Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) Page 10

  His shoulders rose and dropped in a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll walk. There’s a bus stop down the road, outside the subdivision.”

  Agned beamed. “That was very chivalrous.”

  Demo ignored her and shook my keys. “I was gonna leave them under the mat, but then I tripped on your damned soaker hose.”

  Snorting, I took the keys from Demo. “A little clumsy, are we?”

  “Well, if you had your porch light on, I would’ve seen it,” Demo snarled, bending down to unwind the hose from around his boots. “It’s black, and it’s dark out.”

  I tried to help his feet get untangled. “I didn’t know I was having company, so I didn’t know I needed to leave the light on.”

  “Your porch light should always be on.”

  “Oh, brother. Don’t start with that again.” I rolled my eyes and tossed the hose into the flower garden. “I’m safe enough. You heard the alarm system.”

  “You know, he’s right, dear.” Agnes patted my shoulder. “I always leave my porch light on at night. It’s just good sense, Marisol.”

  Demo smiled. “Told you.”

  “Shut up,” I snapped. That smile was gorgeous. And impossible to ignore. My own personal kryptonite.

  Agnes sighed and threw her arms around both of our shoulders. My face crunched against her starchy puffed sleeves. “You two bring back memories.”

  “Of death by suffocation?” Demo’s voice was muffled by a mouthful of lace.

  “Of my Theo.” She rested her head against mine. “He always told me to leave the downstairs sink dripping at night in the winter. And, of course, I was stubborn, and I refused. And do you know what happened?”

  I had to crane my head to see beyond the sleeve. “What?”

  She squeezed us harder. “The darn pipes froze during the ice storm of ninety six! Gah! Can you believe it?”

  “Not at all,” I said at the same time Demo uttered, “Nope.”

  “Why don’t you do yourselves a favor and kiss?” She loosened her grip on our necks, and grinned as we stood upright.

  “Um, excuse me?” I folded my arms across my chest, suddenly uncomfortable.

  Demo just stared down at me, his expression indecipherable.

  “C’mon. Make your old neighbor happy.” She bounced in place, making her petticoats swish. “Kiss and make up.”

  Dead silence fell. I considered telling Demo to take a flying leap and to take my neighbor with him. But I resisted. Mostly because Agnes was a pretty good neighbor. She gave me homemade huckleberry syrup—an inland northwest delicacy—every Christmas, and when her son came for visits in the winter, he always shoveled my driveway for me. They’re good people.

  And the possibility of kissing Demo? Holy mother of deliciousness. He was standing there on my porch with a pair of ripped black jeans and a white V-neck tee shirt so thin it was practically translucent. And his face? Oh, heavens… that five o’clock shadow was impressive. I secretly hoped he never shaved again. Even if it was just a kiss for Agnes’ sake, I didn’t care. It would be worth it.

  For experimental purposes only, of course.

  “Uh, I better go.” Demo turned to leave.

  My heart dropped.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Agnes linked her arm in his and tugged him back into place. Then she hiccupped. Or burped. I’m not sure which. “Come on. Don’t leave mad. Kiss and makeup.”

  Silence filled my foyer, and Cocinero started clawing at Demo’s bootlace. Five seconds passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.

  “Listen, Agnes—”

  “Shut up.” Demo shook off Agnes’ grip and closed the space between our bodies. His rough hands cupped my face, tangling in my hair and tugging it from my ponytail. I didn’t have time to think, or breathe, or blink, because he tilted my head to the side and crushed his mouth down on mine like he was going to war the next day.

  Spots of light flashed behind my closed lids, and we landed against the doorjamb with a dull thud. Demo’s lips were like satin and sandpaper all rolled in one, and when they nudged my mouth open, I might have accidentally released a little moan. One of his hands went to the small of my back, tucking me against his body so snugly it took my breath away, and when his tongue tickled the inside of my lower lip, my knees turned into jelly and I had to grasp the front of Demo’s shirt to stay upright.

