Concealed - A Hiding From Love Novel #2 (28 page)

“Really? You want to drive to Corpus and learn how to surf?” I’m surprised he’s never mentioned this to me before.

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf.” He pulls a broom out of a nearby closet to sweep up the mud he’s now chipped off the concrete.

“Well, why didn’t you say so? Pick a Saturday, I’ll rent us some stuff, and we’ll head down there. But you’ve got to drive. I gave Alexis my truck.”

“You
what
?” he nearly shouts, his voice cracking at the end of the question like he’s a teenager.

“I gave Alexis my truck. I found her walking along Congress at eleven at night…alone. She’s got a job waiting tables and doesn’t have a car. There was no way I could let that one slide.”

Mike nods his head. He’s a guy. He gets it. “Truth.” He pauses. “What the hell was she thinking anyway?”

I shrug. “You’re asking the wrong man. I never seem to know what she’s thinking.”

He slaps me on the back and gives me a sympathetic look, because really, that’s all he can do.

Alexis

El movimiento se demuestra andando.

Actions speak louder than words.

I
T
still takes me a few more days after my talk with Beth to get up the guts to go see Gabe. I should probably try to talk to him at home where we won’t be interrupted, but when the courage hits me, it’s eleven thirty on a Thursday morning, and I know I have to go with it or I may not be brave enough again.

I pull up to the garage and I can see him inside talking to Ramon and pointing to the engine in front of them. Ramon’s a good-looking guy. He’s in his thirties but still in really great shape, with thick black hair, and startling green eyes that contrast with his dark skin.

But as attractive as Ramon is, he’s nothing compared to Gabe. He’s got on a pair of faded jeans that fit loose but are so worn that they mold around his perfect butt. His work shirt is a button-up and it fits snug across his shoulders. Under the short sleeves I can see his rounded biceps and the tips of his tattoos. His hair is finally long enough to curl up a little at the collar, and it’s a total mess. I know he’s been running his hands through it because he’s not used to having it this long.

As I approach, my shoes make a clacking sound on the pavement of the parking lot and both men turn to see who it is.

Ramon leans in and says something to Gabe before looking back at me. “Hey,
mija
. It’s good to see you.” He strides over and gives me a hug.

“It’s nice to see you too,” I say, meaning every word of it.

“I’m sure you’re here to visit the
guëro
, but don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

I smile as he holds on to my hand for a moment before he walks away. “Sure thing,” I answer.

Gabe has walked over now and is squinting in the bright sun. “Are you having trouble with the truck?” he asks, looking at it.

“No, it’s great. You might not be so happy though. I’m sort of driving the hell out of it.” I grimace in anticipation of his response.

“Not at all. That’s why I gave it to you. I want you to use it. You’re doing exactly what I asked you to.”

“Good.” I nod. “I have to admit that after not having a car for so long it’s really great to be able to go where I want when I want. It’s a whole new world.” I laugh.

He smiles at me. “So what’s going on?”

“Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure.” He gestures toward the truck and we walk over. I stand by the driver’s door and he faces me. The tall cab blocks us from view of the garage.

He stands, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and waits for me to start. I take a moment, collect myself, and plunge right in.

“I made a huge mistake that night. We both know it, but I’m starting to realize it’s about more than that. It’s about me letting things come between us. I let the distance come between us, I let Marco come between us, and then my parents. I let my fears and my insecurities and my doubts come between us.

“You’ve never let anything come between us, and I get it now. You were always better at saying it, and you’ve been so much better at showing it. Love, I mean.”

I look up, and Gabe is watching me with this look on his face. It can only be described as longing, and it tears at me inside. Places so deep I didn’t even know they were there.

I clear my throat, trying to control the emotion. “I love you, Gabe Thompson, but I know saying it isn’t good enough now. I’m going to show you, and I’m not going to let anything…or any
one
come between us ever again. So put your girlfriend on notice. I don’t care how nice she is or what the hell you think you’re doing with her. I know you love me, and I love you. I’m going to show you until you know I mean it, and she can’t stop me.”

Gabe’s left eyebrow is raised so high it looks like it hurts, and his mouth opens and then closes as though he wants to say something but just can’t get it out. I step forward, putting my palms on either side of his face, relishing the feel of his stubble on my tender skin. I pull him to me and give him a hard kiss on the lips. Then I climb in the truck and drive away before he can respond.

