Page 15 of Sangre
Everything stopped—and it seemed like the room was spinning away from her. Her ears pounded, making it hard to hear or understand what he was saying. She could see his mouth moving but couldn’t hear anything coherent coming out of it. All sound was garbled. Then his cool hand on hers pulled her back in.
“Are you okay? The color just drained from your face, and I thought you were gonna pass out.” He picked up her glass and handed it to her. “Here.”
“What was your name in high school?” she whispered, running the cool glass over her face.
“Steve. Last name was Ansell.”
“Fuck! I can’t believe this!”Is it possible that this hunk is my bestie from the old neighborhood? The one I fell in love with in high school? The one I spilled my guts out to whenever I needed to share, and who I told I loved him in a letter that he never responded to? The one who broke my heart?“My name was Jordan Burnside,” she said in a barely audible voice.
“Fuckin’ hell! I knew there was something familiar about you.” He leaned back, put his foot over his thigh and ran his gaze over her. “You filled out real good.”
“I just can’t believe this. How did I not know it was you? Now that I do, I can see it in your face, but this is too damn weird.” She shook her head. “You didn’t know I was in a band? Didn’t you ever creep on the internet about me?”
“At first I did, but when I didn’t hear from you, I moved on. So why’d you change your name?”
“You first.”
“I’m a biker.”
“That’s it? Why did you choose Sangre? I mean, who calls themselvesBlood?”
Pressing his lips together, he wiped his hands on his jean-clad thighs. “I just liked the name, let’s leave it at that. So why did you pick Isla? It meansislandin Spanish.”
“I know and that’s exactly why I loved the name. I always wanted to run away to my own private island, especially when things got real shitty at home.”
Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I remember that. You had it hard at home with your dad. Is he still the same?”
She slipped her hand away, and for a split second, she saw the look of surprise then disappointment in his gaze. “I’m sure he is. I don’t really see my parents that much. I skipped out the minute I turned eighteen. I got a scholarship to UCLA, and I couldn’t run away from home fast enough. Katherine married right out of high school to get the hell away. She’s only thirty-four and has just divorced her third husband. Fiona is an overachiever and does nothing but work. Never had a real boyfriend once we moved to San Diego. She’s thirty, lives in San Francisco, has a very high-paying corporate job, is anorexic, insecure, and a basic mess. And Jerry went all the way to the east coast to get away from the family. He works for a bio-tech company, and he talks to me maybe once a year but hasn’t talked to the rest of the family for over five years.” She took a large gulp of lemonade. “Thanks, Dad,” she said softly.
For the space of a held breath, there was silence. Then his gravelly voice banished it. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say. It is what it is. I used to wish I had a normal family like yours. Your parents seemed to really love and care about each other. I bet your sisters and brothers are married with kids, and you all have big family gatherings and everything.” She looked down, hating that her voice quivered, that the tears, hot behind her eyes, threatened to spill.
Then he was right next to her, drawing her into a big bear hug just like he used to do when they were in high school any time she was sad or freaked out about something. It felt so good, so natural. As Isla’s body instantly molded into Sangre’s, and her head tucked under his chin with the scent of him—spicy and fresh—cocooning her, she felt safe for the first time in a long while.
Sunlight flooded in through the window, making patterns on the Moroccan rug she’d purchased in a small shop off Ventura Boulevard the year before. She’d fallen in love with the colors and the geometric shapes that were unique to the Berbers. Beneath her cheek, she felt Sangre’s heartbeat, and she nestled closer to him as he held her tighter.
I never want to leave his arms. This feels so right and so familiar. God, I’ve missed this. Him.A niggling in her brain reminded her that he never wrote to her after she’d left the letter professing her love for him.He hasn’t even bothered to look you up on the internet. He always just saw you as a friend.
“Feeling better?” he asked, the vibration in his throat making her smile.
She pulled away. “Yeah. Thanks, I needed that. I still can’t believe it’s you. After all these years. I wondered if you still lived here.”
“Why didn’t you look me up when you got here?”
Because you broke my heart all those years ago. Doesn’t he remember that he never wrote back or contacted me? Should I say something about it?Not wanting to spoil the moment, she just shrugged. “I was so exhausted and such a bundle of nerves when I got here that I just wanted to lay low. I didn’t look anyone up. I just spent days reading, sleeping, and watching movies. My brain and body needed that. The only people I saw were my neighbors and those at the grocery store. The mailman and I got real friendly.” She took a breath and kept rambling on, “Oh… I’m also best friends with the two sweetest little girls who live next door to me. I’ve promised them that I’d make lemonade so they can sell it. Their dad is making the stand. He just dotes on those two, and so does Faith, his wife.”
“Take out those blue contacts. You have the most amazing hazel eyes.” He lightly brushed his fingertips over her brows.
“Benz loves my ‘blue’ eyes. I started wearing them because of the blue color I put in my hair and, the name of the band—Iris Blue.”
“They look like shit.”
She threw her head back and guffawed, her hands pressing against her belly. “You always told it like it was. Good to know you haven’t changed.”
“We’re friends. Of course, I’m gonna tell you the truth. We were always honest with each other before, why would it be any different now?”
“Are we still friends?”
