The Lion's Den(109)

He consulted the phone. “Go left here.”

I followed his directions into the setting sun as he scrolled through the channels on the radio, landing on a traditional mariachi station. My phone dinged in his hand. He raised his eyebrows. “You got a text from Summer.”

“What’s it say?”

“‘Hey, girl.’” He put on his best Summer voice. “‘John’s leaving Sunday if you wanna come out for the week. LMK.’” He dropped the valley-girl accent. “Smiley winky face with heart.”

“Text her back, ‘Go to hell, bitch. You tried to murder Eric and pin it on me.’”

His fingers moved across the screen. “No!” I cried. “I was joking!”

“Oops. Already sent.” He saw the petrified look on my face and laughed. “I’m kidding. I didn’t send anything. What do you want me to say?”

I thought for a minute. “‘Headed out to Lake Havasu to visit Grannie in her new condo, hit you up when I’m back.’ Winky smiley face with heart.”

“You two are all about that winky smiley face with heart,” he said, typing the message into the phone. “Take a right up there at the gate.”

I turned onto a wide cobblestone drive with a guardhouse in the center, flanked by two big white arches. A fat guard in a white uniform opened the window of the guardhouse as we approached. Eric leaned across me. “Vamos 78 Calle Costa Azul, invitados Eduardo Garcia.”

“Nombre?” the guard asked.

“Raphael Sanzio,” Eric said.

The guard checked his list, then opened the gate. “Izquierda en la fuente.”

The road gently sloped down toward where the orange-and-pink sky met the tranquil sea, leveling out at a big fountain, lit blue. I turned left and bumped along between the pristine white hacienda bungalows that lined both sides of the road.

“That’s it.” Eric indicated a bungalow on the ocean side.

I parked the car in the carport and got out and stretched, then unloaded my overnight bag from the back and lugged it up the steps while he unlocked the blue door.

Inside, light from the sunset spilled through double sliding glass doors into the open living room. A colorful rug was strewn across the terra-cotta floor, and traditional Mexican blankets in deep hues of turquoise and red hung on the walls over white couches. I dropped my bag and beelined for the sliding glass doors.

Eric and I stood side by side at the terrace railing, looking out at the ocean. The air was thick with salty sea mist. A set of stairs led down to a sandy beach that stretched fifty feet to where the waves crashed.

“Raphael Sanzio?” I asked. “At the gate.”

“My new name, thanks to George.” He laughed. “The Renaissance—”

“Painter, yeah, I know.” I laughed.

“You know your art history,” he said, impressed.

“You don’t have to know history to know who Raphael is. He’s a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, for chrissakes.”

“Summer didn’t.”

“And here I thought you liked her for her brain.” I turned and walked inside.

He followed me into the kitchen, where I opened cabinets, hunting for the liquor. “You were fooled by her, too,” he pointed out.

I found a nearly full bottle of silver tequila and held it up triumphantly. “True.” I set it on the blue tiled counter with a clink. “And I wasn’t even getting blowies from her.”

When I looked up, he’d disappeared. I took out two margarita glasses and filled them with ice from a bag in the freezer, then poured hefty shots over the ice.

Eric entered to find me rummaging through the cabinets in search of mixers. He dumped a pile of limes on the counter, laughing when he saw my expression. “There’s a tree out front.”

I sliced up limes and squeezed the juice over the ice. “To your new life as a Renaissance man,” I said, handing him a glass.

He smiled and held my gaze. “Thank you again.”

I ripped my eyes away and stared into my drink, pushing away the memory of his lips on mine. “You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

I studied the smashed lime floating in my tequila, struck by the thought that if Summer had tried to murder him and pin it on me, I probably didn’t need to worry anymore about ruining our friendship by dating him.

The possibility lit in my chest a desire so strong, I had to walk away. I headed to the bathroom, where I stared at my face in the mirror and promised myself I wouldn’t make any rash decisions. I felt sure he’d sleep with me right now if I gave him the chance, but I’d actually come to value Eric’s friendship, and I certainly didn’t want to ruin it over sex. Because, no matter that he’d come to me for help, no matter that I meant that much to him at least—the rest was still true: Eric had never been the type of guy who was looking for a serious relationship, and I had no interest in having my heart broken by him.

Once I’d gotten ahold of myself, I joined him on the balcony, where we sipped our cocktails, watching the light bleed from the sky. The tequila burned down my throat all the way to my belly. Emboldened by the alcohol, I ventured another of the questions that had been gnawing at me.

“What happened with John and your mom?” I knew I was prying, but he didn’t seem to mind.