Chapter 10: Surly Romance: Chapter 10

Sunny Quetzal does not remember feeling me up last night.

Which would be fine if she wasn’t also ten times colder to me this morning than she was while unbuttoning my shirt in bed.

I don’t know why she’s so on guard. She scowls when I make eye contact and prances back like a skittish horse when our fingers accidentally brush on the way to open the car door.

“I’ve got it,” she grumbles, bouncing me aside in favor of ushering Bailey into the backseat. In a soft voice, she coos to him, “Careful, sweetie. Let’s get your seatbelt.”

I watch her fuss over Bailey, training my eyes away from her small, peach-shaped bum that’s sticking out at me and begging for a little smack. Behave, Darrel.

Just because I’ve agreed to let the irrational side of me—the side that belongs to Sunny Quetzal only—have some freedom doesn’t mean I’ve given it liberty to run rampant.

There are steps to the process. A ladder of priorities, if you will. These tasks need to be checked off before I can go around feeling Sunny Quetzal’s perfect rear-end.

The first thing on the list is telling Sunny that I have feelings for her. A task she’s making abundantly difficult as she stomps past me with a humph, slides into the front seat and slams the door closed.

I climb into the driver’s side, trying to figure out how I upset her. We were having a good breakfast, weren’t we? Well, ‘good’ being relative. There was absolutely nothing appetizing about the meal the boys and I prepared. In all honesty, Micheal’s lemonade sucked too.

But we laughed about it.

Things were good.

I rack my brain for an answer. Perhaps I was a little too forceful when I insisted on driving her home? A rough tone is the absolute worst way to get people’s respect. I’ve told Alistair as much a million times. Not that he listens to me. My brother-in-law still barks out orders to his employees, although Kenya’s there to correct him if he crosses the line.

Maybe if I apologize to Sunny, she’ll be in a better mood and I can announce my intentions. I turn to her, assessing my chances of success.

Sunny taps her foot on the floor mat. The snarl she sends my way is a warning.

I clear my throat and glance away quickly. Now is definitely not the right time to hit her with a love confession.

“I can’t wait to tell my friends about my room.” Bailey squeals. From the rearview mirror, I see his foot bouncing excitedly. He’s changed into a clean white shirt and khakis. His glasses slide down his nose only to be shoved back up with his pinkie.

He’s a cute kid. I’ll admit that much.

Like the sun peeking from behind a cloud, Sunny’s frown softens. “You should ask Mr. Darrel to arrange a play date so your friends can see your room in person.”

“A play date?” My eyebrows hike. I already need to have a talk with Bailey and Micheal about their tidiness—or lack thereof. In all the years I’ve lived alone, I’ve never had dishes piled up in the dishwasher, a messy living room, or clothes thrown just outside of the hamper. The thought of the boys multiplying themselves and descending on my farmhouse to wreak havoc…

“Yes,” Sunny speaks to me in slow, impatient tones, as if I’m hard of hearing. “A play date is when kids around the same age spend a few hours together doing fun things. You know fun, right? That thing you’re allergic too.”

My eyes narrow. “I know how to have fun.”

“Prove it.” She folds her arms over her chest.

I scowl. “I have no desire to prove something I already know is true.”

“You don’t present evidence because you believe in something. The point is to prove it to others.” She stabs a finger in her chest. “Me. I’m ‘others’.”

“Micheal, tell Sunny how fun I am.”

The young man pulls his lips in to hide his smirk. “Don’t look at me.”

I catch his eye in the rearview mirror. “Traitor.”

Sunny turns in her chair and gives him a high five.

Micheal returns it with a hearty smack.

She’s turned the boys against me.

Great.

Sunny raises her arms over her head and stretches. “I still can’t believe we got the renovations done in twenty-four hours. I’m going to head home and sleep for two days straight.”

“You can’t sleep that long. You have to come and see us,” Bailey says innocently.

“Aww. I wish I could hang out every day, but I have to work.”

“So we’re just… not going to see you after this?” Micheal asks. His eyes are intent on Sunny’s face as if her answer will determine whether he can breathe.

“I didn’t say that.”

Both the boys go silent.

Sunny undoes her seatbelt—an incredibly dangerous move that she doesn’t seem to care about—and turns fully to the boys. Climbing on her knees, she speaks low and clear, “Hey, I’m not going to disappear. I promise. You’ll see me around.”

