With the Fire on High(60)

I pat his arm. “You okay? Out of breath? That was quite a sprint.” I’m hoping I can joke him out of his silence, but he just blinks in the direction of the kids and then shakes his head.

“My mother always told me one of the hardest things to be in a hungry world is a parent. But sometimes I think it’s being an older brother. To know exactly what your sibling needs and not have the age or strength to know any way to get it for them.” He smirks but his smile is empty.

I put my hand in his and squeeze. “Let’s go get ice cream.”

“No, I don’t want ice cream anymore, Santi.”

He pulls on one of my curls and I don’t know if it’s the sadness in his smile or his faraway look, but next thing I know, I’m arching up and holding his face between my hands. I place my thumb where his dimple would be if he were smiling. His hands move to my waist and I can feel their warmth through my jacket. He doesn’t pull me closer or push away but I understand he needs to feel close, and I need that, too.





Smooch


His lips are soft. I’d forgotten how soft lips can be. It’s been a long time since I kissed someone. His hands tighten in my jacket but other than that he’s still. I step in closer, angle my head, move my hands to the back of his neck, and pull his face closer. He opens his mouth, and I bite on his bottom lip, then I’m not thinking, I’m not planning the next step. His hand moves down to my butt and curves around it.

A wolf whistle breaks through the sound of my heartbeat and heavy breathing. “?Pero mira eso!” A drunk couple hoots and hollers at us.

“C’mon.” Malachi grabs my hand and we walk back to the street we came from. He stops and pulls me toward him. Then he’s kissing me again. And I can’t think because his hands move up and down my coat and the back of my jeans, and he smells so good. And I can’t remember Tyrone ever touching me like this, like this body was a dream he was afraid to wake up from.

“Santi, you blushing? I make you shy or something?” he says, and hugs me to him. “Santi, what am I supposed to do with you?”

I snuggle into his sweater. “Nothing. We should just enjoy it. We’re in goddamn Europe, across the world; no one needs us right now. We should just . . .” I shrug. “Be.”

“And when we get back?”

I think about Babygirl. How I wake up every day expecting to see her crib and how it clogs my throat with tears not to be near her. How I miss ’Buela’s shuffling slippers, and her yelling directions at the Eagles’ quarterback. How I need to find a new job and figure out what I’m going to major in if I’m accepted into college. My life when I get back is full of people I love and the responsibilities I have. And I love them, and miss them, but I also want to hold this feeling of freedom tight in my fist, because it has wings and I know as soon as I loosen my grip it will fly straight away. “We figure it out then.”

He gives me a long look. “All right, Santi. I’m following you. Where we going next?”

And it seems like he means in terms of directions, but I know he also means in terms of us. Even though it’s a Wednesday night, two bars and one club are blaring music from across the street. I point.

Malachi raises an eyebrow and squeezes my hand.





Cozy


The bar is small and smoky; when we walk in the bartender is setting a green drink on fire.

A group of Americans take the shots and cheer. Two of them turn around and I see Richard and Amanda. They wave but we don’t walk over. Malachi grabs my hand and moves past clusters of people to a small table at the back.

We sit down side by side. I rest my head on his shoulder. “Your sweater is nice.”

“You’re nicer,” he says.

“Yeah? What do you find nice about me?”

Malachi’s hand is on my knee and he brushes his fingers up and down my leg.

“Everything. The way you dress, the way you fix your hair. The way you used to tell me we were not friends. It’s all nice.” I laugh and press my hand against his so it stops moving on my leg.

“I didn’t mean to be mean to you before. Well, maybe I did, but I just have a hard time trusting people.” I shrug and lift my head from his shoulder. Make a move to scoot away, but he wraps an arm around me and pulls me back.

“What were you saying? Talk to me, Santi,” Malachi says, and kisses my ear. It’s like now that we’ve started touching this way and kissing we can’t keep our bodies away from each other. But I pull back just enough so that I can look at him.

“When I broke up with Tyrone, when I was pregnant with Babygirl, after I was pregnant with Babygirl, guys thought that gave them a reason to be able to come up to me and say anything they wanted, to just grab me or invite me to their houses. They all treated me like a ho.” I rub my finger along the tabletop. The wood is sticky with spilled drinks and I put my hand in my lap. “I’m not. I’m not a ho. Not that it should matter if I was, but I’m still not having sex with you.”

I know what saying something like that does. Dudes either stop being interested or they think I’m just playing hard to get. But I’m not doing either. I just want to be real clear.

“Look at me, Santi.” I keep my eyes firmly on the wooden table. Malachi lowers his face near mine. “I’m serious, look at me.”