GRINGA (43 page)

             
The cheek. How unusual. I’m used to fighting off my dates who try to stick their tongue down my throat.

I lie in bed thinking about the hug and the kiss trying to figure out why he released me so quickly. I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
 

*
             
*
             
*

Diago
thunders into the ranch on his horse
.
‘Gringaaaa! Payton! Payton, come here!’

    
             
I dash outside to see what all the fuss is about
. He’s holding the reins to a most
beautiful filly I’ve
ever seen. She’s young, white
and
reminds me of a unicorn I used to read about.

    
             
‘This is your horse Gringa,’ he says. ‘Is for you. You must give her a name.’

             
‘For me? Gosh! I’ve never owned a horse before and s
he is so…so
gorgeous.
’
Most of all, she isn’t intimidating. ‘Wow Diago, this is great!’

             
‘Give her a name,’ he urges.

    
             
Mmm
,  y
oung, white, nervous and out of place ...
’
I look up at him. ‘Gringa Two,’ I say. ‘That’s her name.’

    
             
He looks at me and pulls a face. ‘Gringa too?’

    
             
‘
Two
. Diago, she’s young, white and edgy
, just like me. So I’m Gringa and she’s
like,
Gringa Two.’

    
             
For the first time since I met him, he guffaws
– just th
rows his head back and laughs. Everyone stares at him in surprise and I find his laughter very appealing.

             
‘You call that a horse?’ Santana sniggers. ‘Is a donkey.’

             
Everyone
starts to make
hee-haw sounds.

    
             
‘You’re
all
wrong,’ I say, lovingly stroking my horse, She’s not a donkey - she’s a beautiful horse and she’s going to take me places.’

             
As you can imagine, Gringa Two and I are kindred spirits, so we get on famously
. A
lthough she is a little bit of a prima donna and sometimes can be a little too demanding
– wants
a treat
before she will let me ride her, won’t go out if it’s cold ...

    
             
‘Ride the horse,’ Diago says, ‘Don’t trot.’

             
‘I’m still scared Diago,’ I protest.

             
‘Ride!’

             
‘Diago, I …’

             
‘Ride!’

             
‘Diago
stop!
’

             
‘Okay, you ride
my
horse and I
sit with you and
help you,’ he says and hoists me onto his hors
e. He whacks his horse and we ri
de for about five minutes passing beautiful clearings.

    
             
‘We’re going too fast Diago,’ I cry over my shoulder.

             
‘Relax and
enjoy the wind in your hair,’ he says and squeezes my waist.

             
‘Okay.’ With him next to me, I feel really safe.

             
‘What’s your horse’s name, Diago?’

             
‘Taxi
.
’

             
‘No, what’s your horse’s
name
?’

             
‘Taxi. Is my horse name.’

             
‘“Taxi”?’ I laugh. ‘That’s an
funny
name.’

             
He grins. ‘He my taxi,’ he says, patting his horse.
             

    
             
Finally, we reach the top of a hill just in time to see another colourful sunset. We climb off the horse, sit on the grass and I oo
oh and aaah at the changing lavender and champagne sky.

             
‘Diago,’ this is really beautiful,’ I whisper. ‘I’ve never seen such breathtaking sunsets like this back home.’

   
             
‘
Si
?’ He reaches for me and draws me in front of him. His
strong
arms circle my waist as he nuzzles my neck. 

             
‘Yeah,’ I say, and angle my neck to accommodate his
seeking
lips. I
close my eyes and
bask in the
intimacy of his touch.
I like being nuzzled by him and I like being held by him. I shouldn’t, but I do. Go figure. I’m trying to.

             
‘This is beyond beautiful – it’s spectacular.’

    
             
‘I know what you mean,
Mi
Carazon
,’ he says, his voice soft and
meaningful
.
‘Very spectacular. Like you.’

             
I smile.
Nobody has ever called me
or referred to me as
spectacular
before. Slowly, I turn my head to look at him and for a moment, our cheeks rest against each other – my smooth against his stubble.

             
I’m certain h
e’
s going to kiss me.

             
I want him to kiss me.

             
But he draws back.
             
             

    
             
I smile away my disappointment.

             
We chat as we watch the sunset
.

    
             
I’m ashamed of the sudden deep longing
that’s
loom
ing
inside of me. I’m not in any way confused - I really
want
him to kiss me. 

    
             
I know what it is – too much time with Diago. Got to know him on a deeper level and I like him. With him, I feel cared for and protected. And anyway, he’s the only person in the world that gives a damn about me. How can I not gravitate towards him? 

    
             
But why won’t he kiss me? It’s like he wants this barrier that prevents intimacy between us.
I’m feeling
rejected, sad.

             
I understand he’s maybe afraid to
let down his guard
and all that
– something to do with being used as a punching bag by a tyrant, being used as an ashtray by a m
an he trusted, but still …
   

     
             
T
oday, I don’t want him to be afraid. I want him to trust me. I want to turn around, hold him and kiss him on the mouth and break down the barriers that keep me out.

    
             
‘What you thinking
, baby
?’
he whispers.
 

    
             
‘Eh ... how lovely this is,’ I lie and
gently touch his cheek.

             
‘
Si?
Is lovely,’ his
says, his breath fanning my ear.
‘Very lovely.’ His kisses
on
my neck intensif
y.
I want to kiss him
.

             
Fuck it! I can’t wait anymore - I
jerk
my neck around and draw his mouth to mine. He resists and tries to
cheek
me, but I hold onto his neck.

             
‘Don’t!’ I whisper and kiss him hard, sliding my tongue sensuously into his mouth. After a nanosecond of hesitation, he angles his head eagerly to accommodate mine and allows me my way and I steal a
really
deep kiss. Finally I stop and smile at him. ‘That’s what all the fuss
is
about,’ I say breathlessly.

    
             
With a groan, he swoops down and kisses me
.

    
             
Okay, he is the worst kisser I’ve ever came acros
s, but it’s still lovely, warm
and I don’t want him to stop. I’ll have lots of fun teaching him later, I’m sure. 

             
When he draws away, I struggle to hide my disappointment.

             
‘Let us go home
to eat
,’ he says, cupping my face with both his hands.

             
‘Yeah ... dinner ...   starving …we should go.’

             
What else do I say: ‘
Are you blind?
Can’t you see I
want you
?’

             
Our ride home is punctuated by mini stops solely for canoodling and judging by the length and intensity of his kisses, I can tell he enjoys kissing me as much as I enjoy kissing him.