I slow down for a red light and glance over at Sunny. Splatters of paint fall like twinkling constellations over smooth brown skin. Her hair is tied in a messy braid down her back and wisps of it frame her high cheekbones and sharp brown eyes.

The boys have nothing to worry about. As long as I have my way, they’ll be seeing a lot more of Sunny.

“Bring UNO next time,” Bailey says. “I want you to teach us how you and your family play.”

Sunny giggles and my insides rearrange.

Oh man, I’ve got it bad.

Horns start to blow and Sunny abruptly swings her head to face me. The smile that had been on her face turns into a glare that could melt granite.

“Hey,” she juts a finger at the road, “green light.”

Damn. I really wish there was. If a woman came with indicators like a stoplight, I’d know whether I should barrel straight ahead, slow down or come to a screeching halt.

Scratch that.

I don’t want ‘women’ to come with those signals.

I just want a way to read Sunny.

Because this woman is confusing the hell out of me.

Last night, when she was kissing my pecs and begging me to get naked, it was a giant flashing green light. In the sunlight, she’s all grumpy frowns and sharp words. What do you want from me, woman?

“Hello? Darrel?” She waves a hand in front of me.

I’ve been staring at her too long. Reacting quickly, I slam my foot on the gas and the car lurches forward, causing Micheal and Bailey to yelp. Sunny rolls forward and almost slams into the dashboard.

“Sorry.” I get the car under control and glance at her. Her hair’s covering her face and she’s breathing hard. Blinking rapidly, I mumble, “Are you okay?”

“You did that on purpose,” she accuses.

I clear my throat and stare straight ahead.

“Are you sick or something?” Sunny slaps her hand on my forehead.

I fight the urge to set my hand over hers. Geez, she’s hot to the touch. I don’t know if that’s the Caribbean in her or the spice of her personality.

“I’m fine.” I grunt. Then I push her hand away. It doesn’t matter if she’s scowly Sunny or smiley Sunny. I can’t concentrate when she’s touching me and it’s hard enough not to be distracted while she’s in the passenger seat.

“I wasn’t asking because I cared. I’m asking because you’re driving.”

“I said I was fine.”

“You’re not driving like you’re fine.”

I slant her a dark look. “Can we not fight in front of the kids?”

“We’re not fighting,” she answers back. Then she glances at Micheal and Bailey with a smile that could crush rocks. “We’re not fighting, boys.”

“Whatever.” Micheal plugs his ear buds in.

Bailey looks between us as if he’s not sure whether he should go along with the lie or point out the obvious.

I’m relieved when I slow the car in front of the boys’ school. Now that they’re leaving, Sunny and I can be alone and I can ask her what the hell is wrong.

I give the boys a salute. “Have a good day, Bailey. Micheal, no fighting.”

“Got it,” he grumbles.

“Bye!” Bailey waves his hand, blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

“See you guys later!” Sunny yells loud enough for the parents along the sidewalk to look our way.

One of the reasons Sunny was so popular in high school was because she’s not afraid to call attention to herself. I was the total opposite. I’d rather blend into the walls than stand out. I’m still more of an introvert than she is. It’s yet another reminder of how different we are.

I start to drive off when Sunny yells, “Wait!”

I slam on the gas, my eyes widening.

Sunny pops her door open and barrels out of the car. Jogging through the throng of middle schoolers, she chases Micheal. He hasn’t gone far, his sluggish steps only carrying him a couple paces away.

“Micheal!” Sunny’s sprint down the pavement draws even more eyes. She doesn’t seem to register any of it. And if she does, it’s not like she cares.

Micheal pops his ear buds out, his gaze snapping to hers. He blinks a couple times as if in shock.

“Your laces.” Sunny points to his shoes. The white strings are dragging forlornly on the ground. Without hesitation, she drops to her knee and picks up the shoelaces.

Micheal’s mouth goes round. He stands with his head bent toward Sunny, not taking his eyes off her. He’s not the only one stunned and staring. Middle school boys bump into each other, watching Sunny tie his shoes. Their eyes follow her as she rises to her feet and plants her hands on her hips, a proud smile crossing her face.

