Riptide (10 page)

I bristle on the inside but wear an
I couldn’t care less
look. “Hey, Ford. Having fun?”

“Yeah, I am. As a matter of fact, that hot mama gave me her number.”

I snort. She’d give anybody that, and a lot more. “Cool.”

Ford reaches over and takes Damien’s hat off my head. “What’s up with wearing a brodaddy hat?”

“Nothing.” I swipe at it, but he holds it away from me.

“Then I guess you won’t mind if I do this.” He places it on the head of a passing drunk girl. “It’s really not your style.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not.”

He says, “What’s the problem?”

Inwardly fuming, I check my watch. “Nothing. I don’t know. I’ve gotta be home soon.”

“Oh yeah,” Ford says, “I forgot you turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

We walk back to the truck in awkward silence, with me biting off the urge to correct him on the fact that the carriage turns into a pumpkin and the coachman turns into a rat. When we reach Esmerelda, Ford unlocks the door and walks around to his side. No gallantries this time. I guess it’s up to me to rip the door open. I do, and end up flinging myself into the car parked next to us.

Ford plays it off, saying, “Oh sorry. I forgot. My bad.”

I nod and say, “No big deal.”

This is so stupid. Normally we’d laugh if something like this happened, and then we’d hop in his truck and blast out of here before someone griped about their precious paint job. I stare at the moon for a while, trying not to be the one who breaks the silence. But the thought of Ford and Anna makes me cringe.

I say, “So you got Anna’s number.”

Ford drums on the steering wheel. “Yep. She’s pretty cute too. I might give her a call.”

That shreds my last semblance of patience. I completely make something up. “I don’t know. I heard she’s in a love triangle or something.” Anna is always playing multiple guys; it can’t be too far from the truth. Only thing is, I don’t know who the current tools are.

“I don’t know,” Ford says. “I might call her anyway. She’s not too into it if she’s giving me her number. Besides, I like squares.”

“You did not just say that.”

“Did she say anything to you about me?”

I would have clawed her face. “Don’t get all cocky. It’s unattractive.”

“I can’t help it if the ladies like me. Some people have good taste.”

It’s like he can’t leave it alone. I roll my eyes and look out the window.

twelve

torta
: in Mexico, a sandwich served
on white crusty bread (a bolillo)
and usually centered around a meat

After the Bonfire from Hell gone wrong, I didn’t even need my alarm this morning. I’m ready to get to work. To take my mind far away from the beach and douche bag Damien and whether or not that tool will ruin my future career. To be with people who are who they are. To have fun with Brianna and Hop.

Ma set out a bag of
tortas
to share at the office. Score.

After grabbing Teresa a chai tea at Lola’s Coffee, I pull into the parking garage fifteen minutes early. That’s how pathetic my summer has become. Or maybe how crazy guarding Grace has driven me.

I take the stairs and notice again how posh everything in this building is: the glass staircase, the stone walls, the fountains, the grass planters everywhere. The modern way of saying, “Do business with us. We’re hip, calm, successful.”

I think about the office Jorge spent hours and hours waiting in. The one with drab walls, long lines of plastic chairs, and more people than seats. The pro bono lawyer who helped illegal immigrants wade through paperwork. Go through the right channels. The dude did his best. But that wasn’t good enough. He didn’t have the resources of a firm with rich clients. He didn’t have a lot. The one thing he had was a good heart.

I didn’t even get to say good-bye. I should have taken Jorge in—should have let him hide out at my house. But I didn’t. I didn’t know. And then he got caught in the crossfire between local police and drug runners. One of the big reasons his family left a country they loved was safety and opportunity. That’s why I’m going pro bono. Those are the peeps I’m going to help. For-real help. I’ll earn my chops with a big firm, then break off and do my thing.

I open the door to the office. Teresa looks up. I smile. “Morning,
Mamacita
.” She does the Look. “What is it with you women and the Look?” I ask. “I swear I’m on my best behavior.” Her eyebrows rise higher. Didn’t know that was possible. I lay on a thick accent to mess with her. “Watch out, they might get stuck.” She starts to protest. I slide her tea from Lola’s over. “Chai tea.
Para ti
.”

She smiles. “
Gracias
.”

I nod. “
De nada
.”

Then I sit in my usual spot. Brianna will show up any minute. Hop will roll in last with his latest crazy bus story.