I spend the next couple of days planning. I talk to Mike, I talk to Ramon, I talk to Beth. I’m surprised Mike is so willing to help me, since it’s obvious he knows Gabe’s girlfriend, but I don’t mention her and neither does he, so I go with it. I decide to start off with the little things. Ramon tells me what nights Gabe has after-hours work scheduled over the next two weeks, and I start cooking.

The first night I show up with a plate of tamales. I see him outside talking to a customer, so I quietly sneak into the office and leave the plate on the desk. Then I send him a text:
Check the office. Dinner’s on me.

When I get up the next morning there’s a note on the truck that says,
I missed your tamales.
I smile my way through the whole day.

I continue to leave dinner for him every time he has a late shift. The fifth time I stop by, he sees me and intercepts as I enter the office.

“Making another special delivery?” he asks as I walk in the front door and he walks in the back.

“It’s chicken tandoori tonight. I got the cook at the restaurant to show me how to make it.”

He grins. “Seriously? You can cook Indian now? Wow.” He looks like a little boy who just got a new toy, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t get too excited until you taste it. I might have messed it all up.”

“Well, you’d better stay and try it with me then. I’m not going to be the only one who gets poisoned.”

We sit down at opposite sides of the desk and I unwrap the plate. He pulls the fork out of the bag. I always include stuff like utensils, napkins, salt, pepper, salsa – whatever he needs to go with the meal. Tonight it’s got some naan from the restaurant, and he tears off a piece and gives it to me.

There’s only one fork, so he offers it to me and says, “Ladies first.”

I take it and have a bite. I don’t say anything. I just give the fork to him while I’m chewing. He takes it from me, never dropping his eyes from mine. He dips it down onto the plate, spears a piece of chicken, and brings it to his mouth. For a moment, I’m assaulted with memories of what that mouth does to me, the places it’s been, how I feel when it touches me.

Gabe’s lips close around the food and he moans. “Oh, man, that’s good. It tastes exactly like the tandoori at the restaurant.”

I smile, feeling my breath quicken.

“Seriously,” he says. “How’d you do that? It’s fucking perfect.”

I finally remember to swallow the mouthful of food I’m chewing into pur
é
e. “It’s the secret recipe, but the cook will do some sort of ancient, ritualistic beheading if I ever share it.”

“Well, I don’t need to know the recipe, just someone who can cook it. It really is fantastic.” He turns the fork toward me, offering me another bite. I shake my head.

“You go ahead. I’ve had dinner. I’m really glad you like it. It makes me happy to make you happy…for once.”

“Alexis,” he begins, looking like he feels guilty for something.

“No,” I stop him. “Don’t do this for me, Gabe. I need to do it myself. I need to show you. It’s my turn.” I stand and get my purse from the floor beside my chair. “Enjoy your dinner and don’t work too hard, okay?”

He nods. “Hey,” he calls as I’m partway out the door. “Will you stay? Next time. I mean, if there is a next time. Will you stay and eat with me? That’d make it even better.”

I turn to look at him, his features softening with hopefulness. “Yeah,” I answer. “I’d really like that.”

“Good.” He digs into his food again. I smile and leave, thinking blondie better watch her back.

Some of the other parts of my plan aren’t as easy as bringing Gabe dinner. It takes me forever to convince the super of our building to let me into Gabe’s apartment so I can get his laundry and clean his place. I choose a Friday when I know he won’t be working late, and I clean the place top to bottom, do all of his laundry, and leave him another dinner. I’ve always liked to cook, but I never thought it’d come in handy at a time like this.

I have to admit that part of my motivation in fixing up his place is pure female bitchiness. I can’t help but want to see if there’s evidence of her there and also leave my mark for her to see. I’ve never competed with another woman over a man, but this is war, and I find that nothing’s beneath me at this point.

I’m sort of surprised to find absolutely no sign that she or any girl’s been there at all. No used condoms in the trashcan, no perfume smell on the sheets, no long blond hairs on the pillow. I’m thrilled. Of course, it could be they spend all of their time together at her place, but a girl can always hope.

I leave all of his clean laundry stacked on his dresser, a plate of his favorite enchiladas on the counter, and a six-pack of Fat Tire in the fridge. Then I take my lipstick, write ‘I heart U’ on the bathroom mirror, and go to Beth’s because I promised her I’d help sort through some of the records of Juan’s case. I hope my presence in Gabe’s apartment sends blondie running for the hills. I’m a bitch, but I don’t care. He’s mine.