“There.” She ruffles Micheal’s hair. “Have a good day.” She waves at him and sashays toward the car, her hips swaying lightly.

Micheal remains in place, still looking shaken. A pack of boys surround him, slapping his back. They’re probably asking about his relationship with Sunny. I bet he’ll be flooded with invitations to sit at the ‘cool kids’ table.

I was in middle school once, and I know that being seen getting chummy with a hot girl is insane street cred. Not that Sunny is a hot girl. She’s all woman, but she also hasn’t changed much since high school. The fiery set of her dark eyes, the slenderness of her body and the confident way she carries herself is ageless.

Micheal trods past the crowd and walks into the school, plugging his ear buds back into his ears. I hope none of the questions make him too uncomfortable. Especially since it hasn’t been established what Sunny is to them yet. A friend? A confidante? A mother figure?

Sunny jumps back into the car.

“You could have pointed out that his laces were untied,” I say before I’ve thought it through.

Her eyes swerve to me and narrow. “He would have shrugged and kept on walking.”

“And then?”

She seems offended that I don’t understand the gravity of untied shoelaces. “And then he could have tripped on the laces, slammed to the ground and broken his nose. And then the kids would have called him ‘Bloody Nose Mike’ for the rest of his life. And then he would come home crying and feeling like a total loser because kids are cruel and I know that better than anyone.”

She does know that better than anyone.

I massage my throat and drive with one hand. Keeping my tone casual, I say, “Sounds like you have a lot of interesting stories about school.”

She wrinkles her nose at me.

“Did anything… in particular happen back then that you regret?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

Images flash through my head. A loud pep rally. An ocean of laughing kids. Fingers pointing in my direction.

My heart tightens. “No reason.”

“I…” Sunny sinks deeper into her chair. “I was awful to a lot of people. It would take too long to go through the list of all the things I regret.” She stares at her shoes. “But it wasn’t all bad. There were some parts of my high school self that I’m proud of.”

“Like what?”

She eyes me as if she’s trying to figure out whether I genuinely care. “The confidence I had. The fearlessness. You know? The things you lose as an adult.”

“I don’t think you’ve lost any of those things.”

She smiles, but there’s no brightness behind it. “You have no idea how much of that confidence is gone now.” Her sigh is loud. “That’s life, isn’t it? And what’s the use of talking about the past when you can’t go back and change it?”

“If it affects your present, then talking about the past is the only way to move forward,” I tell her.

She glances up.

“And…” I sweep my gaze over the road as my voice thickens, “I think being harsh on your past self isn’t fair to you. I bet there were moments when you were kind.”

A memory that I’d suppressed after leaving John Hearst rushes to the forefront of my mind.

“What did you just call him?” Sunny Quetzal looms over the jock who’s sneering at the janitor. A pile of garbage is on the ground. It went flying when the jock stuck out his leg and sent the cleaner sprawling.

“Hey.” The jock eases off the locker with a smarmy smile. “Calm down, baby.”

“Do I look like your baby?”

“You look like a freshman.” He licks his lips.

“And you look like a shriveled-up rat with the brains of a worm.”

His flirty smile changes to something hard and threatening. “You want to say that again?”

“I asked you first, you buffoon. Go ahead. Call him that slur one more time. I dare you.”

“Little girl, you’re going to get yourself—”

The crack of skin hitting skin echoes so loudly in the hallway that everyone, even the janitor, falls silent.

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as the past creeps into the truck with us. Sunny Quetzal, the queen bee of John Hearst, was a menace who destroyed me on a whim, but there was more behind that poisonous smile.

And that more is what kept drawing me to her.

It’s pulling me in right now.

There’s something wrong with me.

Screw that.

There are many things wrong with me.

One, Sunny has no idea I went to high school with her and I’m actively hiding it so she never finds out. I’m a hypocrite for telling her to face her past when I’m struggling to admit my own secrets.

Two, Sunny and I are very different people. There’s a high likelihood that our arguments will never stop because our brains work in totally different ways.

While I prefer order and quiet and not jumping out of cars just to tie shoelaces, she’ll spring herself at the world boldly, loudly and follow whatever her heart tells her to do without thinking of the consequences.

On paper, we don’t work.

Not a single bit.

So why do I want to kiss her like her lips are the only oxygen I’ll ever need?

