, that the second I decided to slow down and look around, my past caught up to me. My parents had died. My brother was dead. I had no close friends but Louise.

  Trent had dredged up all these things.

  I texted Louise.

  Can you come over?

  No one in Spain went to bed early. She called me immediately. “Dani? What is it?”

  I wanted to tell her everything. How I missed my parents and missed my brother. How much I longed for them. The crushing feeling of solitude and abandonment that came over me during my yoga practice.

  But I couldn’t do it. I croaked out, in a raspy voice, “I need you.”

  The tone of her voice registered concern. “Give me ten.”

  When she stepped in the door, I hugged her so hard. Her curvy body comforted me, and she let the tears come with no questions asked. After I soaked through her bright blouse, she retrieved more tissues and held me some more.

  “I miss my brother.”

  “I know, sugar.”

  “It’s too hard to be here. I don’t want to resign. But it really hurts to stay. And I feel so alone. You’re the only one I have.”

  Her eyes met mine. “You’ve always been the one to leave a note on the bedside table, letting others find you.”

  “Maybe I want to be found, now.”

  Once my sobs subsided, we lay in my bed. I fell asleep with her stroking my hair.

  The next morning, Louise and I breakfasted together, then she went home, and I hiked up to the Alhambra for a field trip, meeting about ten of my students, including the one who made my heart thump.

  The incredibly ornate and ancient Alhambra was a Moorish castle with winding pathways and leafy alcoves separating the buildings—or what remained of the buildings. Someone with Boho style like me would want to move in before you could say, “Om.” Fountains flowed through the living areas, which, when furnished with bright tapestries and tufted cushions, had certainly been the scene for seduction.

  Hundreds of the thousand and one nights took place here, but I wanted at least one. With him.

  “Observe,” the guide said, circled by my students, who interpreted her statements to each other in quiet tones. Trent leaned against a wall by me, cool and collected, sheltered by the trees in the park. As usual, he’d dressed in a yummy gray fitted T-shirt and jeans, smelling clean from the shower. I wore a sleeveless, white eyelet dress with a dark leather belt and sandals. My elbow accidentally, on-purpose grazed his, and he held me with his steady eyes.

  “A little-known fact is that the Alhambra was incredibly modern. Heated water ran through the walls, making it comfortable for the residents on cold nights.”

  Even though our walk was in the heat of the day, all I could think about was getting comfy with Trent. Especially those abs of his. Goddamn.

  The guide continued talking, but I barely paid attention, zeroing in on Trent’s burly forearms just inches from mine. “Notice the site of this fortress. It is built on a hill so it’s defensible. There are rivers on two sides and a forest behind it, an excellent strategic location. Nothing can get to it. The people who lived here long ago could live in comfort and peace, knowing that they had natural fortifications that protected them from getting hurt.”

  I knew something about building a fortress around myself so I wouldn’t get hurt. Two rivers down below, a thick forest to the back, and a castle on top? Sounded good to me.

  Too bad that defensive strategy didn’t work in my real life.

  Trent nudged me and smiled. Was he thinking the same thing? That the fantasy world I lived in was under attack? By him?

  No. I looked in the direction of his gaze. A young couple made out on a park bench. She straddled him, fully-dressed, while he kissed her like no one was watching. Since so many young people lived with their parents in Spain due to the economy, this was the only way many couples could get some privacy—out in public.

  Still, it was hot as hell seeing them. I warmed between my legs and daydreamed about pushing Trent down on a park bench and straddling him.

  Kissing the hell out of him.

  The class had moved on, but I was staring, transfixed, at the couple. The guide cleared her throat.

  Oops.

  I wiped perspiration from my brow. Jeez, I was getting worked up.

  Four years was way too long to wait for another kiss from Trent.

  Following the guide, I stayed in the back, hearing the tour of the interconnected buildings of the Alhambra, but not listening. My thoughts were only of him.

  Dammit, he always distracted me.

  When we finished, I said, “Everyone who came will get extra credit for attending the tour.”

  The students exchanged pleased glances.

  “As an option, if anyone wants to keep going with me, I’m going to walk up to the Generalife gardens and tour the famous fountains. You are excused for the day, though.”

  “Ciao, profesora,” said Gustavo. I found it funny that Spaniards used Italian slang. “Thanks for the tour.”

  The class dispersed, but Trent stayed behind.

  “Do you want to keep going?” I asked. And I meant more than just walking up the hill. I meant going with whatever this was we were pursuing. I had no idea if he knew that, but I loved his answer.

  “Absolutely.”

  We hiked up the hill, passing all sorts of clandestine spots. Little garden benches. Fountains. Vistas of Granada.

