Page 14 of Sangre
Chapter Four
Isla sat onthe tufted sofa watching Sangre as he checked the windows and sliding door in the family room. Each time he reached up, his T-shirt would rise, displaying seriously definedVlines, which slipped beneath his tight as hell jeans. She leaned back, enjoying the view of his hard butt.So he’s a sexy biker, who belongs to a motorcycle club. What did he say the name of his club was? Night something.
“Your windows and doors are good. I’m gonna run down to the basement and make sure all is well there.”
“Yeah, okay. What did you say the name of your biker club was again?”
“Night Rebels.” He walked out of the room.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to drink? I have coconut water and regular water. I could make fresh squeezed lemonade. It’s my mom’s recipe.”
He popped his head through the doorway. “Lemonade? I haven’t had fresh lemonade since I was in high school. A friend of mine’s mom made the homemade stuff too. I’ll go for that.”
“Great. It’ll give me something to do.”Besides watch your firm butt and fantasize a whole lot of dirty stuff I’d love to do with you.She went into the kitchen and grabbed several lemons from the fruit bowl.
Gazing out the window, warmth spread through her as she admired her herb garden next to the weeping willow tree as its branches swayed gracefully in the breeze. The large backyard and the tree were what sold Isla on the house. Ever since she was a child, the weeping willow was her favorite. She’d loved sitting under it, mesmerized by the shimmering leaves and the sound of their rustle from the branches bending as the winds came through. The idea that the tree was weeping had always fascinated her. They were so different from the solid oak trees, which stood tall and rigid, fighting the elements. The oak trees always reminded her of her dad: unbending, hard, and stiff, while she was the willow tree: yielding, strong, and elegant. The cascading branches had hidden her more times than she could count when her father had been in one of his many foul moods. She picked up the knife and began slicing the lemons.
When she brought in two tall glasses and a pitcher of lemonade on a silver platter, which she’d picked up at a garage sale a few months before, Sangre was already sitting on the couch, leafing through the latest copy ofRolling Stone. He looked up when she came over to the coffee table.
“Everything secure?” She poured the pale yellow liquid into the glass and handed it to him.
“Yeah. You have a good house. Your alarm system is top-notch too. You just need to remember to always put it on. Most people who have the systems rarely use them.” He brought the glass to his lips.
“I’m not one of them. I can be a bit paranoid, so I make sure it’s on all the time. I even have it wired so I can open my windows a certain amount and it’s still armed.” She poured herself a glass.
“Damn. This is really good. It tastes just like the kind I used to drink a long time ago.” He took another sip and ran his eyes over her face. “We haven’t met before, have we? I mean you seem familiar to me, but I can’t figure out why.”
“You look sorta like a guy I used to know when I lived here.”
Sangre’s gaze widened. “You used to live in Alina?”
She nodded. “Yeah. You didn’t know that?”
“No. When did you move?”
“Before my junior year in high school. My dad got transferred and we moved to California. I was bummed and so was my sister. She was going into her senior year.”
He just stared at her, confusion creasing his forehead. “Where did you go to high school?”
“Jefferson High. Are you from here?” she asked him.
“Yeah. I went to Jefferson High.”
“That’s a coincidence. I’m not originally from Alina, but I moved here from Des Moines when I was about six years old. My dad works for an agriculture company, and they transferred him here.”
“I think we know each other. Wait… I fuckin’ know you, but your name wasn’t Isla back then.”
She laughed. “My legal name is Isla Rose.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I think I know my name”—her mouth went dry.Do we share memories of a joint past?—“and I’m sure I didn’t know anyone namedSangre. I would’ve remembered that.”
He put his glass back on the tray, looking at her intently. “I can see some of your features are the same, but your eyes. Fuck, that’s throwing me. They’re fake, aren’t they?”
“Fake eyes?” She chortled. “I don’t think so.”
“I meant the color. You’ve got that smart-ass way about you, just like Jordan did.”
