Free shots again *stands* XD Enjoy.
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If anything is comparable to living like a god, it would be living in the aftermath of winning a big tournament. The morning after the race, Apone and I walked into the shop to be greeted with a round of cheering and applause. The guys gathered around me, clapping me on the back, and presented me with a big sheet cake. A frosting version of my Cobalt sped along under the words, "Congratulations, Andrea!" written in yellow script. I was embarrassed about their generosity, but delighted too, and we all devoured it at lunchtime.
Of course, it has some drawbacks. Reggie had the balls to show up at the garage that afternoon, with a couple of his cronies. Apone made me stay in the back office while he talked to them. I anxiously watched from the window looking into the shop. Apone's back was to me, and Reggie's face in shadow because of the bright sun streaming into the garage behind him. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Reggie was obviously pissed from the wild way he gestured. Apone held his hand up, trying to calm him down. Reggie shook his head, apparently disgusted, and gestured to his crew. They left, and I sighed with relief.
"Sorry, Dirt," Apone said, entering the office, "Reggie has some anger issues. Sore loser, too, 'case ya couldn't tell. He would've totally lost it if he'd seen ya. Tell ya what. I'll take you out to dinner tonight. Somewhere special to celebrate your big win." I start to protest, but he lays a finger on my lips, silencing me. "You deserve it," he smiles. I smile back, and my skin tingles when he removes his finger to go back to work.
He's halfway out the door when I realize something. "But I don't have anything to wear!" I blurt out. He stops in the doorway. He turns around and grasps the doorframe with his right hand, leaning his upper body towards me. The amusement in his gaze makes my blush flare up again. I swear it had just faded away from that morning.
"Well then, I suggest you take the rest of the day off and go fix that." His expression fades into something inscrutable and intense. He leaves the room but leaves behind the shivers running through my body.
…
I walk into the mall and am hit with a blast of air-conditioning. It's a relief after the sweaty noise of the garage. I bask in the coolness as I walk, browsing the stores. Eventually I come upon a Forever 21 and I head inside. I decline the associate's help and wander towards the back of the store, where I see some dresses. I flip through the racks, humming along with the song on the speakers. I find a leopard-print number and grin, remembering a time when Tío Oscar threatened to lock me in his apartment until I'm 30 if he ever caught me wearing something like this. I put it back and continue searching, not because I don't like it but because it truthfully isn't my thing.
After a few minutes, I find something much more me. It's a one-shoulder dress, with asymmetrical red and black triangles slashing across each other. It takes another moment of searching to find a small before I head back to the dressing room. With my back to the mirror, I shuck off my tank top and jeans and pull the dress on over my head. I take a breath as I zip up the side, then turn around. What I see steals the breath I just took. It conforms to my body – truth be told, it feels like it was made for me - without being uncomfortable. The block of black at the waist accentuates my waist perfectly, and makes the red at my chest and hips all the more striking. It's bold and unique – kind of like me, I'd like to think. I smile and twist, looking at my back, even though I've already decided it's what I'm buying.
I'm halfway to the registers when the cynical part of me asks if I'm wearing my Nikes with this. Chuckling, I turn back around and make my way to the shoe section. There, I find a pair of black wedges. Tiny straps criss-cross from the toe to the buckle around my heel. I also pick up a hoop earring set, because I figure the plain black pair would match without taking away from the dress. Plus the whole set is a better deal than the one pair I was looking at for the same price. Ten minutes later, I'm walking out of the store, happily swinging the bag. Forever 21 is my one-stop shop for an outfit, and without breaking the bank, either! For all the masculine habits my street racing brings, underneath I am still very much a glamour girl.
My pocket vibrates suddenly as the mall doors slide open to the sultry Atlanta heat, making me jump. I pull out my phone and frown at it. I don't recognize the number. Probably just a spam call. I shrug and shove it back into my pocket and continue on to my car. It's about three o'clock now, and Apone had texted me while I was at the register, telling me reservations were made for six. Plans for showering and straightening my hair crowd the weird call from my mind.
…
I'm standing in my towel, hair dried and straightened, toe- and fingernails bright with red polish, and makeup mostly done when Apone returns from work. We yell hello to each other through my closed bathroom door as he rushes past to his own room to quickly shower and change. I lean into the counter over the sink as if striving to become one with the mirror. My eyelids are dark and smoky, brown irises framed with black eyeliner and mascara, but I need one more thing to make my look perfect. Carefully, I apply the red lip gloss I save for special occasions. It's lucky I thought to bring my makeup bag. Or maybe not luck, I think, remembering that flash of intuition when I first laid eyes on Apone. A shiver of anticipation shoots up my spine. I feel like I did before the tournament: like something unnamed and important hangs on tonight. But not a dread at all, thankfully. It's an optimism, and as I zip up the dress, the sound the zipper makes feels like a confirmation.
