Sombra Page 6

  My mother’s eyes cut to me. “The estadounidense is very pretty. Does she interest you, Tavo?”

  I swat at the air, not wanting to answer, but she’s very astute. Why did I think I could hide anything from her? She’s a bloody mind reader.

  Before I can respond, my brothers barge in catching the tail end of my mother’s words, banging the old kitchen door shut behind them and heading for the cabinets.

  “Is the American my age?” Antonio pours himself milk and dumps in powdered Cola Cao, clanging the sides of the mug with his spoon. Loudly. He likes his cocoa cold. Weirdo.

  I glare at him. “Leave her alone. She just got here. She doesn’t need you jumping all over her.”

  He holds up his hands like he’s fending off a bull. “Whoa. I think you like her.”

  “Tavo already has a woman.” Guillermo sits at the table, his arms crossed over his chest. His tone is off. Is he pissed at me? Is it because I’ve been brushing him off about the farm?

  “I don’t,” I say quickly. My mother’s lips flatten. Mierda.

  “You do. What about you and Sonia?” Guillermo’s issuing some sort of challenge. One I’m not gonna pick up.

  “Me and Sonia, nothing.” For real. Nothing.

  Now my mother’s the one with arms crossed over her chest.

  “I thought you liked Sonia,” says Antonio turning to Guillermo. “But she obviously likes Tavo better.”

  Guillermo’s hands are now fists. “She’s been stuck on Tavo forever. She says she’s too old for me,” he mutters.

  Ah. I didn’t know my little brother had it bad for our neighbor. No wonder he’s pissed. If they got together, it would solve everything, but apparently no one else goes along with that idea.

  Antonio drains the last of his glass. “I like older women. Sonia’s, what? Twenty?”

  I nod.

  “Well, you can’t have her. If she’s not Tavo’s, she’s mine.” Guillermo stands and turns to me. “Can I check the pH levels of the irrigation water?”

  “Yeah. Go.” I shoo him off, Antonio at his heels still teasing him about his crush on Sonia. I call after Antonio, “And stay away from the American.”

  “Do not encourage Guillermo. She doesn’t want him, and that will break his heart,” my mother whispers.

  “I know. I know.” I sigh. But what about my heart?

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket with a text. Mi madre bows out and leaves the room, and I check it. It’s from Trent Milner.

  ¿Mañana? ¿Bar Marueco?

  I run my hands through my hair, thinking of my James Dean friend. I met him a little over a year ago when he came to Spain last summer to find la profesora, Danika Anderson. Trent was the first American outside of relatives I ever got to know. I was so jealous of him, with the white T-shirts and the Levis and being an Army veteran.

  But he and I became good friends after that summer. We continued with the same classes last year, both studying to become interpreters. Normally, he speaks Spanish to me, and I answer in English, then we each fix the other’s language. I’d never be able to talk to Kim as well as I do without the extra year of practice with Trent.

  I text him back. Yes, tomorrow. I have the American student with me.

  Bien, nos vemos, he responds.

  Ridiculous butterflies run through my stomach. Ridiculous because it’s not like I’ve never been out with my friends before or to Bar Marueco. No. I’m just excited I get to have a date with Kim Brown.

  Assuming she’ll come after I ask her.

  She will.

  I pull out a glass and get a drink of water, then wash my glass and Antonio’s and set them in the drainboard. My mother taught us well. She bustles after us, but we don’t like to be a burden to her. I do my best to give her one less thing to do.

  Unless it has to do with Sonia.

  Wiping off my hands, I head off to my casita. My feet take me across the familiar ranch, but I’m viewing it with new eyes. The places where I used to play, where I learned to drive a tractor, where I had my first kiss.

  How will I show this to Kim? Will she find it interesting? Will she like it?

  For years I’ve wanted to leave this place. Now, for once, it’s attractive to stay.

