The Beginning

Nicky

Was it Theresa?

She'd already told me her name; I was certain of it. If I thought back perhaps, I could remember what her short blond friend screamed over the music. Between her and the tall brunette all I could remember was that any song from the early two-thousands was dubbed 'theirs' and how they sashayed to the dance floor. Sloppy drunken dance moves overtook the majority of the party. That was until she bent at the waist. Thighs and cheeks beckoned my eye. I initially went to introduce myself to her, but found her pressed against me instead.

No, she seemed like a Talia. Curly ginger hair had been sectioned and braided down, the back bounced freely. Her smooth skin, the color of pure vanilla, and eyes just as dark. Her black crop top revealed delicious milk chocolate skin when she lifted her arms. Her short black skirt with a little slit along the side revealed her heavy thighs. Her high heels brought her tall five feet nine inches near to my six feet two inches.

She could've been a Tiana. The way she whimpered, while I camped between those thick thighs, echoed in my ears. Her little gasps and subsequent moans when an unexpected bite blended pleasure and pain. Sweat that coated her body, the sound she made when I drove into her, and how she'd gripped my backside in an attempt to get me that much closer... I—

"Nicky, are you listening?" My uncle, Dominic, rapped the table that separated us with his knuckles.

I couldn't hide the disinterest. "No."

Around the table, my cousins and single surviving brother watched me. Vincent, the oldest De La Cruz cousin, sat at his father's left side, directly across the table from me. He wore the same grim expression. The wrinkles around his mouth came in the same as Uncle Dom's, and again, just like his father, he grew a broom handle mustache to hide it. Though his hair hadn't yet gone salt-n-pepper, let alone grey, he slicked it back in a mirror image of the only man he'd ever admired.

Silas, the second oldest, sat to Vin's left. As outspoken as a politician who hadn't done any research, he surprised me as sat forward and made eye contact with Marc. A grin peeled his lips over his teeth.

Marcelo, third in line, had a smirk plastered on his lips. His dark eyes sparkled as they bounced around the room. Always one for a laugh, even if it was usually at someone else's expense, he wasted no time seeking the next person who would speak up. His eyes locked with Si's, and his head shook slowly. "Don't laugh." He warned, stifling a snicker.

They sat eldest youngest, each the left-hand side of the next. The twins Julian and Mateo, focused on their phones more than conversation. They didn't typically talk to anyone but each other.

It was second to the youngest, Oscar, who spoke, "Fuckin' Nicky." He squealed with laughter, which gave the other two permission to burst.

"Watch your fucking mouth." Veronica, my favorite of all the siblings, reached over and clapped a hand on his chest.

"Roni." Uncle Dom warned. He took a breath and turned his gaze back to me. "Are you trying to be funny? At a time like this, Nicky." He shook his head with disapproval.

"I'm not trying to do anything. I wasn't listening." I reiterated. "I was thinking about how none of this is my problem." I would've sat further back in my chair if I could. I settled for folding my arms like an incensed child.

"Nicky." Santi breathed his own discontentment from the archway behind me.

A pang of guilt struck me. "Santi." I mocked, forcing the emotion away. "He killed himself and I'm supposed to feel bad?" I stared in the faces of everyone who dared make eye contact.

"That's what I've been saying." Marc sucked his teeth.

"Shut your mouth." Uncle Dom extended a finger at his son. "Do you really care so little about your mother's—"