Hector (Season One: The Ninth Inning #3) (4 page)

“I understand what you mean, but until someone buys a painting from me, then I’m a chick who plays with paint.”

Well, my point wasn’t taken. “If you say so.”

“What about you, Hector? What do you do besides stalk bartenders and play baseball?”

“During the season, I pretty much just hang out with my teammates. And then in the offseason, I go to Miami to visit my family and sometimes travel to other places. I’m on the go so much with playing, that sometimes I like not going anywhere for a while. Other than that, I watch other sports a lot.”

“So, your whole life is baseball, sports, and family? It doesn’t seem like much. You don’t have any hobbies?” she asks.

“I told you I’m simple. I’ve never really ventured far from baseball, so I don’t really have any other hobbies.” When I find something I love and I do well, I tend to stick to it.

“Aunt Minnie says if you’re working at something you love doing, then you’re not really working. If you love baseball, then you’re not working,” she giggles, causing me to grin. God, I love her laugh.

“Your aunt sounds very wise. They live nearby, right?” I want to know whatever she’ll tell me about her life.

“Yes. My aunts have a place right outside the city. Aunt Lanny likes gardening and Aunt Minnie is more of an indoor lady, but together, they’re perfect. They’ve been together forever.”

“Are they baseball fans?” If so, then that could help me with any possible meetings in the future. “Would I make the cut as a possible suitor?”

“Suitor?” she laughs incredulously. “This isn’t the 1800s, Hector. And no, we’re not huge sports fans. I’ve been to a few Angels games, but that was when I was a teenager and one of the guys I liked took me. I think we’re more non-sports people. Although, I did see you on the news when you got the triple. Does that count for something?”

“No, it doesn’t count.” I chuckle. “And sorry about my poor word choice. I talked to my mom today and,” I shake my head, remembering the conversation, “stuff like that pops out sometimes.”

She tilts her head at me with confusion and curiosity. “Suitors are what you talked about with your mom? Why?”

I sigh. “My parents have been playing matchmaker for me for years. It’s something I’ve never asked them to do and don’t really want them to do, but it’s like talking to a wall with them sometimes. My mother is trying to talk me into meeting their newest find.” I pause for a moment for her reaction and ask, “Do you feel as if you’ve stepped onto a crazy train yet?”

“Crazy train? Hector, I drive that train,” she teases. “I don’t understand why your parents are pushing you into a relationship though. Is there a specific reason for it? Don’t they want you to find someone who
you
like?”

“What they want is for me to marry a Catholic girl from my country,” I reply dryly. “They’re very traditional and set in their ways, whereas I prefer to find a girl on my own. It’s like they have a list of qualifications and I only have two.” I’ve never understood this aspect of my parents, but I’ve never tried to change them either. It’s the way they’ve always been and it’s been easier to go along with my mother’s antics than to fight her on it.

“Wow, my aunts are the opposite. They want me to be happy and that’s all. However, I’m curious. What are your two qualifications?”

“Well, I can sum it up in two words: nice girl. If she’s nice, then everything else pretty much falls under that umbrella. I don’t care where she’s from, what political party she prefers, what religion she practices, or if she has tattoos or not. I mean, those are good things to know, but ultimately, I think personality and the kind of person she is wins out.”

Zoey is quiet for a moment, thinking while she finishes the bite she just took. “You know what, you’ve earned my respect, Hector. I’m the same way. I’ve never judged anyone but by who they are. I like a guy who is trustworthy, funny, and caring. If I could find that, I think I would be set.”

I grin widely, leaning back in the booth. “You do realize you just basically said we’re the same, aka
compatible
, and
then
you described me. You’re already set, Zoey.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but my grin stays in place. “Slow your fast ball, player. I didn’t say it was you, did I?”

“A guy who is trustworthy, funny, and caring,” I tick them off with my fingers. “I’m all those things, so you might as well have said, ‘Hector, I’ve been looking for you all my life.’”

“I didn’t mention this, but I should. I don’t like arrogance and I’m seeing a lot of it right now across from me.” She tries not to laugh at me.

“I’m as humble as they come, but I just had to point out the obvious, that’s all.”

“Sure, you did. Sure, you did,” she mocks.

“I can’t be too bad. You keep gracing me with your presence. Before I know it, we’ll be hanging out again.”

“You’re not too bad, Hector. Now, don’t go thinking we’re going to be exchanging friendship bracelets or getting matching tats.” She gives me an evil eye, stern look, but I know she’s not serious.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I only wear my necklace and I’m not looking to get a tattoo.”

“Why do you wear the necklace? I’m assuming you’re Catholic because of what you said about your parents. Was it a gift?”

“Yeah, my parents gave it to me for my confirmation. The ball player in me considers it my good luck charm, too.”

“A lucky charm? Do you believe in that?”

“Of course. If you’re going to tell me you don’t believe in that kind of thing, then I may just have to draw the line.” I joke, chuckling.

“I don’t have a true opinion on it. I don’t have a lucky charm. I’ve never had one for that matter.”

“I’m considering no opinion better than not believing. It’s really more of a ritual/habit type thing, I guess.” I’m not like Felix who has a human lucky charm and persuades her to come to every game. But I do things a certain way and make sure I always have my necklace.

“Ha, well if that’s the case, then maybe my tattoos are my lucky charms.”

“Oh, yeah, maybe so. They all tell a story, right? Tell me one.” My eyes automatically roam over the skin I can see.