  Why had I pushed him away before? I was done with that. I wanted him.

  “I wonder what people have been doing here all these centuries?” he asked, when we stopped to behold the grand view across the way to the Albaicín.

  His perfect lower lip pouted in the sunlight. Slight stubble roughed up his chin. His golden hair fell into his eyes. And his broad chest was right there, right in front of me.

  And then he smiled. Was that an invitation?

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I answered his question.

  “Probably something like this.” And I reached up, pulled down his head, and kissed him.

  Fuck.

  I. Kissed. Him.

  I couldn’t help it. I knew he wanted to wait, to make sure I wanted more than his body, but with him right here? I needed him.

  How had his kiss changed in four years?


  As soon as I did it, I got scared that I shouldn’t. But I needn’t have worried. Because while I started it with a gentle touch, he immediately took over, his arms clasping me tight. His tongue swiped inside my mouth, and I tasted fruit punch Mentos. His hands slid down to grip my ass, and he set me up on a low wall, just like all those years ago in the pizza parlor.

  Then my hands were in his hair, tugging it, pulling me to him like I was devouring him from the inside. I ravaged his mouth, giving him everything I could.

  I pulled back. “I’m sorry, Trent. I know you said you wanted to wait.”

  “Don’t be sorry for kissing me. I’d always be kissing you if I could.”

  12

  Trent -- Tortilla

  I wouldn’t say that my memory of our first kiss was nothing—far from it—but this new one made it seem so insignificant. As I cradled her chin with my fingers, I wanted time to stand still.

  Alluring Dani, with light hair wild like a free-form cloud on a blue summer’s day, held on to me. I pressed my lips against hers again.

  The Alhambra was my new favorite thing.

  Honey-mint lip gloss was now my new favorite thing.

  Letting her kiss me was my new favorite thing.

  Our first kiss didn’t have a pulse anymore since it was just a memory. No taste. It didn’t move. I couldn’t make it go on and on. After reliving the memory of our only other kiss so many times over the past four years that I could’ve recited every single detail in my sleep, a new one filled my heart with bliss. I’d happily kiss her every chance I got, this real taste of her so much more sensuous, filling, and satisfying than what I’d carried with me for so long.

  Time to replace the old memory with new experiences.

  As our tongues touched again, hidden away in the secluded Alhambra gardens, I found myself focusing on nothing but the here and now. Her body seated on the wall, tangled around mine. Frantic breaths from both of us. A little bead of sweat on her collarbone. The way my dick pressed against my zipper reminding me of the blue balls of the last four years.

  Even though I turned her down last night, should I let her do more?

  I wanted to.

  But would I be selling out if I let myself be her fuck boy? If that was the only way she’d let me have her?

  Yes. I would. It mattered to me that we had something real, something that mattered. After all these years of lusting after her, I wasn’t gonna settle for being just a convenient fuck. That’d make me hate myself even more than I already did.

  The loud voices of a group of tourists walking up a nearby path carried over to us.

  “It’s way too dangerous to be doing this in public,” I murmured into her ear.

  She nodded. “Yeah.” Her chest was moving up and down. I kissed the top of her hair and held her to me, wrapping my arms around her narrow shoulders.

  We didn’t move.

  Another group came by.

  We stayed put.

  “Dani,” I said. “I think we need to go.”

  She kept her ear to my chest. “You’re so comfortable. Is it weird that I miss you in the hours that I don’t see you?”

  My heart leapt up and cheered. I didn’t want to read too much into it, so I just shook my head with a grin. “No.”

  “What is happening to me?” she asked. “I shouldn’t be doing this with you—doing anything with you—and yet, I can’t help myself.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I know the feeling.” Then I held both of her shoulders. “You feel it too, though, don’t you?”

  She snuggled her nose into me. “I almost called you last night.”

  “You should have.”

  “I don’t have your number.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Here.” She opened up her phone, and I entered my number. Then I called myself from her phone and entered her name next to the number.

  Finally.

  “Want to come over for dinner tonight at eight?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’d just like to talk. That’s all.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  We both looked around. “I think the coast is clear,” she said.

  “Why don’t I let you go first? I’ll follow. That way we won’t be seen together.” That way I could watch her cute ass.

  “Okay,” she whispered. Reaching up a finger, she ran the tip of it down my cheek. “See you tonight.”

  Still, as I watched her dance down the hill, it was tempting to say, just this once, my God, couldn’t I get what I want? A naked night with her?

  No.

  My discipline clicked in place. I’d keep my vows. All of them: I swore to find her, I swore to keep her safe, and now I swore I wouldn’t be with her until it was real.

