1.1 The Chronicles of Us - Vice & Virtue

Chapter fourteen

I can't deny it. I regret last night. Not because he's been mean all morning, that's just rude and stupid. No, I regret it because I wanted it. I wanted it so badly, I still do. Even after his behavior.

Why didn't I just kiss him and let the pieces fall where they may? I was afraid of what would happen afterwards but, maybe, I was more afraid of myself. Or, perhaps, I was afraid to lose control.

Sure, I've been curious about physical ... intimacy, but David thought it was important to wait until we were married. I didn't mind. There was no rush.

Now, though. There's a steady impatience between my thighs. It's an unfamiliar sensation and very hard to ignore. An itch only Tex can scratch.

Really?

Does it have to be him just because he's the one who awoke that fire within me? Why not someone else?

I search the parking lot. Tex stands on his own, looking a little angry while smoking a cigarette. Santiago talks to a girl, a small distance away.

I compare their features. Santiago's lips are fuller. Maybe that's better for kissing? Could be. He's shorter than Tex but taller than me. His hair is short and ink black; his eyes only a shade lighter. There's no doubt about it, he's a handsome man.

Yet, my insides remain calm when I look at him. My mind doesn't wander off to indecent places. No, that only happens when I look at Tex. His gaze is electrifying, tingling my skin from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.

Why am I denying myself something I want just because that's all he wants from me in return? Does a first time really have to be with someone you love? Maybe it's better if there are no feelings involved.

Still, I don't want him to think he can get what he wants by being mean. What to do? I guess, we could have a talk, clear the air and then, once he apologized, I'll surprise him with a kiss. It's a crazy plan but oh so exciting. Will he put his hands all over me again? He better.

With newfound determination, I walk his way. The closer I get, the more profound his scowl grows. He looks like an angry bull with the way cigarette fumes come from his nose.

The butterflies flee the scene. I wish I could follow them, but I'm frozen in place, hypnotized by the brooding storm behind his eyes.

He looks down, stomping out his cigarette. "What do you want?"

"Uhm ... I want to talk to you about last night. I know you said we're not friends but—"

"But what?" His voice drips with gall. "Why is it so hard for you to understand that I don't wanna be your friend. Can't you just leave me alone?"

I don't want to.

I straighten my back, resolute to turn this into a fruitful conversation. "Why don't you tell me the reason you don't want to be friends with me."

"Jesus! Really?" Both his hands fly up and then run down his face. "I'm not interested in being friends with you 'cause we have absolutely zero in common. You don't swear, your taste in food and music is terrible, and you're weird as fuck."

Yes, I don't swear and yes, I say silly things sometimes, but he doesn't know everything about me. In fact, he doesn't know anything.

I try to match his angry frown. "You don't know what kind of music I like."

His jaw ticks like he's about to blow up. "I saw you messing with the radio, yesterday. You put on Earth, Wind and Fucking Fire."

Apparently, I wasn't as conspicuous as I thought I was. Not that it matters because he's simply wrong. "So?" I cross my arms. "You don't have the authority to decide which music is good and which is not."