The door opens and Brianna blazes in with extensions, hundreds of tiny new braids, all over her head. She’s wearing another sexy office outfit. White slacks that show off curvy hips. A dark brown top that hugs full curves. Even her shoes are cute. I let loose a quiet whistle.

Instead of giving me the Look, she says, “You too.”

I pull my shirt away from my chest like I’m burning up. “Well, I am wearing clean clothes. And I did iron them this morning.”

She laughs and sits down next to me. “Ford, you’re a funny guy.”

“What’s the difference between fun and fungi?”

She leans in. “I don’t know. What?”

“One gets you ladies. The other gets you eaten.”

She pushes my arm. “That was bad.”

Grace’s little act last night still burns me. The royal flush was a royal pain. I flash Brianna a wicked grin and alternate flexing my pecs. “I’m a bad boy.”

She leans down and grabs the bag of
tortas
Ma made for the office. “What did we bring today?”

Hop walks in as I say, “
Tortas
.”

He says, “Dude. My fave. Can I have one? Breakfast was more of a wish than a reality this morning. I was running late.”

Brianna and I eye each other and shake our heads in disbelief. I say, “You? Late? Never.”

She dangles the sack in the air.

Hop reaches for it. Brianna drops it in my lap and blocks me with her body. Her legs feel good pressed against mine.

Hop says, “C’mon. Where’s the hope for Hop?” Then he says, “Fine. I’ll tell jokes until you relent.”

Brianna turns around and grabs the bag out of my lap, so fast that her boobs brush my biceps. And while she’s handing over a couple of
tortas
, I enjoy the warm feeling of Brianna on my arm.

Teresa takes a sip of tea before saying, “This is a law office. And some mornings the three of you are one clown short of a circus.”

We all pause midair. Teresa made a joke. A funny one.

Hop finishes his bite of
torta
. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

She deadpans, “Someone has to keep you hopping, Hop.”

We all crack up.

She shoos us down the hall. “Go to Jada. She might have something new for you this morning.”

We race down the hallway freaking out about the possibility of moving beyond stamping, sorting, and labeling.

Jada greets us with a grunt as she struggles to move a box twice her size.

Hop and I rush over to help her. I say, “Where would you like it?”

Jada steps away and rubs at her wrists. “In the corner …
I’m expecting to receive quite a load regarding the Thompson case today.”

“Dang. This
is
heavy.” I heft it over there. Then I turn around. “Next time feel free to wait for me or Hop to get here.”

She gives a terse grin. “How fast are you on the freeway? I have a doc that needs to be delivered within the hour.”

I think about Esmerelda breaking down and I shrug, embarrassed. “Um, my truck isn’t always reliable. I wouldn’t want to miss the deadline ’cause I’m on the side of the road.”

Hop says, “Who needs a license when the mass transportation options are so alluring?”

Brianna says, “We can take my car, if Ford will drive for me. I don’t do downtown traffic unless I’m desperate.”

Jada says, “Deal. Hop, you’re with me for the next hour. I’m going to show you how to transcribe affidavits.”

Ugh. I’m driving around in a car and Hop gets to learn the cool stuff.

Hop doesn’t say a word, which in itself is way louder than if he had said something. And the grin on his face is more than enough.

Jada looks between the three of us and blows out some air. “Oh, fine. I’ll show you two when you get back, unless there’s some other little thing you’d like to learn.”

“What’s the paperwork a person would file to get legal status?” Crap. That flew out of my mouth a little too fast.

Jada turns her head to the side and gets a worried look on her face. “Is this for you, hon?”

I shake my head no emphatically. “Nah. It’s for a friend.”

Brianna and Jada exchange a look.

“Seriously. It’s this guy I play poker with … right, Hop?”

“Yeah,” Hop whispers.

We both eye Jada and wait. She says, “Let me think about the best info to get you. But my gut feeling is there’s not much that can be done.”

Anger boils up. I shove it back down, knowing Jada’s just telling it straight. But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. “Okay. Let me know if you come up with anything.”

Jada’s face softens. “I will.” Then she grabs a manila envelope off the counter and hands it to me. “Address is on the cover.” She checks her watch. “You got fifty-five minutes.”

Brianna’s little car is tight quarters. My knees are inches from my ears.

Brianna asks, “So who is this guy you’re wanting to help?”

I focus on the road. “One of Hop’s buddies.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her playing with her bracelet. She says, “That’s really cool, but why doesn’t your friend just get a lawyer?”

