Page 52 of Here to Stay
“Do you want to have dinner with my family tonight?” He turned his head to look at me and before he answered I knew what he’d say.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing. We’ll have tons of food.” His smile lost a bit of its shine when I said that, but he still seemed pleased.
“I’d be honored to.”
I dipped my head, feeling weirdly shy, and I wanted to fight it, because this was not a Rocco and mething. It couldn’t be. But Icouldinvite a friend who had nowhere to go for dinner with my people. It was just a kindness.
“Great. My mom will be thrilled and my dad will have someone to watch the game with.”
He flinched when I said that and again I wondered what Rocco’s story was.
Chapter Nineteen
Julia
He brought his cat to dinner.
I opened the door to my apartment and found Rocco holding the little carrier we’d bought for Pulga at the pet store in one hand and in the other he had a reusable shopping bag with what looked like his contribution for dinner.
“Hey, I know you said she was uninvited.” His eyebrows dipped, obviously worried I’d be pissed at this plus-one situation.
I wanted to kiss him so bad, I was dizzy.
“But whenever I tried leave the house, she started mewling really loud. I think she’s still dehydrated.”
Boy was I in over my head.
I smiled placidly as I regrouped and tried not to let him see how his words had actually turned me into a puddle of goo. “It’s fine, since she’s convalescent and all, but once she’s back in shape, she’s banned from this apartment.”
He gave a terse nod, still looking embarrassed. “Promise.”
I waved him in, but before I could get another word in, my mom came out of my room in full “Dia de Fiesta” hair and makeup. Holidays that involved a meal meant my mother had to look like she was going to a red carpet somewhere. She was wearing an orange sheath dress with her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders and three-inch heels on her feet.
To have dinner in my cramped two-bedroom apartment.
“Rocco, you’re here. Qué bueno.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then gestured toward the living room. “Julita, I’m so glad you invited him.”
“Thank you for letting me join you.” Rocco gave me the look that I’d been getting from my friends my entire life, that said, “Damn, your mom is hot.” It was not easy to shine whenever my mother was around, but we were still obligated to try.
I’d complied with a dark green wrap dress and a little bit of mascara and lip stain, but I was nowhere near as made up as she was. Except now I wished I’d made more of an effort, and why was I comparing myself to my mom and why did I care what Rocco thought?
I was about to say something, anything, to get myself out of this mindfucky headspace when he walked into my living room and, as he’d done with my mom, bent his head and brushed a kiss against my cheek. As he pulled back, he looked at me appreciatively, his gaze caressing me from head to toe.
“You look beautiful.” There was fluttering occurring inside me again, and for a second I really wished I could just push up and kiss him. Or punch him. God, I was a mess.
I felt shy and looked around to see who was in the room witnessing my weirdness. My grandmother was arranging stuff in the kitchen, my sister was sitting on my love seat on her phone, and my mom had disappeared into the bedroom, probably to alert my dad his game-watching companion had arrived. Our eyes were locked together still and I whispered, low enough that only he could hear.
“You look great too.” He blushed, and that urge to kiss him went into overdrive. His hair was a bit wild today, with none of the product he usually wore at the office. Those jet-black curls beckoning me to run my hands on them. He had on a chocolate-brown sweater, which made his blue eyes pop. His face was angular, with sharp edges, and so was his body. So tight and strong. Such a contrast from the roundness and softness of mine, and yet I felt like if I stepped up to him and put my arms around his waist, we’d fit together perfectly.
“Rocco, llegaste.” My dad came out of the bedroom with a big smile on his face and broke whatever spell we’d been under. I startled and motioned to take the carrier with Pulga, which was wiggling in his hand.
“Here, let me get her settled. Did you bring her food?”
“It’s in the carrier.” He nodded as he passed me the cat.
“Hola, Señor Ortiz, gracias por la invitación.” I just stared at him, slack-jawed. How was his Spanish this good?
