Page 6 of Sweet Little Lies
Where most regular students my age are still sleeping the day away after partying all Friday night, I’ve been up and going since five-thirty this morning, and will be on my way to work by eight-forty-five to start at nine.
Aside from taking care of my sister’s kids, I also clean houses with my auntie Maria and my mother. I’m grateful for the flexibility the job offers me, and actually enjoy the mindless work on most days. But it’s physically draining when I do it four to five days a week between classes and watching the kids.
Pouring myself another cup of coffee, I mentally tick through my latest chapter assignment, memorizing the various types of blood borne pathogens when there’s a knock on my door.
I don’t bother considering my attire, as I’m certain it’s one of my family members. Probably my youngest brother, Mateo, looking for a ride home from where ever he was the night before. He had a fender-bender recently and doesn’t have access to a car at the moment.
Trudging across the worn linoleum floor, I peek through the peephole just to be on the safe side. That’s when I lose my breath.
Lance is the last person I’d expect to see on the other side of my door on a Saturday morning.
I debate for all of two seconds whether to let him in.
“I know you’re in there,” he insists when I’ve taken too long to decide, a slight tone of amusement laced within his comment. “You forget I know your schedule.”
Dammit. He’s got me there.
It’s not like I don’t want to see Lance, because I do. But every time I’m around him, he breaks off another chink in my armor. And I have to keep it locked tight to avoid getting hurt. Because I know if I let him, I’ll get hurt. He may not mean for it to happen, but we’re not on the same page when it comes to relationships. He’s a player and I’m a “settle-down” kind of girl.
Sighing, I undo the three locks on the door and let it swing open where I find the boy I’ve tried hard to hide my crush from. Based on his smile, he sees the truth.
“Hola, beautiful,” he grins, one of his eyebrows quirked, as he leans in to place a kiss on my cheek.
He smells freshly showered and looks a whole lot better than he did when he left my apartment last Sunday. I bite my lip, trying to hold back my sappy sigh at his handsome sight.
Lance always looks amazing and I really wish he didn’t give me that float-y feeling every time he’s around. He’s as tall as a tree, towering over me by at least a good foot and a half. His lean, muscular frame is perfectly built, his broad shoulders and tattooed biceps on clear display in the basketball jersey he wears.
He’s always wearing some type of jersey or sports attire, except on game days during basketball season. Then he can be found in a dark, tailored suit that fits him like a glove and makes all the hoops hunnies want to drop their panties at the sight of him.
Lance doesn’t wait for my invitation to come in as he walks through the gap between me and the doorway, his chest brushing against my bare arm as he does. The skin-to-skin contact sends little sparks and flutters in my stomach, like a pack of wild Monarchs.
Gathering my wits, I follow him as he sits down ever-so-casually on my worn-out couch.
Panic registers through my brain as his eyes scan my body with a glint of lust. I glance down at my attire to make sure I am indeed wearing clothes, because you’d think I were naked based on the way he looks at me. I’m still wearing my oversized T-shirt that ends just above the tops of my knees. Nothing sexy or seductive. But then I realize that with no bra and my air conditioner running full blast, my nipples are clearly on display and poking out of my shirt.
Folding my arms over my chest, I tilt my head in suspicion.
“To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” I ask, walking toward him. “And at seven fifteen on a Saturday morning, no less? This is not the Lance I know. Unless you were slumming last night and you’re doing a walk of shame from somewhere near by?”
I mean it as a joke and poking fun at him, but the truth is, Lance Britton is usually hungover on a Saturday morning and rarely up before noon during the off-season. And the likelihood that he had a sleep-over and one-night stand with a random is a pretty good bet.
“I’m here to take you to breakfast.”
He states it so matter-of-factly and with such confidence that I choke out a snort-laugh.
“I’m sorry, what?” I might stumble back a step.
His hand darts out to reach for me, pulling me into his proximity before he taps me on the nose with his finger. Like I’m a kid. I grimace.
“Don’t be dense. I asked you the other day if you had time to get together and this was your only available time.”
I replay the conversation we had before he left my house the other morning and maybe he did ask, but I don’t recall ever agreeing to it. And honestly, I didn’t expect him to follow through, so I didn’t add it to my calendar.
“Um, you may have asked, but I didn’t say yes. So, breakfast is not on the schedule this morning because I have to work.”
Lance rolls his eyes, leaning back against the couch and crossing his feet at his ankles.
“Nope, you specifically said theonlytime you were available was Saturday morning.”
