Page 20 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 7
Lance
Holy shit. What was I thinking to put myself into this uncomfortable position?
It’s like those paintings that were inspired byDante’s Inferno. Where the man is in the second ring of hell representing lust and he’s in brutal anguish over not being able to get what he wants. At least, that’s how I interpreted the artists rendering in my second year English and Poetry course. I was pretty proud of that paper and got a solid B in the class.
And right now, it’s my reality – that burning lust and desire - as I watch from the sandy beach as Mica bends over – her backside to me – and takes her small nephew’s hands to help me wade into the water. It’s pure hell watching the material of her black bikini bottom ride up her perfect ass.
Round handfuls of flesh that are driving me out of my fucking mind.
The material of my swim trunks is not solid enough to hide the raging hard on I have going on. I feel like a perv with all these kids running around in the sand. Someone is bound to see me and get the wrong fucking impression as to why I’m sporting wood.
To prevent anyone calling the authorities, I take off my ball cap and place it over my groin area, sitting back up to finish the castle I’m helping Amelia build. Unlike her auntie, I’ve made quick inroads with the little dark-haired girl and have made friends with her today. She thinks I’m funny and called me “lindo”, which according to Mica means “cute boy” in Spanish.
With her hair in two pigtail braids, and her impossibly long lashes still wet from the lake water, I can imagine Mica looked a lot like when she was a little girl. Sweet, quiet and observant. Those large, dark discs for eyes take in everything around her – as if she’s not of this world, but instead an ethereal celestial being that has graced us with her presence and beauty here on earth.
Poetic, aren’t I? I think that’s just what Mica does to me. Turns me inside out and I become a regular Don Juan.
The boys giggle in the water with Mica and I haphazardly pack sand in the three mini buckets I bought at Target on the way here today, handing them to Amelia, who carefully dumps them over and smooths over the loose particles with her tiny hand. Evidently, we’re making a castle for the princesses waiting for their empire to be built.
“Are you my Tia’snovio?” she asks, her voice soft like a feather, sprinkled with a lush accent in the making.
My brows pinch together in a frown. “Uh – I don’t know what that means?”
She pats the sand and gives me haughty look. “My mamá says Alberto is going to marry my tia someday. So, you can’t be her boyfriend. You can only love one boy. That’s what my mamá said.”
My throat feels like I’ve just swallowed a gallon of the sand or a sharp razor blade that cuts down the center of my chest. My gaze moves from the little face of Amelia to Mica, who’s in the middle of a splashing water fight with Alvie. She catches my lingering stare and waves at me happily, her eyes dancing in the sparkling light of the water as I stare at her with a look of confusion.
Is Mica seeing someone that I don’t know about? If so, why hasn’t she ever told me about it? And who the fuck is Alberto?
For a moment, I hope it’s just Amelia’s imagination and that maybe she’s making up stories, just like she’s been doing over the last twenty minutes with her dolls in the sand. Maybe it’s just made-up gibberish of a three-year-old girl who has stars in her eyes and just recently learned about boys and girls and marriage and babies.
I hand her another bucket filled to the brim, which she accepts in her tiny hands, and I dig my fingers in the sand, carving the mote deeper to hide my bitter jealousy.
It’s one thing for Mica to refuse to date me because she’s busy. And it doesn’t matter that I’ve made a fool of myself every time I’ve asked her out – which seems to be climbing to around a hundred times. I’ve conceded and accepted her objections at face value because why would she lie to me? She’s always seemed both apologetic and even reluctant when she’s turned me down. As if secretly she really wants to accept.
But now maybe the real reason has been exposed and it’s because there’s someone else in the picture. A different guy she hasn’t mentioned and has kept a secret from me. Being the creeper that I am, I decide to use my inside source named Amelia to get the details of this love triangle I’m dealing with.
As I run the sand through my fingers, I nonchalantly as possible ask, “Who’s Alberto?”
Amelia huffs, her tiny chest covered in a pink Disney princess swimsuit rising and falling in a single movement, pinning me with a stare that says I’m the dumbest dude on the planet. I want to laugh out loud at her temerity. For such a shy girl, she will tell you how it is if she feels you’re a dumbass.
“Mica’s boyfriend, cabrón! I saw Alberto kiss mi tiá. Just like mamá and papi.”
I’d almost laugh out loud for her calling me stupid if it weren’t for the strange wave of sea-sickness that surges and swells in my belly – even though I’m not even on the water right now. The air around me stiffens and swelters, and my breath becomes choppy.
“Hey, are you okay?” Mica’s voice calls out, as I drag my head up to see her beautiful face looking down at me in concern.
And before I can stop myself, I vocalize my displeasure and vulnerabilities in a harsh statement, completely forgetting we’re in the presence of minors.
“You have a fucking boyfriend?”
Mica’s wet braid slaps at her shoulder as she whips her head back in shock. And then realizing my error, my eyes dart to Amelia, who’s sweet cupid-bow lips are opened in awareness of what a bastard I am.
She clucks, pointing a sandy finger at me. “Tiá, he said a bad word. Is he mad at you?”
I mumble my apology. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. I’m not mad, little angel.”