  And thinking about the reason why I want to stay means I’m thinking about our interactions. As we drove, I watched her sleep, her pretty face serene. But then her nose crunched up and she started to make featherlike gasps. Little moans. This is why I want to get her naked. Why I want to map the territory of her body with my fingertips. To join with her in every way I can.

  Madre de Dios, she made it difficult to concentrate on driving.

  As they say in America, I have the hots for her.

  I need her in the way I need a shower right now. Thinking about the shapely, alluring woman in the main house makes fighting my hardness a losing battle. Once inside my casita, I kick off my shoes, unbuckle my belt, and shove off my jeans, taking my shirt off over my head. I put my bracelets down on the wardrobe and pick up my phone. Wearing just black boxer briefs—tented—I reach in the shower and turn on the water. While I’m waiting for it to heat, I stream music on my phone. Oasis. Comfortable older music that reminds me of being a kid. Not someone with the problems of running a family farm.

  As the water warms up in the shower, I scroll through my phone and click on Kim’s Instagram account. I’ve pulled it up before and it had photo after photo of Starbucks cups.

  Gracias a Dios, she posted a brand-new selfie. She’s on the plane holding a blue package of airline peanuts next to her face, pointing at them with a huge, open-mouthed smile.

  Those lips.

  Those lips that I want covering my cock.

  I study the picture, then stare into the mirror and rub myself over my shorts. A long, slow stroke, and another. I groan.

  The fabric causes friction against my cock, and it’s too much restriction. It’s time to play. I peel off my underwear and set down my phone.

  In a drawer I find my favorite bright pink plastic cock ring, and wrap it around my balls and shaft. It fits me the best and makes me harder than hard, not that I really need help at the moment. But it’s more fun.

  And I could use some fun.

  The music still plays on my phone. I step into the shower, the curtain of water cascading over my shoulders. And now I really start to stroke myself, feeling the pressure against my dick, the slick wet soap I’m now using as lube.

  I want this little American. It feels like she’s always been mine. I want to know what she’d feel like around my cock. My hand jerks faster and faster, the soap making me so slippery, the veins in my dick popping out. The crown distended. My balls tightening.

  I want Kim Brown naked. Under me. Writhing, begging for me.

  I want her.

  Badly.

  My stomach muscles contract, and the tension gears up, gathering strength in my body. I thicken and the cock ring tightens. I love it. I love how it channels the sensation.

  The waves come quicker and quicker, my breathing faster and faster. I close my eyes, and all I think of is her. All I think of is her four years of Spanish and her four hours of Spain. Her sweet ass and her bright eyes. Her enthusiasm.

  And that goddamn sexiness.

  Joder. I come, semen gushing out, pumping into my palm, my cock convulsing in my other hand as I milk out the pleasure. Explode for her.

  And I stumble, holding myself up against the wall.

  Gasping for air, I double over, my hands on my knees, the water tracing down my spine and between my legs.

  But I can go again. I’m still hard. I circle my cock, faster and faster, pulling and tugging so viciously, no one else could do this to me but me.

  And I come again, the pleasure yet again taking over my body and making me grunt.

  I haven’t taken a survey, but I think most men don’t know they can come twice if they just keep going. I do it all the time.

  After my breathing regulates, I extricate my n
ow-spent cock from the ring and finish with my shower. I sure feel better now. Loose. Tranquil. Less uptight.

  When I step out after rinsing and turning off the water, I wrap a towel around my waist and grimace at my messy hair in the mirror. My glassy eyes. My flushed cheeks.

  I think about what it’ll it be like when I actually touch her.

  If I ever do.

  Six

  Kim - Front-facing camera

  “Kim! How was your flight?”

  My laptop streams a video of the wall of my parents’ living room. My mom answered my Skype call without turning around the camera to front-facing. The other side of the room back home is nicely decorated and all, but I’d rather see her.

  “Mom, do you know how to turn the camera around?”

  “Like this?” She physically turns around her phone so it moves past my academic awards. Past posed family photos. Past the ribbon-cutting for her business. And now it’s showing her face, showcased against those framed family photographs of my accomplishments on the wall behind her. Her familiar, normal face. She grimaces and furrows her brows, rubbing her chin with her free hand. “Now I can’t see you.”