  She was testing me, though. More than any test a teacher would give was the one she gave me outside of class. The one asking me to find all the places that would make her writhe in pleasure.

  When I rang the bell of her apartment at eight o’clock that night, showered, shaved, and clean, holding a bouquet of white Gerbera daisies and a bottle of Rioja, she buzzed me in immediately. I was still getting used to these late hours in Spain. Restaurants didn’t even open for dinner until nine.

  I climbed the four flights of stairs to her attic apartment, and knocked on her heavy wooden door decorated with black iron fittings. She wrenched it open and stood before me wearing a sundress with a neckline cut down so I could see her belly button.

  Oh jeez, keeping my vow would be really, really hard, when temptation was right here.

  She lifted up her face, and I kissed her. I wasn’t gonna take any kiss with her for granted. This one was sweet and slow, eyes dialed into each other. As I awkwardly wrapped my arms around her, arms laden, I learned that the navy blue dress was backless.

  Double fuck me.

  This woman would be my toughest challenge. “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi.” Then she gave me the full-on Dani smile, wide and open-hearted, and said, “Come on in.”

  I handed her the flowers and stepped inside. “These are so pretty!” she said, and went to find a vase. Quiet, old jazz played behind her. I liked it. I liked the way her long skirt swished around her ankles, draping to the floor, like it had a mind of its own.

  “I brought you a red wine,” I called, as I peered out every window, checking for danger. Damn habits. “I didn’t know which one to pick, so I stood in the store until I saw someone else buy one, and then bought the same one.”

  She emerged with the flowers in a hand-painted pitcher and two wine glasses. “That’s actually a great way of choosing a wine.”

  So. Much. Skin showing. All the way down her front. Her little tits were covered, but everything else? Not so much.

  Damn.

  I set the bottle on the counter. “Are men allowed to pour wine?”

  “Yep.” She handed me a corkscrew. “I hope you like a tortilla.”

  I cocked my head to the side, as I cut off the foil on the wine, latching onto the distraction so I didn’t embarrass myself with a hard-on. “Sure.” Was that what we were having for dinner?

  She giggled. “Not a flour tortilla. A Spanish tortilla. It’s an omelet with potatoes.”

  “Oh, okay. Sounds good.”

  With a pop, I managed to get the cork out and poured us two glasses of wine. We sat at the tiny table in her kitchen, set for two, with the omelet and a salad and some fresh bread.

  She and I gathered at the table to enjoy a simple meal together. We hadn’t done this since we were kids. We’d never done it just the two of us. I could do this the rest of my life.

  Not like I could tell her that. So all I said was, “Thanks for having me over.”

  “My pleasure. Salud,” she said, and clinked her glass with mine.

  “Salud.”

  I took a bite of her cooking, and tasted the way the simple dish was perfectly cooked and flavored. “This is good.”

  Dani took a bite. “Oh, y
ay! It worked. It was a new recipe to me, but it sounded good.” As usual, her enthusiasm for life won me over. Again and again, she always made me want to live. To explore new places. Try new things.

  “Thank you for making it.”

  She put her fork down. “Trent. Don’t be so formal. It’s me. Dani. I know we got off to the worst start here that we possibly could. But I’ve done some soul-searching. And I’d rather have you in my life than not—and I’ve always liked you. We have some things to talk about, but relax. Here, you aren’t my student, and I’m not the teacher. We’re just old friends.”

  Friends. I hated that word. I’d take it, because it was better than enemies. But I thought I heard her whisper, “Maybe more.”

  “So tell me where we should go while I’m here.”

  “The Med, definitely,” she advised. “Get to the water.”

  “Will you come with?”

  “Sure.”

  Was she agreeing because she loved to travel? Or was she agreeing because she wanted to spend time with me?

  I didn’t care.

  For now, I enjoyed her cooking. She ate food like it was the last thing on her mind, instead peppering me with questions about the trip over, about what I did in the army. And I asked her about her past few years.

  She pushed her hair back. “I always travel a lot. It’s like I need to see everywhere. It’s all on my list. Seeing every part of the world. I just love taking off and discovering a new place.”

  And that was my fear. That she’d just take off from here and I’d never see her again. I wondered how many places she’d actually been.

  “Where all have you been? Can I see your passport?”

  She set down her fork and got up, rummaged through a purse, and came back and handed it to me. Pages and pages of stamps in the back. Her picture, a few years old, looked just like her—messy hair, black-rimmed eyes, and seductive lips.

  I handed it back to her, wishing that I could ask her about every stamp, every country, wanting to know every single detail about her so I could know her all that much better. “Mine is nowhere near as exciting.”