Hard to Get (A Stud for Stud Story ) *Rewritten*

Chapter 18

-Reese-

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"Buenos días, niña." (Good morning.) Garcia greets me as I walk into the kitchen.

   "Buenos días, Garcia." (Good morning.) I return the greeting as I glance around the kitchen.

   "How did you sleep?" She asks me as I reach for a slice of cooked bacon.

   "I slept phenomenally-"

   "Ah, ah, ah. Hands. Off." She snaps as she pops my hand, causing me to drop the bacon. "¿Dónde está su llamado aplastar?" (Where is your so called crush?)

   I smile. "Todavía debe estar durmiendo." (She must still be sleeping.)

   "Honestamente, Toreesa, no salta a los brazos de esta chica." (Honestly, Toreesa, don't go jumping into the girl's arms.) Garcia warns me before turning around to flip pancakes.

   "¿Y por qué haría eso?" (And just why would I do that?) I ask as I sneakily reach for that same slice of delicious looking bacon.

   "Toreesa." Her voice is stern causing me to draw my hand away from the pile of bacon.

   "Yes, I'm single now," I tell her as I lean my back against the countertop beside her. "But that doesn't mean I will be jumping back into the dating pool so soon."

   "So, what about this crush you claim to have-"

   "Well, that's all it is, Garcia." I say before lowering my voice. "Just a crush."

   "She's very pretty, cariña." She says as she shoots me a smile. "Pero tu corazón todavía está sanando." (But your heart is still healing.)

   "Lo sé." (I know.) I frown as I think about how right she is. "¿Pero, Garcia, has visto sus ojos?" (But, Garcia, have you seen her eyes?)

   I stare off into the distance as my memory wonders to the time I locked eyes with her on the bus that first time. How her eyes had refracted the sunlight so beautifully. They were a hickory as rich as the earth's soil; stained with the color of hot chocolate on a cold, winter night that wraps around you like a blanket; engulfs you in its warmth and makes you feel at home. Those deep pools of dark-cinnamon swirls seize the depth and heaviness of one thousand untold stories, which imprisons the sweetness of saccharine chocolate and the bitterness of strong coffee.

"Sí, son marrones." (Yes, they are brown.) Garcia says blandly. "¿Y qué? (So, what?)

   "Sí, sus ojos son marrones. (Yeah, her eyes are brown.) They consist of raw emotion and if you observe closely," I say, more so to myself, sighing faintly. "Te revelarán el pensamiento exacto que cruza las maravillas de su ominosa mente." (They will reveal to you the exact thought that crosses the marvels of her ominous mind.)

   On the other side of all that... Her brown-mahogany orbs scintillate with a mischievous glint that can be noticed next to the umber that rims her iris. They glow with humor and playfulness that never seem to escape her eyes. Nevertheless, her eyes possess sorrow that places a melancholic veil, which cloaks her eyes; it seems as if it makes the happiness in her eyes matte.

   "Sí, sus ojos son marrones." (Yeah, her eyes are brown.) I continue, giving Garcia a dramatically serious face as I deepen the tone in my voice to match the seriousness of my face. "And I get submerged in them every...single...time."