Page 40 of Sangre
He remembered when she’d been out of school for that time. When he’d called or gone over to her house, her mother had told him she had the measles and couldn’t see anyone. There’d been no reason for him to have doubted it, and when Isla had come back to school, she’d acted like everything was all right. He ran his hands up and down her back. “It fuckin’ sucks when you can’t depend on your parents. They’re supposed to be there for you no matter what, but it doesn’t play out like that sometimes. Your dad had shit going on inside of him that he took out on you. Instead of dealing with it like a man, he made all of you miserable because he was. I’m sorry I didn’t know.” She sniffled, and he squeezed her. “Shh… it’s all over now.”
For a few minutes they held each other, a comfortable silence blanketing them. She lifted her head, tilted it back, and searched his face. “You have a cut by your mouth. Does it hurt?” She ran her finger over the wound then slowly across his lips, down his chin to his Adam’s apple.
His breath quickened. “Nah. I’m good. You know, I used to look for fights, especially at bars, but I don’t do that much anymore. Although, there’re times when a man has to defend himself. I won’t ever let a guy disrespect me or my brothers. That’s what the brotherhood is all about—respect, loyalty, and love. That fucker threw the first punch, and there’s no damn way I was gonna turn the other cheek.”
“I know. I overreacted. The shadows from my past sometimes get in the way too much. I’m working on all that with my therapist.”
“That’s good. Are you sure that you weren’t pissed at me for more than the fight?”
She stiffened under his touch. “What do mean?”
“I don’t know. You seemed pretty annoyed when that blonde chick came over.”
She pushed away from him and put her hand on her hip. “Are you saying I was jealous of her? How ridiculous is that?”
“Well, weren’t you? I mean you seemed pissed when she came up and kissed me before you tossed your head and went to the bathroom earlier, and then she came over playing Florence Nightingale and pushed you away.”
She blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t really pay that much attention. Who kisses you and who you screw is your business.”
Seeing she was getting all worked up, he tilted his head in the direction of the bar. “We should head back. We can grab a bite to eat at Leroy’s. Are you up for that?”
She shrugged.
“I could go for something. And for the record, I don’t have anything going on with that blonde chick or any woman right now.”
Walking toward the bar, she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I already told you that what you do is your business. Like you said, we’re friends and friends don’t get jealous of each other if they date or flirt or talk with the opposite sex. I’m about as jealous of you and your women as you are of me and Benz, or that guy talking to me in the bar.”
Throwing his words back in his face felt like a bucket of ice water. There was something brewing between them, but there was no way he was going to admit it, and from what she’d just said, she wasn’t going to either. The truth was, she was mad because the blonde was hanging all over him, and he was pissed beyond words when that dude touched her in the bar.
“Does Leroy’s still have homemade pies?” her voice pulled him out of his brooding.
“Yeah.”
“I could go for a piece of pie and coffee.”
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a booth with menus in front of them. Leroy’s was crowded, but Tammy made sure Sangre got the booth he and his brothers liked best: the last one in the corner next to the picture window.
“You seem to really like it here,” she said as she picked up the menu.
“I do. They have real good home-cooked food and great coffee. The Night Rebels come here a lot. We even have our favorite waitress—Tammy. She has the right amount of sass, knows when to leave us the hell alone, and treats us real good. Didn’t you ever come here when you lived in Alina? My family came here at least once or twice a month for Saturday breakfast or dinner.”
“I only came here a few times when I lived here. I’d always have pie. I remember it was so good. We came with our mom. My dad thought eating out was a total waste of money, so we rarely went out for meals.”
“Hiya, Sangre,” Tammy said as she poured a steaming cup of coffee for him. Glancing at Isla, she smiled. “What can I get you to drink?”
“A cup of coffee and a glass of water would be great, thanks.”
Tammy poured coffee in another cup and put it in front of Isla. “I’ll be back with your water in a sec.” She ambled away.
“Is your favorite pie still apple?” she asked, stirring cream into her coffee.
He grinned. “I can’t believe you remembered that. And it is. The one here is damn good, but it’s not my mom’s. Speaking of which, you’re invited to dinner this Sunday. When I was at my parents, I told them you were back in town.”
“So, the invitation is from your parents?”
“And me.”
Her eyes quickly darted downward, and a delicate pink flush crept across her cheeks as she dipped her chin down. “Oh,” she whispered.
