"Gonna grab some burritos and then we'll probably pick out china patterns and baby names after she gets handsy with my boobs."
"Second base, shit wit? This is serious."
I shrug. "She's been eyeing them for days. Sometimes when it feels right my shirt comes off and I get slutty on the third date."
"Don't let her pressure you, son. Your virtue is a precious, precious gift," he teases.
Just then the doorbell rings and when Gus takes off in an all-out sprint for the front door, I have a bad feeling.
And then I hear her sweet voice. "Hiya. I'm looking for Franco."
I pat down my pockets for my cell wondering if she texted to say she was coming over. No phone. Shit.
"You must be Gemma. I'm Gus." They're shaking hands when I walk in the room.
"Nice to meet you, Gus," she replies politely.
"Hey, Gem. Sorry, I didn't get your text about meeting here," I say. I need to get her out of here before Gus embarrasses me. It's coming, I can sense it.
I don't miss that her eyes rove up and down my body before she says, "You texted me."
I'm confused for half a second before Gus hands me my phone with a wink. "You kids have fun tonight."
Shit. That wink was evil. It said, You're fucked—I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. I take the phone with narrowed, accusatory eyes. "Thanks?"
"The pleasure is all mine." His smile is too pure. Too happy.
Jesus. I don't even want to know what that means. Gemma takes my hand when I offer it. "Let's go, I'm starving."
Gemma waves at Gus, naïve to the fact that we're likely knee-deep in a Gus created fiasco. "See ya, Gus."
"Later, Gemma. Take care of my boy. Don't let the tattoos fool you, he's a delicate little blossom."
I shake my head. "Night, shithead."
He laughs. "Night night, you sexy beast."
I wait until Gus shuts the door behind us before I open my texts to Gemma on my phone. The last one was sent thirty minutes ago. It's a photo of me from the back. Naked. Getting in the shower. The text that accompanied it reads, Just grabbing a quick shower. Drumming all day like a god makes my ass sweaty. Meet me at my place at 8:00?
Gemma's reply reads, I approve. O.O See you at 8:00.
"That fucker," I say under my breath.
Gemma laughs at my outburst. "What?"
I slip my cell in my back pocket. "Goddamn Gus. He filched my phone, snuck a nudey shot, and sent you those texts tonight."
Her smile hasn't faded. "Remind me to thank him next time I see him. I don't know about your boobs, but your backside is a ten. A solid ten."
I cover my face with my free hand and scrub at it to relieve the tension. "I suppose it could've been worse. You're not running away."
She pries my hand away from my face and raises her eyebrows. "I'd have to be mental to run after being presented that kind of teaser."
I open the passenger door to my truck and help her in since it's lifted.
It only takes a few minutes to drive to Chubby's Burritos and my stomach is growling by the time we walk through the door. "What's your poison, Gem? Pollo, carne asada, carnitas, barbacoa?"
"In English please, for the Brit? I've never eaten a burrito." The way she pronounces burrito sounds like she's adding an extra syllable. She decimates the word.
"What?!" I know it was a loud exclamation when everyone in the small restaurant turns and looks at me, so I tone down my shock. "That's unacceptable. You haven't lived, my dear. Chicken, cow, or pig, call your meat first and then we'll add the rest."
She doesn't hesitate, "Chicken."
"Do you like rice?"
She nods. "Love it."
"Refried beans?"
She looks slightly confused again.
"Jesus, how have you survived without Mexican food?"
She looks down at her gorgeous body. "Fantastically, it would appear."
Her confidence makes me smile. "You've got me there," I agree. "So, no to beans is what you're telling me?"
She shakes her head. "No beans."
"Guacamole?"
Her face squishes up in disgust. "God no, guacamole is vile."
I'm wounded, truly wounded. "Avocados are sacred. What do you mean guacamole is vile? I'm pretty sure repentance is required for speaking such blasphemy in a holy place like this."
"Chubby's Burritos is holy?" she asks.
"Yes, heathen, it is. Wait until you taste your burrito. It'll be miraculous, life changing. You'll likely weep from sheer happiness."
"I had no idea. Suddenly this dinner date feels like a baptism. I feel underdressed. I should've worn my fascinator."
"What the hell is a fascinator?"
"It's a fancy headband with ornamentation like ribbon, netting, or feathers. It looks similar to a hat, but not such a fuss to wear. They're worn for special occasions, like a wedding," she explains.
"Yes, you definitely should've worn it, what with all the blessings and burritos to celebrate tonight."
"You forgot boobs," she adds.
"Damn, you're right. This is shaping up to be a momentous night—"
The older woman at the counter interrupts. "Que puedo servirle?"
I order in Spanish while Gemma tries to hold back an amused smirk. Color her impressed by my bilingual skills.
We find an empty table to wait on the hallowed last supper, before she says anything. "Spanish, huh?"
"My mom's from Mexico, so we grew up speaking Spanish," I explain. We speak more Spanish than English at home, always have.
"When did she immigrate to America?" I love that she's interested in my family.
"She came for college when she was eighteen."
"What made her decide to stay?"
"The big, charming surfer who lived in the dorm room next door."
"Your dad?" she speculates.
I nod.
"Are they still married?"
"They just celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary and are crazy in love to this day. It's cute." My parents could make even the most cynical person believe in true love. I want what they have someday.