  Great googly-moogly. I clench my jaw and pinch my lips together.

  “There’s a button,” I force between my teeth. Be patient, Kim. “It has a little swirly arrow to turn around the camera so we can see each other at the same time on the same screen—”

  The world on my screen goes topsy-turvy, whirling around to the ceiling and the floor and then the screen goes black.

  Great. She hung up on me.

  I’ll take Obligatory Check-in with Extra Techno-aggravation for 300, Alex.

  Immediately, I touch the button and call her back. She answers, hello living room wall again, clears her throat, and audibly swallows. “I’m sorry, honey, I can see you, but—”

  I shake my head. “Just let it be. Maybe Shane can come over and show you how to Skype.” My face in the little rectangle in the screen is now more tired and irritable than it was five minutes ago.

  “I’ll talk to his mom,” she says. “How are you? How’s Spain?”

  “I absolutely love it here. It’s beautiful and different. The colors of the landscape are all brick red and silver green. The people are lovely. This house is amazing!”

  “That’s wonderful! Are you settled in your new place?”

  Am I?

  My head swivels around and takes in the bare-bones room. While I say, “Yeah,” automatically, I think about it.

  For the first time ever, I’m living away from home. I can’t see what’s going to happen the next few months. My life isn’t laid out before me like a map of Nebraska with no hills, twists, or scary bits. I’m not getting Eeyore vibes because what I want to do doesn’t fit into someone’s plans.

  And holy shit, I love Spain!

  I love it so much I’m starting to swear in my head, because I don’t know how to explain it otherwise. This land is so beautiful. This house so soaked in atmosphere. The people so elegant.

  And my God, Tavo.

  I’ve been given delicate wings and allowed to fly. I’m a dragonfly skimming the surface of the water, darting down to touch it and then continue on until I find where I want to land.

  So, no Mom, I’m not settled. I’m the farthest thing from settled.

  But do I tell my parents I’m happy without them? That I’ve figured out in one airplane trip that I like making my own decisions?

  No. I can’t say that.

  Not knowing my thoughts, my mom continues on. “I’m so glad. The flight was okay?”

  I take a deep breath and hold it, trying not to let the tiredness rob me of the reality of Spain. “I loved it. I was so anxious the whole time, just watching the little dot of where we were over the map. The food was nothing to write home about, though.”

  Unlike the beautiful and exciting man who met me at the airport.

  But is he something to write home about? Or should I keep him to myself?

  Myself, clearly. I’m not sure my panty-wetting thoughts are fit for consumption, especially not by my family. Just thinking about Tavo makes my insides gurgle—or maybe that’s from the airplane food.

  How long until dinner?

  “Oh, we should have packed you better food for the plane. Well, I suppose one meal like that won’t hurt. Just be sure to walk it off tomorrow.”

  “Actually, I’m really looking forward to all the Spanish food.” I don’t really know what it is, other than not Mexican. The guidebook said it’s characterized by garlic and fish.

  “I hear it’s greasy. Lots of olive oil. Don’t go overboard.”

  God. I have no response.

  Thankfully, she keeps going, “And no problems finding the de la Guerra child?”

  Calling Tavo a “child” makes me let out a burst of air in an involuntary chuckle. He may be a son in the family, but he’s all man. The way he immediately took charge, carrying my bags? His lick-worthy forearms? His perfectly imperfect hair? All sexy as heck.

  Sexy as hell.

  “Yeah, he found me right away. No problem.”

  My dirty thoughts about him are the problem.

  My completely off-limits, no-good, not-allowed, veto, reject, don’t-go-there thoughts. The ones that hoist a red caution flag.

  No more thinking about Tavo. No more drooling. I have a boyfriend, and I agreed to wear his ring. I finger it, absentmindedly. This is just part of the adventure I wanted. I’m coloring outside the lines for a while, I’ll come back home, and everything will be just fine.