She folds her arms over her chest and eases back against the door as if she can read my thoughts. “Why are you so interested in my past?”

I stiffen. Can I admit my feelings for her and continue to keep our complicated history a secret? What would be the point of letting her know? To get an apology? I’ve survived this long without one. And maybe she wouldn’t feel the need to extend an apology at all.

“You’re ignoring me again.”

“Put on your seatbelt, Sunny.”

Her eyes sharpen and all the camaraderie between us shifts to tension. “Stop ordering me around. I let it slide when we were in front of the kids, but it’s not going to work here.”

“Seatbelt.”

“There you go again. Growling at me.”

“This is me talking nicely. You’re just picking a fight.”

She scoffs. “So now I’m the crazy one? Is that it?”

I pin my lips together because, no matter what I say, she’ll still be upset.

“You know… I still don’t get it. Why did you give me this decorating gig if you hate me so much?”

I adjust my fingers on the wheel to keep them away from her body. “I didn’t. You forced your way in like you always do. Now seatbelt.”

“I do not force my way into things.” Her thin arms fall over her chest. “You get in my way like you always do and I have to find my way around you.”

Tired of hurling instructions, I flick the indicator and drive the car to the side of the road. “You talk too much,” I mumble.

“And you barely say anything to me. Unless it’s ‘get out, Sunny’ or ‘leave now’. If I didn’t know better I’d think those were the only two words in your…”

I undo my seatbelt and push myself toward her. She cuts off her rant and presses into the chair as if she’s trying to phase through her seat.

“If you’d take just a little of that energy you use for sassing me,” I slide past her cheek to grab the seatbelt, “and put it towards keeping yourself safe,” I yank the seat belt out of the holder until it’s stretched enough, “I wouldn’t have to worry so much.”

Her thick eyelashes flap.

Her mouth snaps closed.

I thrust the belt in until it clicks and then lift my gaze to hers. I’m close enough that I can make out the light brown flecks in her irises and the tiny mole against the side of her nose.

My eyes slide to her lips. They’re pink and look as sweet as strawberries. I watch her quick intake of breath as my hand falls on her face. Fingers trembling, I brush away a lock of her silky hair, pushing it behind her ear and letting my touch trail gently down to the slope of her jaw.

We stare at each other, not saying anything.

A phone starts ringing.

She ducks.

I blink.

And the car turns awkward while she fumbles with her purse to find the device.

Sunny pushes the phone to her ear and croaks, “Hey, mom. Oh, me? You know…” Sunny gives me a quick look from the corner of her eye. “Just chilling.” She pauses. Tilts her head. Then her entire face drops. “Mom, really?” Another quick look at me. “I’m tired. Because I’ve been working all night!” She rubs the bridge of her nose.

I wonder what her mom is telling her.

Sunny squeezes her eyes shut. “Yes. Yeah, I know that.”

We arrive at Sunny’s apartment.

“I’ll think about it, mom.” Sunny pulls the phone away and I can hear her mom shrieking from the speakers. “No, I won’t make any promises. I’ve got to go. I’m home already. Love you too. Bye.” She pockets the phone and stares straight ahead like the absolute last thing she wants to do is leave my car.

“Is something wrong?” I prod gently.

She looks at me and looks away again. “No, just… my mom being nosy. As usual.”

“Your parents live in the city?”

“No, they’re all the way across the country. Thankfully.” Her entire chest caves in a tired exhale. “I, uh, I should head up.”

“Let me walk you.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You worked for almost twenty-hours straight and you fell asleep twi—” I catch myself before revealing that I saw her sleeping on the ground in Micheal’s room earlier. “You fell asleep in a lawn chair with the sun blazing on your face. What if you fall asleep on your way up the stairs and get kidnapped?”

“That’s outlandish.”

“It could happen.” I’m grasping at straws and we both know it. I don’t even care. I want to stretch out the time I can spend with her.

“Whatever.” She climbs out of the car.

I join her up the stairs of her apartment. Sunny says nothing and I wonder if she’s thinking about that moment with the seatbelt. Would she have kissed me back if I’d planted my mouth on hers?

Her tennis shoes thud on the stairs. I have to slow my stride to match her. I wonder what her mom said to make her look so down.

I clear my throat. “Sunny.”