  He pulled away just enough to nip at my lower lip, releasing a swarm of butterflies in my stomach that threatened to knock me right onto the tile floor, then dove in for more. The kiss was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was equal parts achingly romantic and utterly desperate. I raked my hands up his chest, to his neck—where I felt his pulse thudding underneath the tanned skin—and then up to his messy hair, which I grasped with white knuckles. I never wanted this kiss to end. I wanted it to go on for the rest of the night, until the paperboy threw the Spokane Gazette at our feet.

  When Demo’s lips finally pulled apart from mine, he ran the pad of his callused thumb across my swollen lower lip, causing a shiver to two-step down my spine. His eyes were heavy lidded as he gazed down at me, mouth parted, breath halted. He looked perplexed. And maybe sort of surprised. And… well, seriously turned on.

  As was I.

  “I… uh…” Demo didn’t finish his thought. Instead, he just stared at me. The air between us was electric, sparking and popping like downed power lines.

  I nodded. “Uh huh. Do you wanna—”

  Agnes popped up between us again, making Demo stumble backwards. “Wasn’t that nice, you two?”

  We just nodded once in unison. There was nothing to say. The kiss had been the equivalent of bringing gasoline to a brush fire, and judging by the way Demo looked like he’d been kicked in the side of the head… he thought so, too.

  Blinking, I tore my eyes away from him. “Thank you for coming over, Agnes. I’m sorry I scared you.”

  She pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Not at all, dear. I’m just glad you weren’t cut into pieces. I don’t do the sight of blood at all.”

  I chuckled, ignoring the heat positively pouring off Demo’s body. I would’ve felt it half a block away. He wanted me. And holy Hannah, I wanted him, too. “Me, too.”

  “Now, I’m going home before my dance troupe drinks all the coffee.” She winked at me. “I hate it when that happens. Enjoy your night, you two.”

  I glanced at Demo. Oh I intend to.

  I wasn’t letting him get away. He was coming inside so that I could see how much damage gasoline and a brush fire could do.

  “Well, goodnight, kids.” She giggled, stepping off of my porch.

  “Goodnight,” I called, before pointing at Demo. “You.”

  He pointed to his chest. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” My voice was hoarse. I guess extreme horniness did that to a person. “Come inside.”

  Demo’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, and he put his arm around Agnes’ shoulders. “Why don’t I walk you to your door?”

  My stomach dropped. “What? No. I can drive you home.”

  Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

  “No.” Demo held up a hand. “I mean, no thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  I opened my mouth. Then closed it. What just happened? Had he not felt that spark between us? What was his problem?

  And with that, before I could protest, Demo and Agnes disappeared down my front walk.

  Chapter Ten

  “Marisol, every time you come here, you get prettier. Do you know that?” Yiayia beamed at me as I entered the Triple D’s office with a tray of homemade caramel toffee latte cupcakes.

  “I made these for you,” I told her, setting the tray down on the desk before her. “You know I’m trying to win you over with food, right?”

  She picked up a cupcake and took a lick of the frosting. “Well you’re doing a good job of it.”

  “Does that mean I can have the recipe for you dolmades?”

  Yiayia patted my cheek. “Not even close. You’ve got to be a pa
rt of the family first.”

  I made out with your grandson last night, and contemplated what it would be like to lick caramel sauce off of his abs. Does that count?

  “Fine,” I squeaked. “I’m considering that a challenge.”

  She winked one of her crinkly eyelids. “I’m sure you do.”

  “Okay, no recipe today.” I sat down across the desk from her and relaxed. “So, is Demo around? I didn’t see him under any cars out there.”

  “No.” Yiayia shook her head. “He’s out picking up a tow clear on the north side of town. Why?” Her eyes widened. “Were you hoping to see him?”

  My face heated. Something about this old broad chiseled through my cool exterior, and poked at my inner self-conscious, insecure geek. “No.” I said it too quickly, and I knew it. Yiayia’s smirk confirmed that she’d picked up on it, too. “What I meant was, I just wanted to pay him for his work on my car.”