  My dad sits down in front of the camera, and I wave at him. “Hi, Dad.”

  “This technology is amazing,” Mom says. “When Dad and I traveled after we got married, we never called home. How much does this cost?”

  “It’s free.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  I’m halfway across the world, but it feels like I’m even farther. Have I changed this much in a day? I yawn. “I’m going to call Shane and then unpack. They have dinner really late here. At ten.”

  “That’s strange,” my mom says. “I don’t think that’s healthy. Do they eat a lot of carbs?”

  I feel the need to defend my new country. “Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

  “Yes, but your metabolism—”

  Darn my metabolism. “What are you doing today?”

  “We’ve found just the place for the wedding.” I get that stomach cramp again. “I know it’s early, but I think you’ll love it. Don’t you remember playing at the creek when you were a little kid?”

  “Barely—”

  “I suppose you were tiny. Well, the reception hall’s got a great view of the river, and there’s a lot of photo opportunities. It will be glorious. We need to put down a deposit immediately if we want to reserve it.”

  “Mom, can you hold off until I get back from Spain? I know you’re excited, but just … I didn’t say yes yet.”

  Silence.

  My stomach clenches more, and a sour taste invades my mouth. I hold my breath until finally she says, “Okay, pumpkin. We can wait.”

  “Save that deposit for grad school, okay? Like you promised.”

  She doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches. I wait for my gut to unclench. It doesn’t.

  My dad starts talking. “Now, I know you’re going to feel homesick.” I don’t. “Just know your feelings are normal. If you need to call us, call. If you need to cry, cry. Allow yourself your feelings—”

  “And don’t eat them,” adds my mom.

  Homesickness is the last thing on my mind. After talking more about what it looks like here, who I’m living with, and the plans for starting school next week, we eventually hang up, and I send a Skype message to Shane.

  Hey, I type out. I’m here.

  His response is immediate: At the gym. One sec.

  A Skype call comes through on the laptop, and I see him, pristine as always, under the bright lights of the
gym. He’s always surrounded by muscle. The sweat glistens on his brow.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  I pull at my lip. “I’m good, I think. Actually, I’m tired. I don’t know.” In this unfamiliar room, the dark, hard furniture and heavy red velvet bedspread are strangely stiff and formal.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  I can’t answer him directly because it’d mean I’d bring up Tavo, so I settle on saying, “It’s too new.”

  “Okay.” He seems to be thinking, but not saying, Well, you wanted to go—

  I stare at him. He stares at me. My best friend. My person. The one I tell everything to. The one who I’ve talked with all my life—but mostly face to face. I’m struggling with what to say because he doesn’t want me here. There’s an ocean between us. And the only earth-shattering thing I have to say is that I’ve been deliriously turned on all day—and not because of him. Although that’s not anything new. I’m used to taking care of myself. Still, my throat thickens with guilt.

  “It feels really strange to be so far away from you and everyone. I’ve discovered this whole world of people who have never heard of me or my family or you. It’s like wow, there’s millions of people in this world who I didn’t know exist and they don’t know I exist.”

  He smiles. “You’re so weird.”

  “I know. It makes me feel both significant and insignificant. If I’ve managed to go through my entire life without them knowing who I am, have I lived? Have they?” I pause. “God, I’m being deep.”

  “Yep. But I like that about you—”

  The screen wobbles, and now it’s Randy’s face. “Yoko! Parlez vous Spanglish?”

  “Hey, Randy. Did Shane finally get you to go to the gym?”

  “He convinced me to sculpt these gorgeous abs”—Randy pans the camera down to his Santa belly—“into the washboard of your dreams.”

  “I don’t dream about washboards.”

  He shakes his finger at the screen. “Ah, but see? Now you will.”

  Shane’s voice cuts in. “Give me that!” Taking the phone and positioning it back on his face, he rolls his eyes and chuckles, pushing Randy away. Shane yelps as Randy slaps his butt.