She stops and glances at me. Her upturned face is begging to be peppered with kisses. I suck in a deep breath and let it out.

Should I tell her the truth or hide it forever? I open my mouth.

“Sunny Quetzal?”

Both Sunny and I turn and look down the hallway. A man is standing in the middle of the corridor. He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans rolled up at the cuffs. He runs a hand through his black hair, and it all falls perfectly into place again.

“Who are you?” Sunny tightens her eyebrows.

“I’m Gabor.” He approaches her, an excited smile crossing his tan face. “You’re Sunny, right? You look just like the pictures your mom sent me.”

Sunny smacks a palm against her forehead. “She did not send you pictures.”

“She sent your birth papers too, so I could check our birthdates against the Mayan calendar.”

“Oh no.” Sunny covers her mouth. “I am so sorry.”

Gabor ducks his head and smiles. He doesn’t seem to mind at all.

And now I want to slam my fist through plaster.

It’s unlike me. Violence and logic rarely cohabitate except in situations like war where strategizing requires a great deal of mental skill. The brain muscles needed to focus on aggression can blind the synapses that form sensible thought, hence the term ‘blind rage’.

But since this is not a war and Gabor seems harmless enough, the instinctive urge to sink my fist into his perfect teeth is one I should probably keep in check.

“Mom told me you were coming today, but she didn’t tell me it was… you know,” Sunny flails her arms, “now.”

“It’s the only time I could get a ride up.” A wrinkle creases his forehead. “It’s not a bad time, is it?”

Stay out of it, Darrel.

Sunny rubs the back of her neck.

It’s not your place, Darrel.

Sunny shuffles on her feet.

“I kept her up all night.” The words bounce around the hallway. They sound like they’re coming from me. They definitely have a little hint of my voice on them, but I wouldn’t say anything that petty. Or childlike. Or horrifyingly immature.

Sunny turns her head in slow motion and gives me a wide-eyed look.

Gabor arches a shiny black eyebrow.

“What he means by that,” Sunny laughs nervously and elbows me in the side, “is that I’m just coming from a project at his residence.”

“Oh, I can come back another time if you’re tired,” Gabor suggests.

I start to panic. Why would Gabor With The Perfect Hair and the Mayan-mom stamp of approval show up in front of Sunny again?

Sunny shoots a tired look at her cell phone. “You already went to so much trouble to be here today.” She tosses her braid over her shoulder. “Besides, my mom would kill me if she heard I turned you away. She just called me to say I should look my best for you.”

His eyes slide over her braided hair, paint speckled jeans and tennis shoes. I want to poke his eyes out with a needle.

Gabor grins. “Well, you certainly hit that nail on the head.”

“Chic, right?” Sunny turns and shows off her back which has even more paint.

He laughs.

And I hate him even more than I thought I could hate anyone.

Sunny’s eyes crinkle as she smiles at him.

This isn’t flirting, is it? I’ve never been good at that ghastly social interaction, but I can smell a connection brewing between Sunny and Gabor, and I don’t like it.

“To be honest,” he runs dark fingers over his neck, “my mom called and pushed me to come here too. I’m preparing for my exams and I really didn’t have time to travel all the way here, but…” His eyes, this time, regard her with a little more appreciation, “it makes me feel better to know you were just as reluctant too.”

“Mayan mothers are something else, aren’t they?” Sunny laughs.

I wish she’d stop laughing with him. I wish this guy would go away.

“You know what,” Sunny waves a hand, “I can catch up on sleep later. You came all this way. It would be a shame if I didn’t show you around.”

My eyes bug. What?

Gabor shakes his head. “It’s okay. I don’t have time for a tour—”

I give him a silent nod of approval.

“—But I am a little hungry.” He wraps his arms around his stomach. “How about we have lunch instead?”

Screw it. I take back my nod of approval. Gabor can choke.

Sunny walks forward and pulls her keys out of her purse. “Why don’t you come inside and wait while I change?” She gestures to her outfit. “I know you already gushed about how amazing I look, but I’d prefer not to smell like paint and construction workers when we go out.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my face. I launch forward and grab Sunny’s wrist.

She stops short, turns and gives me a bewildered look.

“Are you going to let that guy into your apartment?” I hiss.