“Um…” She looks down at her arms and I wonder if she ever forgets they’re there or if she forgets for a second where a particular one is located. I’m so used to wearing my necklace, sometimes I forget it’s there. Sort of the same thing, right?

“Well,” Zoey begins, “this arm is a tribute to Aunt Lanny. That’s why there are so many flowers and trees. She loves her flower gardens and anything to do with nature. I started it when I was twenty. This arm is for Aunt Minnie. She’s the artist and loves to shop and make jewelry. The veins connect around everything and roses show her love for Aunt Lanny and me. It’s hard to tell someone thank you for giving up their lives to raise you. This way they know how much I love them and how grateful I am for them,” she finishes with a touch of sadness, likely thinking of her parents now.

“That’s amazing.” And I truly mean it. I’m fascinated by how every single ink has meaning for her, especially considering how many there are. I have trouble deciding what to eat every day, I could never decide what I would want on my body, what would be so important to me that I’d want to tattoo it on my body for my entire life. “Why are the roses for you too? Are they your favorite?”

She slightly blushes. “Yes. Roses are my favorite. Aunt Lanny grows them and I used to help her. When I was little, she gave me a rose bush to take care of. I was so damn excited when that first bud popped up.” She shies away as if she said something embarrassing.

I smile at her. “I think after hearing these stories, I’m even more of a fan of your tats now. It seems like they hold so much of who you are and the memories you have.”

“I think of my skin as a canvas. Strange, I know, but I like my art on display.” She gives me a small smile. I can’t help thinking that I like her art on display, too.

I STAND IN front of my blank, white canvas shaking my head. How the hell does he do that? The night at the diner with Hector is still spinning around my head. He got me to open up to him while barely lifting a finger.

I’m not a person who’s closed off, but I’m not one to vomit all my feelings onto a counter for the world to see. Hector is different. I spilled my guts to him and told him my life story, and I didn’t even realize I’d done it until I was home in bed.

The charcoal I sketched the night Hector and I were on the phone sits on the other easel. I remember being on the phone with him, but my mindless sketching ended up being a massive tree with deep roots in the ground. The trunk is hard and thick. It’s strong, as if a tornado couldn’t even pull it up. The branches curve and twist through each other and up into the sky. I didn’t put leaves or any accents on it. It’s only the black of the charcoal and shading of my fingers. I’m not sure why I even created a tree.

I tilt my head to the left and then the right to see if the new angle will tell me what the hell I was thinking. But nothing comes of it. The loud knock brings me out of my insane thoughts about the tree and I walk to the door.

“Aunt Minnie.” I smile. “What are you doing?”

She smiles and holds up two bags of groceries. “Thought my girl might need some food.”

I shake my head. “I can shop for myself. I have money,” I tell her, but she walks right past me into the kitchen and begins unloading everything.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m fine. I’m messing around in the studio, but nothing is happening.” I jump up on the counter and watch her put everything away. I know better than to help because it’s Aunt Minnie’s way, even if it’s my apartment. I don’t even try to argue with her. I know I’ll lose.

“Creativity isn’t on a schedule. You need to relax and let it happen. If you push, you’ll end up with crap on cracker.” She giggles as she steals my favorite saying. “Before you know it, it’ll happen, and you will create the greatest picture ever.”

“I’m glad you have such confidence in me because I’m beginning to think I’m wasting my time. I feel like I’m destined to be a bartender for the rest of my life.” I sigh and twirl a long black strand of hair around my finger.

“Oh, thank God. I’m so glad you decided to have a pity party today because I bought cheese to go with all your whining.” She hands me a block of cheese from the fridge and tries not to laugh. I narrow my glare at her, but end up bursting into laughter. Aunt Minnie kisses my cheek. “You’re already an amazing artist. Be patient for the rest. It will come, and you’ll reap from all the rewards.”

“Thank you for having faith in me.”

“Aw, Zoey. You deserve it all. Now, may I see what you’re working on?”

I shrug and jump off the counter. Normally, I don’t show my work until it’s finished, but Aunt Minnie’s advice and criticism sometimes helps me. We walk into the spare room, and she heads straight for the tree charcoal.

Aunt Minnie stares at it for several minutes and doesn’t move a muscle. I’m worried that something is wrong with her.

“Zoey, this is…” She stops.

“Sucky? Crappy? Shitty? Worse thing ever?”

“Stunning. Profound. Gorgeous. Entrancing.”

“Huh? This?” I walk up beside her. “I did it while on the phone with Hector.”

Aunt Minnie turns to me. “Hector? Who’s Hector?”

“This guy I’m talking to. We’re friends, nothing else.”

She laughs softly. “Well, he might be your muse.” She gazes back to the charcoal. “The lines and details are breathtaking.”

“Maybe you should put your glasses on,” I mumble. “Hector isn’t my muse.”

“I want to buy this.” She spins around to face me.

I scrunch my face. “Are you high or drinking Aunt Lanny’s organic juices? This is not art. It’s...doodles.” I grasp for an accurate word.

Aunt Minnie shakes her head. “I’m taking it.” She grabs it off the easel. “I’ll send you a check.” She rushes out of the room.

“Wha...what? Wait.” I’m shocked and unable to move for a second, until I hear the door close, and I race after her, but when I look reach the door and look, she’s gone.

Ugh! To be almost sixty years old, she’s a fast old bird.

Hector: Come hang out with the guys and me. It’ll be fun.