  “Oh, well I can help with that, dear.” She opened a file drawer and tugged out a manila folder with my name on it.

  “No computer system?” I asked.

  “No need.” Yiayia replied, tapping her temple. “Got all the client info right up here.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “That doesn’t worry Demo? You know, in case…” Insert awkward pause here. I mean, come on, the poor lady wasn’t going to live forever! “You miss work, or something?”

  “You mean, in case I die?” She deadpanned.

  I cracked up. “Well, I wasn’t going to say it.”

  “Why not? All of my kids and grandkids do.” She let her bony shoulders rise and drop. “No need to worry. I’ve got at least another five years before I kick the bucket.”

  “How do you know?”

  Again, she shrugged. “A psychic told me in 1974.”

  “She told you when you were going to die?” I croaked.

  “He, and yes. He told me exactly how and when I would kick the bucket.”

  We sat there quietly. The only sounds in the office were the traffic going by outside and Yiayia’s chewing. Finally, I threw my hands up. “I can’t take it anymore. How are you going to die?”

  She put down her half-eaten cupcake. “I thought you’d never ask. It will be fast and almost painless but quite dramatic. I’m going to have a massive heart attack in the European grocery on Selman avenue.”

  I gasped. “That’s horrible!”

  “No, it’s not,” she quipped. “I love that place. The owner gives me a discount because he thinks I’m cute.”

  I cracked up. “He does?”

  “Uh huh,” Yiayia said proudly, plucking up her cupcake. “He’s been after me since my Demetrious died, God rest his soul.”

  “Wow. Go you!” I brushed some crumbs off of the front of my black shift mini dress. I’d only worn it one other time, and wound up in the back seat of a local congressmen’s limo afterward, so I’d secretly hoped for similar results when Demo saw me in it. Of course, he’d foiled that plan by working. “Why don’t you date him?”

  She made a face. “He’s Russian. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just can’t see myself with anyone but my husband. And especially a non Greek.”

  “Oh, I see.” Picking at my manicure, I thought about how to propose my next question. “So… does that rule hold firm for your whole Greek community?”

  “No. Not anymore.” Yiayia waved a hand. “Nowadays, people date whomever they choose. Three of my children married non-Greeks. Though they eventually joined the church, so we got them in the end.” She winked at me. “It’s almost twice as many with grandchildren. Times are different now. People are a lot more accepting than they were when I was growing up.”

  “That’s good.” When Yiayia’s eyes twinkled, I added, “I mean, you know, for your grandkids, and all.”

  “Uh huh.” She tilted her head at me. “What is your heritage, dear?”

  I swallowed a mouthful of frosting. “My father is Puerto Rican, and my mother is half English and half Cuban. My mother lives in California, and my father lives in Florida. I rarely see them.”

  What was up with me when I was around this woman? Just being in Yiayia’s presence was like downing a truth serum.

  “Are you and Demo dating, Marisol?” she asked boldly.

  No. But I’ve made a few porno movies in my head about him. Does that count?

  “No.” I blinked at her, hoping to prove my nonchalance.

  Yiayia narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure? Be honest with me, young lady.”

  “No, ma’am.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and looked away from her probing stare. “Our relationship is purely professional. There’s nothing going on between us. In fact, I’m pretty sure your grandson hates me.”

  And until he pressed me against that doorjamb, I thought the feeling might be mutual… now all I can think about is how desperately I want to get him into a hot tub. Or a large bathtub.

  I glanced at a candid shot of Demo, Yiayia, and some other scattered family members. Demo’s smile was wide and unabashed, and the picture appeared to have been taken years ago, so his hair was dark and cropped close to his head. His bare arm was slung over his grandmother’s shoulders, and his muscles were flexed and defined.

  Aw hell, I’d settle for a deep puddle, for pete’s sake.

  “You’d be surprised with Demetrious.” Yiayia polished off her cupcake, and folded the wrapper neatly. “Often times, when he acts like he hates someone, it usually means he likes them a whole lot.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Apparently, I’d gone to bed a mature woman last night, and woken up a lovesick tween that morning. Go figure. “Well, then he must really like me.”