“Yeah.” Her eyebrows meet in the middle of her forehead as if I’m the crazy one for seeing a problem with it.

“I know you want to believe that everyone is as honest and transparent as you, but that’s not rational,” I say earnestly. “Inviting some random guy that you just met into your house is extremely dangerous.”

“Did you just accuse me of being irrational?” Her eyes light up with flames.

Really? That’s what she’s going to focus on? Not that she might be inviting a serial killer into her home? While she’s in the freaking shower? Hasn’t she ever seen Psycho?

“No, I did not call you irrational. I said that letting some random man into your apartment is irrational.”

Gabor chuckles nervously. “You, ah, you guys know I can hear you, right?”

I whip my head around.

Sunny does too.

Both of us growl, “Stay out of it.”

As one, we glare at each other again.

She sticks a finger in my chest. “I’m not one of your patients, Darrel. And I’m not Bailey or Micheal either. You don’t tell me what to do or dictate who I can and cannot invite into my apartment.”

“So you want me to sit back and watch while some guy chops you into tiny pieces?”

“My mom wouldn’t send a psycho to my door.”

“Who knows if this is the guy your mom sent?” My voice climbs because she’s driving me insane. “He could be an imposter.”

“You are such a drama queen. How do you come up with this stuff?”

“Did you just call me a drama queen?” I bark out a humorless laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Ehem, I can stay in the hallway while you shower.”

Sunny and I whip our heads around.

“We’re not talking to you,” I bark.

“Not right now, Gabor,” Sunny hisses. She turns back to me and slams her hands against her hips. “What are you even still doing here? Don’t you have work to do?”

“I’m taking a day off.”

“Again? You took yesterday off for the funeral.”

“I believe in taking the time to grieve,” I spit out.

She rolls her eyes. “Ms. Jean wasn’t even your grandmother. And you sent Bailey and Micheal to school even though they had an excuse to take a half day. Isn’t that a little hypocritical?”

I scoff but it’s not like I have a proper argument to that. She’s right. And I do have patients today. I have a backload since I’ve been missing so many days at the center while I get the boys settled in.

When I fall silent, Sunny grins like she won the argument and spins back to Gabor. “Come inside, Gabor. My home is your home.” She gives me a pointed look over my shoulder. “Unlike some people, I don’t judge others based on my own paranoia.”

I grit my teeth. This woman is going to send my blood pressure through the roof.

“If he’s staying then I am too.” I stalk toward her apartment.

Sunny’s eyes throw knives at me. “You’re not invited.”

“Gabor,” I call without looking at him, “where were you going to take her?”

“I—”

“We’re going to a nice little Mexican restaurant called Salutes. It’s not a five-star restaurant like you and your rational mind might be used to, so I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

“Salutes is my favorite restaurant.” It’s not. “And I just so happen to be in the mood for Mexican today.” I stomp past Sunny. Stepping into her apartment, I plunk myself into her sofa. “Since breakfast was so long ago, I could work with some tamales.”

She snorts. “Gabor, can you believe this guy? Please un-invite him since he’s clearly not listening to me.”

“Well, I—”

“Oh, I’m starving.” I sling a hand over my stomach and bowl over. Peering up at Gabor, I ask, “Isn’t there some ancient Mayan adage about being kind to strangers?”

“The last time the Mayan were kind to strangers, they enslaved our people, raped our women, and destroyed our sacred temples,” Sunny grumbles.

“Gabor?”

“I guess I—”

“Perfect. I accept.” I fling my arms over the back of the chair and rest my leg over my knee. Slanting Sunny a look of victory, I nod. “See? Gabor doesn’t mind if I join you?”

Sunny shoots him a harsh look.

He grimaces. “I mean—”

“Fine. Do what you want. Gabor, I’ll be out soon. You.” She juts a finger in my direction. “This isn’t over.”

I wouldn’t dream of it.

Sunny gives me another look full of attitude, prances down the hall and slams the bathroom door so hard that the frames of the entire apartment rattle.

Gabor gingerly sinks into the chair and clears his throat. “Well, this should be fun.”

Fun is not the word I’d choose.

Sunny’s going to claw me in the face if I keep pushing her.

But I’m willing to endure the pain.

This is a war for Sunny’s heart. And I’m not letting this perfect Mayan man steal my woman away.