Page 36 of Sangre
Good ol’ Sangre. He used to always build me up when Dad tore me down.She laughed. “I’m going to have to remember that when I get back to LA. My friend, Amy, is always dieting. I mean the girl eats nothing but salad and protein shakes. She’s tried every diet around, and she’s skinny as hell.”
The touch of his fingers stroking her cheek made her quiver, but before she could grasp his hand, he placed it back on the steering wheel. “When are you going back?”
She inhaled deeply then let her breath out slowly. “I’m not sure. The band wanted to finish the album in a month, but it’s taking us longer, so maybe a couple of more months.”
“You looking forward to getting back?”
No. I don’t want to leave you so soon now that we’ve reconnected.“I guess. I don’t know. My life is pretty hectic, and I don’t look forward to all the stress. Life is slower and simpler here. It’s been great to just decompress.”
“Stress will kill you.”
“Thanks, doc.” He laughed and she joined in, and before she knew it, he was pulling into the parking lot of the bar. “I keep forgetting how close everything is. In LA, or anywhere in Southern Cali, everything is so spread out, and the traffic is horrendous. I always plan on tacking an hour or two just for travel time whenever I go anywhere that isn’t right around my condo. It’s nice not to have to deal with all that congestion.”
“I’ve heard LA can be a pain in the ass to get around.”
“You’ve never been?”
“Nope.” He switched off the engine.
“You’ll have to come and visit me. I could show you all around. We’d have a good time.”
“I’m sure we would,” he said, tweaking the tip of her nose. He slid out of the car, and she followed suit.
Cuervos was bustling with people. Two large-screened televisions had a boxing match on as several of the men clad in leather vests and denim watched the screen. Sangre grabbed her hand and led her through the lines of people until they arrived at a table. Three couples sat there, all eyes falling on her as Sangre bumped fists with the three men who wore vests very similar to his. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he thrust her in front of him and pointed at a woman with dark hair. “This is Chelsea”—he pointed to the blonde next to her—“Breanna, and Raven. This is my friend, Isla.”
Her heart twinged a tiny bit at the wordsmy friend, but she was being silly.I am his friend. We’re just friends. He’s made that clear since forever.
“Come sit over here,” Breanna said.
“Aren’t you gonna introduce us?” asked a dark-haired man sitting next to Raven.
“You dudes don’t matter.” Sangre laughed and the other men joined him.
“I’m Isla Rose.” Looking at the dark-haired man, she smiled. “Who are you?”
“Muerto.”
Another one of them said, “Paco.”
“Steel,” said the man sitting next to Breanna.
“You’re the president,” she said.
Steel got up and motioned for her to come over. “Take my seat.”
Sangre let go of her hand, and she instantly missed the warmth of his skin on top of hers. Muerto and Paco jumped up and joined Steel as he walked toward the bar. She sat down and Sangre bent down and whispered in her ear, “What do you want to drink? The nachos are a given.” The heat of his breath on her neck made her quiver.
Her mind was foggy. She glanced around and saw a strawberry margarita in front of Chelsea. “A strawberry margarita.” She watched him swagger over to the bar, threads of jealousy tangling around her as she saw different women checking him out, and a few others touching his arms and even his butt. It brought her back to the way she’d felt when they were in high school. He’d had so many girlfriends, and since they were best friends, he’d tell her about them when all she’d wished was that she was one of them.
“I love your voice and your band,” Chelsea’s voice pulled her from the past.
She dragged her eyes away from a curvy brunette who’d slinked an arm around his waist and leaned in close, whispering something in his ear that made him laugh. “Thanks. The band has a gig in a couple of weekends at The Rear End. I’ll put you and your boyfriend on the guest list.”
“That’d be great.”
“Who had the strawberry margarita?” a waitress asked, lifting up a large glass.
“I did,” Isla answered, tapping the space in front of her.