  Yiayia took another cupcake. “That’s what I thought, too.”

  Excitement whirled through my gut. Maybe I would get that recipe after all. That was what was important, right?

  The memory of Demo’s lips crushing mine, and his hands tangling in my hair flashed in my mind. The excitement in my stomach quickly caught flame.

  Okay, so maybe I cared about more than just the recipe. So sue me.

  “Can I ask a personal question, Yiayia?” I asked, grabbing my own cupcake, and tasting the frosting.

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who beats around the bush, Marisol.”

  Snorting, I shook my head. “That would be accurate.”

  “Then shoot,” she said.

  I took a deep breath. “Why is Demo so grumpy?”

  “Oh, you noticed that?” She chuckled.

  I gave her a sideways glance. “It’s hard not to.”

  “His father was always gruff, too.” Yiayia thoughtfully chewed her bite. “I suppose Demo was always fairly stoic. When he was a kid, he took sports very seriously and had a tendency to beat himself up when his team lost.” I looked up at a group of pictures in the far corner of the room, where a row of Antonopolouses were lined up in wrestling uniforms.

  I craned my head to see it more closely, but Yiayia interrupted my examination. “He really changed for the worse when Belinda left him, I suppose.”

  “Belinda?” When she looked at me, I casually added, “Just curious.”

  “You don’t know the story of Belinda White?” She tsked and licked frosting off of her fingers. “That girl did a real number on my grandson. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you.”

  “Apparently you’re under the impression that Demo and I are friends.” I tossed my hair. “We’re actually not compatible. At all.”

  Until we’re making out.

  She stared at me for a moment, then waved my words away. “Oh, don’t be silly. Of course you are. Opposites make the best pairs, dontcha know?”

  Something inside me stirred, and for a split second, I felt hysterically happy. Weird. “Okay, enough about that. Why don’t you tell me what happened with that bitch Belinda?”

  Yiayia snorted. “I like you, Marisol.”

  “I like you, too.” My heart swelled. The feeling was uncomfortable, so I ja
mmed another bite of cupcake in my gullet. This wasn’t my grandma. I shouldn’t feel this way about Yiayia. My grandmother was somewhere in California, probably sipping a strong drink and surrounded by men much younger than she.

  Wait, that was what I should’ve been doing. What the hell was up with this new side of me? Cupcakes and old ladies? I was losing my touch!

  “Belinda was Demo’s high school sweetheart.” Yiayia dropped her voice low even though nobody else was in the garage. “They went to all of their dances together, all of their proms. She’s in all of his high school pictures, and he even bought her a promise ring when they were seventeen.”

  “A promise ring?” I snorted, but quickly shut up when she narrowed her eyes at me. “Sorry.”

  “It was very sweet. You seem like a girl who needs a little sweetness in her life.”

  Well, she had me there.

  Yiayia adjusted her glasses. “You see, in our family, you grow up, you get married, you buy a house, then you have a family. There is no greater joy than in that family. Is your family close, Marisol?”

  Shaking my head, I tried to appear nonchalant. “Not exactly.”

  “All my grandson ever wanted was to have a wife and children to support. He wanted to be just like his father, who’d worked every day of his life to support his wife and children. It was very noble.”

  I shifted in my seat. This was such a departure from my own family. I only saw my parents every two years or so, and even then the visits were only long enough to eat an uncomfortable meal, then bail so I could go home to a fresh mojito to decompress. I’d overheard my father telling a friend that getting married and having a kid was his “worst mistake,” and I’d based my own attachment phobia on that one overheard conversation for years.

  “After graduation, Demo proposed. Belinda said yes, and our families planned the wedding of the year. Her grandmother and I were on the Bible auxiliary together at the church, so we were friends. We started making her dress from the fabric of both of our dresses. It was beautiful. And Demo’s parents took a second mortgage and rented the biggest ballroom at the Spokane River Inn for the reception. It cost them a fortune.”