“Money. Some folks have it. Some don’t.” I can hear that tension in my voice, but I can’t get rid of it. I speed up, switch lanes, and pass a couple of cars. It’s dumb that it makes me feel better. I press down on the pedal and pass another few cars.

Brianna holds the help-me-God handle. “I think we’ll get there on time, Ford.”

I let up on the accelerator. “Sorry. If we get there late, my ass is grass.”

“This legal-status stuff seems pretty personal when it’s for someone you just met.”

I shrug.

She says, “You wanna talk about it?”

I don’t want to talk about what happened to Jorge. “Maybe later.”

“Okaaaaay. Change of subject.” Then she adds, “You know what, Ford? I’ve always wanted to surf. But I’ve been too nervous to try. I haven’t hung out with surfers before you.”

“I could teach you,” I say, thankful for the change of subject. “It’s pretty easy. I’ve heard I’m a decent coach.”

Brianna squeals and plays with her seat belt. “All right! What about this afternoon?”

She’s so excited and cute. I think about it. It was really cool for her not to push me. I hesitate and then say, “Sure. Today’s great. I’ll meet you at Encinitas. It’s a bit shifty on the break, but it’s a decent place to learn. It’s a sand bottom and we’ll stay on the inside.”

She laughs. “I love surf lingo.”

An hour and a half after we get off work, I meet Brianna in the parking lot at Encinitas. She steps out of her car in a spicy bikini. It’s white and tiny and shows off all her curves. And while it’s mighty fine to look at, clearly she’s never surfed. That sucker will get washed right off of her. And she’ll freeze. She’s so excited she’s practically bouncing over to me.

I clear my throat. “That’s a great swimsuit.”

“Thanks.”

Then I grab a wetsuit out of the truck and pull it over my legs. “Did you bring anything to wear over it?”

She wrinkles her nose. “No. I have a long-sleeve shirt—will that work?”

Oh man. She makes clueless so sexy. Never would have thought that possible before now. “Have you ever been swimming at the beach before?”

She shrugs. “The water’s too cold. But I figured, you know, with the excitement of surfing, maybe I could deal.”

I grin. “No way.”

Her face falls.

I quit pulling my wetsuit on, leaving it hanging around my waist. “And that’s why you have me. I kind of figured you might need one. I brought an old wetsuit for you to try. It might be a little big, but it’ll be way better than nothing. Trust me.”

She does a little dance; her braids bounce around her face. “I knew you would be the perfect coach. You’re awesome and we haven’t even gotten in the water yet.”

I pass it over to her. I do my best to look the other way while she wiggles into my old suit. How much can a guy take? Every little glance … I see something jiggle. In the best way possible.

She laughs. “Ford, you’re so funny. It’s on. You can look now. Besides I need your help. How do you zip this thing up?”

I walk over and step up behind her. I thought the suit might be big on her. And it certainly doesn’t fit her like it fits me, but her curves seem to fill it out perfectly. The chest on that suit will never be the same. I reach down to grab the zipper dangling above her rear end. I laugh nervously and carefully grab it without touching her. I listen to the sound as I zip her up. I grab my board and say, “C’mon. Time’s a wasting.”

She walks next to me, looking like a goddess in my suit. It hugs her curves tightly, making her ankles look delicate.

We claim a spot on the beach near a family of tourists. The kind of mom who’ll watch our stuff like a hawk while we’re out surfing. I wax the board and comb. Brianna quietly watches, squatting down next to me. A foot of space between us. This is nice. The kind of scenario I used to wish I had with Grace. With her interested in me. Hanging on my every word and action. Showing interest instead of pushing me away.

I give her the rundown. “We’ll hang out at the foamies. Let you practice standing up. Get the feel for the waves. I’ll be right next to you the whole time. Cool?”

She grins. Her whole face lights up. “Cool!”

“Watch me lie down on the sand and pop up. That’s what you’re going to want to do on the board. It’s one fluid motion.” I lie down and pop up in slow motion a couple of times, then I show her real time. “You got it?”

She nods. Then she lies down on the sand and practices a few stand-ups. They look pretty decent.

I say, “Let’s do it.”

We walk out together. Me carrying the board. When her waist hits the water, she squeals and shivers. I laugh. Same thing Grace does. Must be a girl thing.

We stop where the foamies break. I grab the leash. “Put this on your right ankle.”

She extends her right leg up to the surface and rests it on the board, ankle in the air. Her toenail polish is bright red. She has cute toes. She fumbles around with the Velcro.