I'm standing in the kitchen, smirking at the irony of me waiting for Apone, when I hear his footsteps on the stairs. I turn, about to make a sarcastic remark, but the words get caught in my throat. He's wearing a red dress shirt, the first couple buttons undone. The front of the shirt is tucked into a pair of black slacks. He's stopped on the bottom stair: hand clenching the banister, foot poised mid-step. I notice he's wearing black dress shoes. I've never seen him look so handsome, I think, and a heat creeps up my body. His astonished expression tells me he's thinking the same thing. We stand there for a moment, staring at each other. My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure he can hear it.
"Look," I croak when the tension between us reaches a breaking point, "We match." I attempt to smile, but my face won't work right, and instead a strand of hair just falls across my right eye.
To my relief, he laughs, if a bit nervously. He descends the bottom stair and steps towards me. Reaching out, he tucks the lock of hair back behind my ear. His fingers brush my forehead, linger behind my ear, bump the earring against my neck. I shiver.
"You look gorgeous, Andrea." His serious tone makes me blush again – how many times is that today? – and fishes his keys out of his pocket. "Let's go," he says, smiling. I follow him out the front door and slide into his car. As he closes the door behind me and walks around the car to get in the drivers' seat, my phone buzzes in my lap. I turn it over and look at the number. It's the same one that called when I was coming out of the mall.
"Ya gonna answer that?" Apone asks, opening his door.
"No, it's a weird number." I hit the ignore button and buckle up as Apone starts the car.
The evening went beautifully after that. Apone's surprise restaurant turned out to be a nice Italian place. Everything was delicious, and we spent much of the meal talking. Afterwards, instead of going straight back to his place, we bought ice cream cones from the Baskin Robbins down the street. We walked around, window-shopping as we ate our dessert, laughing and holding hands. He slung his arm around my shoulders as we wandered back to the car. My own arm snaked around his waist, and I felt full and happy.
When we get back to his place, we sit on the couch in the living room and put in a DVD. He pulls me into his left side and I lean into him, and I'm so content I think I'm about to fall asleep. I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. Apone starts stroking my hair with his right hand, making me open my eyes again. I lift my head and look at him. The intensity of his gaze sends a hot jolt through my stomach. I freeze, breathless with anticipation. He comes in closer, closer –
An angry buzz on the coffee table makes us both jump. Reluctantly, I pull away from him. We turn forward and see that it's my phone going off. Again. "Excuse me," I murmur and pluck it from the table. I rise from the couch and enter the kitchen to answer it. I don't need to glance at the screen to know it's the same number that's been calling all day. Now I'm seriously annoyed and I want to know who it is.
"Hello?" I don't bother to disguise my irritation.
"Andrea, baby, are you okay? I've been calling and calling…" That voice shocks me so much I have to throw out an arm and lean on the sink to keep from collapsing. The heat from seconds before is gone, swept away in a wave of cold.
"M-Mom?" I gasp.
"Where are you, Andrea?" She sounds like she's about to cry. "Why aren't you home?"
I don't know what to say. I hadn't told her I was leaving town. The lingering anger from her stealing my money had prevented me. But I can't tell her now and risk setting her off. She might get upset and hurt herself.
I hate that after everything she's done to me, I still want to protect her.
"Andrea? Are you there?" Yup. Definitely close to tears.
"Yeah, Mom. I'm here."
"You need to come home, Andrea," she pleads.
"I can't, Mom." She starts to protest, but I cut her off, "It's okay, don't worry, I'm safe. But I'm going to be gone for a while."
"How long, baby?" She sounds so small and confused, like a little girl. Like I'm the mom who's never home.
"I… I don't know, Mom." Meaning as long as it takes for me to want to come home. "I gotta go." I hang up before she can respond. Deliberately, I place the phone on the counter and rest my hands on either side of the sink. I lean over it and hang my head like I'm going to be sick. My stomach is certainly churning. I'm twenty years old. I should not have to worry about my mother. Normally I don't… I try not to… whatever she does to herself she deserves… but when she gets like this…
"Andrea?" I whirl around. Apone is standing at the other end of the kitchen. His confused expression twists into me like a knife. "Is everything okay?"
"Y-yeah," I stutter, "I'm just really tired, so I'm gonna go to bed… I'm sorry." I finish in a whisper. Lowering my head so I don't have to look at the hurt in his face, I flee upstairs.
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This story is back - don't worry, for good this time. It's outlined until the end so more's definitely on the way. Thank you for being patient with me. Please review and keep a lookout.