Page 20 of Birdy

Middle ground.

Compromise.

A happy medium without tipping said scale.

And I’ve got just the thing...I think. The minute I park in my usual spot, I’m yanking my phone from my purse and dialing Ángel’s number. Whether or not he can meet me before he leaves will determine when I’m gonna lay it on him.

He answers after only the third ring.

“Mami,you okay?” The smooth timbre of his voice assaults me almost as hard as it does in person, pebbling my skin with goose bumps.

“I’m fine, just pulling up to the warehouse. I have a question for you…”

“Dimelo.” Tell me.

“Do you have time to meet me before you take off tonight?” My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I wait for him to respond.

“I willalwayshave time for you,muñeca,even on my busiest days.”

This man…There goes my heart melting again, lips spreading into a grin. “I’ll tell you where to meet me when I wrap up here.”

“Whenever, wherever, I’ll be there,” he assures me. “You’re not gonna tell me to fuck off, though, right?”

Despite the fact he can’t see me, I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Are you gonna make my whole fucking day and tell me you’re leaving with me?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,papi.You’ll just have to wait and see.”

* * *

Me:Dania Beach. I’ll be by the pier.

I sentthat text over twenty minutes ago. No reply has come through yet, but it’s still early…three o’clock. Ángel told me he could be held up as late as five.

That’s fine. I can wait. The business was taken care of without issue, and I have nowhere else to be right now.

Except here.

So what’s my plan, you ask?

I'm going tolethim leave...but I'll be following him in just a few days’ time. I don't know where he's going, but I’m sure my reasoning will provide me a destination. At least, if he meant all he’s said, then it will.

Set aside the fact a girl could use a teensy vacation, it's the perfect way to test these unknown waters he supposedly wants me to charter beside him. Just him and me, a chance for me to see who he is, what he does, and if there’s really a place for me in his life.

As scary as that sounds, I have to do it. I’ll drive myself crazy with the whys and what-ifs if I don’t.

But what happens if it works out, if it’s good and it feels right? What if he actually lets me in? What am I supposed to do then? I can’t just up and leave Miami. My mom would have a fit.

It’s too early to be thinking about all that, I know, but I can’t seem to put those thoughts to rest, no matter how hard I try. I’m blaming it on him and that fucking devil dick of his. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d drill the concept into me. Oh, he drilled it all right, sunk those dark, delicious claws deep into my starving soul and pounded me to hell and back until I screamed it into existence. Mrs. Moreno from downstairs had to have heard it all, probably prayed at least five rosaries as the exorcism above threatened to cave in her ceiling.

“Stop fucking playing with me and tell me, Benni. Tell me you want me as badly as I”…thrust…“Want”…thrust…“You.” He thrusts a third time—as deep inside me as my feelings for him extend—and holds me down, his cock throbbing and pulsing against my walls. “Fucking tell me! Dimelo!”

I have to shake myself out of it, goose bumps pebbling every inch of my skin. He drilled it in, put the final nail in the coffin this morning. And yet, as I sit here in the sand, looking out into the Atlantic, I still can’t wrap my head around it all, to begin with.

It just seems so far-fetched, like I’m setting myself up for pure and utter failure.

You already have.

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