He’s just a grown-up trust-fund brat who knows how to invest the massive wealth he inherited from our bootlegger ancestors. At least he’s good for something.
Pride beams in her eyes when she looks up at me. “Now you will go and be a hero. So handsome, serving your country.”
I smooth my hand down the front of my jacket, contemplating hypocrisy. “It’s what my mother always wanted. Her father was in the military.”
“Yes, and she can see you from above. She is so proud of you. Just like I am proud.”
I study the woman who filled my mother’s role for a little while. I can’t heal her. I can’t change her situation, and I want to leave her with happiness, not bitterness.
“Thank you, mamá. I love you.”
“I love you, Esteban.” She takes a slow inhale and forces a chuckle. “Now why are you here with an old woman? Why are you not out celebrating with friends? You have too much spirit. You should be with a girl tonight, release some energy.”
Energy. She’s encouraging me to go out and get laid. “I’m not looking for a girl.”
“A boy then!” My eyes snap to hers, and I see a joking sparkle.
After all the medicine, the chemotherapy, the drugs, she refuses to be beaten. She still manages to tease me. She’s the only person who can get away with it.
“I’m not gay. I’m leaving in the morning.”
“Which means you have all night.” She carefully rises out of her chair and takes my arm, pulling me to the door. “No more hanging around here. Go out and live your life.”
I wrap my arms around her in a long hug. The feel of her bones beneath thin cotton is physically painful to me. “I’ll find someone to check on you while I’m gone.”
“I have my friends. I have my neighbors. Stop worrying about me.” She shoos me away. “When it’s my time, I’ll be ready.” Touching my cheek, she says her final words to me. “Be brave, Esteban. Laugh often. Take care of yourself.”
“Take care of you.” I kiss the top of her head and hesitate one last time before I go.
It’s the last time I’ll ever see her…
Emmy
“Harley Quinn is way sexier than Black Widow any day of the week.” Burt Dickerson’s voice is too loud.
He’s on one of his DC versus Marvel fan-boy rants, and I’m staring into the bottom of my empty red solo cup. I need refill number four.
“Fuck that. Black Widow. Hands down.” My older brother Ethan yells at him, but he’s only yanking Burt’s chain. Ethan doesn’t give a shit about comic universes. “Give me a redhead any day. Fire crotch.”
My nose wrinkles, and I want to punch my brother in the junk. “She was a blonde in the last movie. You just like Scarlett Johansson.” Why am I still standing here listening to them?
“What’s wrong with that?” He pokes me in the ribs, and I’m ready to call it a night.
It’s almost midnight, and I’ve been watching the door so hard, my eyeballs hurt. Ethan threw this big college-graduation-slash-summer kick-off party for all his old school friends, and I made sure Stephen Hastings got an invitation.
Stephen Hastings… the love of my life.
Ethan said he wouldn’t come. He laughed at me and said Stephen hates most of these guys. It looks like he was right.
God, I’m such a fucking moron. How long can I save myself for a guy who doesn’t even know I exist? I’m a college woman now. Time to ditch the crush and start living my life.
I just…
I hoped.
With a sad exhale, my mind flies through all my cherished spank-bank memories of Stephen growing up… Tall, lean, dark, wavy hair that looks like he never touches it, but it’s always just perfect. He was on the rowing team with Ethan, and when he’d take off his shirt… holy shit, my core clenches at the memory of his broad shoulders, his perfectly sculpted arms… So muscular and tanned. The lines in his stomach would flex, and my mouth would water like Pavlov’s dog.
I’m ready to trade this beer for a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, curl up in my bed, and cry.
He’s not coming.
Walking down the steps, away from the landing at the door, I’ve reached the edge of the crowd when my brother’s voice freezes my insides.
“Stephen! Hell, I don’t believe it.” Ethan laughs, and a few of the guys join in greeting him. “Didn’t think you’d come.”
“I didn’t either.” Stephen’s low baritone tickles my lady bits, and I turn slowly to look up at him.
He’s wearing a brown tweed jacket over a white button-down shirt and dark jeans. He hardly ever wears jeans, but shit, his ass is so fine in them. He always seems just a bit impatient, and when he scans the crowd, his blue eyes seem to glow from under his dark brow.
He’s so fucking hot.
My heart beats faster as I contemplate my next move. He will see me tonight, dammit. I’m giving myself one last chance.
He turns again to Ethan, and the muscle in his square jaw moves. “I’m pulling out in the morning.”
“Last day as a free man. Sucks to be you.” Ethan shoves a whiskey in his hand.
He inspects the glass. “I thought it demonstrated my good character.”
“Good character.” Burt’s loud voice interrupts them, and Stephen visibly cringes. “Still think you’re better than us, Hastings?”
“Only you, Dick.” Stephen takes a long drink. “Only you.”
Girls actually swoon over Burt all the time, but he’s nothing compared to Stephen.
“Let’s join the party.” Ethan puts his hand on Stephen’s shoulder, and they start down the stairs in my direction. “Find a chick and get your dick wet.”
“Right. That sounds like me.” Stephen shrugs off my brother, and Ethan staggers away.
He pauses at the bottom, scanning the crowd with a frown. I follow his gaze over the mob of former classmates. Most are buzzed. Most are familiar. We passed each other daily at Pike Academy four years ago—until he left for Yale. Tonight we’re reunited.
Girls sway in colorful silk dresses with thin, spaghetti straps, practically lingerie. Their hair hangs in waves over their shoulders and their eyes sparkle as they listen to guys tell exaggerated stories of their prowess, either in the stock market or on the playing field. The guys evaluate their breasts, their hips, their lips. I’m sure they’ll be fucking like good little rabbits before the night ends. Our classmates can be so predictable.
All I know is Stephen is wide open. It’s now or never.
“That’s a fierce scowl.” I’m amazed at how confident my voice sounds, loud and commanding. Thanks, beer. “Don’t like what you see?”
I hop up on the bottom step beside him. It puts my head at the top of his shoulder, and I lift my chin, looking over the crowd with a scowl, imitating him. “You’re right.” My nose wrinkles, and I meet his gaze. “They’re a bunch of horny assholes.”
I manage to come off casual, teasing, and his frown morphs into a narrow-eyed grin. “Emmy Barton. Ethan didn’t say kids would be here.”
His voice is like warm butter, and I’m thrilled he remembers me. “I’m not a kid anymore, Stephen Hastings. I started at Sarah Lawrence last year.”