I shrug, then lock my leg around Aria, bringing her body beneath mine. “Now, why would I want to discuss another man while my addiction is at the tips of my fingers?”
A slow smile spreads across her face. Right before I descend on her lips, Aria murmurs, “I like this.”
“What? Learning about my crazy-ass brother?”
Her grin widens. “Not feeling guilty about a great day.”
I position her thighs around my hips, where her soft muscles fit perfectly. Damn, there is no way in hell I’ll allow Aria back into the friend-zone, if we could call it that. Before I break her off with some good sex, I promise, “Our great day just started, chula.”
I’m dressed in basketball shorts, and an A-shirt is draped over my shoulder, as I kick a soccer ball from one knee to the other. Eyes twinkling, Aria watches. She folds her arms around her waist, where a crop top stops at her stomach. We were on a stroll toward the beach when we stopped at a neighborhood park.
Impressing the opposite sex has always come easy to me. Mesmerized by tricks with the soccer ball, she mutters, “Doubt we would’ve crossed paths in high school. If it weren’t for Ros having mercy on me when she was team captain, I was the last person picked.”
“No glory without practice. Lemme show you.” I scoot the ball upward with the toe of my shoe, and it lands beneath my bicep. She’s shaking her head with a mortified smile on her face.
During the first few attempts, Aria’s heel scuffs over the soccer ball, or she punts it in an awkward direction.
“Hmmm, I should stop now,” she replies. I hold the ball out to her.
I nudge my chin to a crew of middle schoolers. “We have an audience, chula.”
“Ha! You have an audience.” She glances over her shoulder.
One of the kids comes up to us, telling me that they need an extra person to even things out.
“How about him?” Aria nudges her chin. At the edge of the green, a younger kid sits on a bench, head in his hands.
“That’s my little brother, lady. He’s about as good as you.”
A round of “ooos” comes from his friend.
Aria folds her arms, stepping up to him. “You get the old guy. Your little brother is on my team. How about that, shorty?”
I cock a brow. “Aria, am I the old guy?”
“Hey, he called me lady. Yasielito had my back the last time someone called me out of my name.”
I’m pleasantly surprised at how Aria’s dedicated to the game. She huddles with her team of underdogs, offering encouragement when the odds stack against them. Her laughter permeates the air while running. I botch a few kicks to help them out.
Aria stops before me, hips planted wide. She argues, “Hey, go easy on us, or I’ll personally show you why I prefer kickboxing.”
“Okay, chula.” I smack her ass as she calls her team together.
The chamacos on my team laugh while the feisty girl I’m addicted to gestures and carries out another game plan.
You are lucky, I tell myself.
From my teens into my twenties, sexing a different woman every night of the week was my version of a perfect life. Entering my thirties, I told myself the women I fucked deserved a moment of passion, and I was a professional at offering their release. But a second in Aria’s presence fascinates me more than any lay I’ve ever had.
Mami would sigh and tell me to “stop chasing every woman who crosses your path. No beauty shines brighter than a good heart.”
We’ve resumed the game when Aria’s leg wipes out beneath her, and she falls to the ground. I jog toward her, catching up with her before her newfound friends do.
“You okay?”
At first, she seems to be laughing at her blunder. When she glances across the field toward the street, her eyebrows knit together.
“Aria? Chula?” I look over my shoulder in the general direction of her gaze. Aria claims my hand and jumps up. I level her with a bewildered gaze. “You good?”
“Perfect.” Her lips plant against mine in a slow, reassuring kiss. Then she spouts off the names of the niños on her team, gesturing for the underdogs to huddle.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
El Santo
LeAnna saw him. Me too. The stranger’s filthy gaze dragged up and down her frame while she played soccer with Dominic. For half an hour, I sat in the driver seat of my non-conspicuous, black Town Car. Red fills my vision as the stranger sullies her with his stare.
He’s five-four at most. Thin build. Long-nosed. Sniveling pendejo. Not a real hombre. Not a man at all.
With a baseball cap riding low over my head, I slide from the seat of my car. I’m strategic about my angles due to the row of beach novelty shops across the street. With a previous career in surveillance, I’ve infiltrated traffic cameras and intercepted satellite data. I’ve hacked phones, saw the most intimate parts of a person. It’s a sordid, dark reality I’ve delved into without sharing any part of myself.
The stranger stands at the edge of the grass—the same anticipation crackling through him, tornadoes through my soul.
I shoot daggers at the stranger, entertained by my LeAnna, and make my way closer to him. I pretend to drop a gum wrapper into the trash can.
Next, I claim the seat the little, dejected pobrecito had before LeAnna encouraged him to play. The stranger’s fifteen yards away. He’s close enough for me to run up and pounce on him. My fingertips cleave to the cement slab seat.
Paciencia. Now is not the time for a cigarette, Dario, I command myself.
The heavens speak again, sending a sign as LeAnna flops onto her ass.
“Aye, my LeAnna. You are awkward like I once was.” I laugh a little, enchanted by her feisty spirit. “Embrace your differences.”
The stranger, standing at the edge of the green, glances back at me as I move a few paces toward him with a nod. Dominic is looking this way now. The stranger starts to turn away with the intention of not being made. I strike, with caution, sliding my arm around the back of his neck. Beneath the sleeve of my jacket, I’m fisting a hooked knife.
“Aye, amigo.” I offer a friendly smile as we turn toward the street. To cut the chances of being viewed by any traffic cameras, I maneuver us back toward the direction of the game.
“Who the fuck are—”
“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” I stare straight forward, executing deep breaths to cease the blood lust rising in my soul.
“Wh-what?” He stutters in surprise as I prick the side of his neck.
“I ask the fucking questions, güero. Such as, who the fuck are you?” I grit each word out.
“I-I—” He takes a deep breath.
“No,” I growl, snatching him about before he can shout. “Be a man. Women scream. That’s what they do. You be a man. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Before you get out a good yell, which would be drowned out by the sound of these various soccer matches, I’ll have your jugular severed.”
His body tenses again, indicative of preparing himself for defense mode. I puncture the side of his neck. No veins or arteries. Just flesh. Blood seeps into the collar of his shirt as I escort him to the stolen Town Car. I leverage him to the side, open the door, and squeeze at his rotator cuff.