A/N: Lester's abuela's name is Leonor.

A Little Bit Selfish, Part II

Les's POV - 1/1

At midnight I call home. Mom and Dad were upset to know I wasn't coming home for New Year's. I would, but midnight Mass bores me. I said hello to the entire family and told them I'd be up to visit soon.

Bobby calls. Paris is beautiful, he's having fun, he'll call me in the morning.

Ric and Steph had a good time in Carencro with Tank, Lula, and Mrs. CJ. Good. Now Ric's enjoying his time with Steph and Julie. Even better.

Hmm … I flew Mark here to spend time with his woman. I'm trying, primo. Nikki calls, in tears, to thank me for the wonderful gift. De nada, Nikki. Keep Mark and Hector happy. That's all I ask of you. Nikki also thanks me for flying Manolo in. He and Nikki fell in love at first sight and talked about Hector until Hec was completely red. Hector didn't know if he was happy or pissed. Mark snapped a picture of Hector's red and smiling face and sent it to me.

I set that as the picture for Hec's contact info on my phone and finally go to sleep.

I wake up to a lengthy email from Nikki, who absolutely could not go to sleep before she thanked me again for the best late Christmas present ever. She and Hec had been upset with Mark and Manolo, respectively, because they couldn't get them on the phone to celebrate. Their appearance in Atlanta, with tickets to go home a week later, was the best Christmas present I've ever gotten either of them. Plus, the keys to Hector's new condo were in the envelope, so they'll knock themselves out examining it and trying to decorate it.

I even get an email from my favorite honorary nephew. Well, a video of him thanking me for bringing his favorite 'giant' to Atlanta three 'sleeps' after they left him in Boston. He was jumping up and down next to Mark's leg in excitement and Mark was smiling at him, telling him that as soon as he finished the video they could go play outside.

Moments like that are why I do what I do.

I drag myself out of bed around 0900 and make a quick pot of oatmeal, drowning it in maple syrup and milk as Bobby walks in. Actually, he drags himself into his apartment looking like he tangled with a tiger and crawled away with his life.

"Heard you were here," he croaks.

Ladies and gentleman, the winner by decision, Robert Brown! I snort. "You survived. Bath water's waiting."

"There's a reason I keep you around," he replies, stripping.

"Masseuse will be here in an hour."

I hear a satisfied groan from the bathroom as Bobby lowers himself into the tub. "Never change, Les. Please."

"You're getting old."

"Fuck you, kiddo."

I laugh. This is kinda weird to me. Bobby's always been the one to take care of me. This time, I'm helping Bobby recuperate from his short stint as a sex toy (clearly that's what happened. Those scratch marks on his back tell the tale!). I fix him a bowl of oatmeal, a glass of OJ, and poach an egg, placing it on a tray to take it to him. He's doing the Pretty Woman thing, sinking below the bubbles like Julia Roberts. I laugh and find his tub tray, placing his breakfast on it. The smell of food forces him back above the water level.

"Thanks. What did I do to deserve this?" he asks, grabbing the OJ.

"Kept me sane all year. I never repay it."

He stares at me over the rim of his OJ glass. "I don't do it for thanks."

"I know. But thanks is nice to get sometimes." I leave, pulling the door behind me as he breaks into an old Whitney Houston song.

Count on me through thick and thin
A friendship that will never end
When you are weak I will be strong
Helping you to carry on

Bro, do us both a favor: don't sing. You sound scary. I finish my oatmeal and wash the dishes.

I ended the year doing things for everyone else. Me? A few more tasks then I think it's time for me to have some fun.

Noon finds me in Marietta. The restaurant is nice. Small, intimate tables with plenty of space between each one to give the illusion of privacy. The wait staff are quick and attentive, no slouching, no wasted movement. I smell fresh bread and I'm hungry even though I just ate. For noon on New Year's Day, the place is buzzing.

I'm seated promptly and handed the menu. I decide to order a variety of items and sit back and enjoy the experience. I have a new book, my phone is on silent, and I'm out for a delicious lunch, so what happens?

"Lester Santos." Paris stops at my table. She's smiling. "Reading a book in my establishment? That suggests no one is witty or clever enough to keep you company."

I close the book and stand. "Well, no one was until you arrived at my table. The book pales in comparison to you. Please join me."

She laughs and takes a seat. "My servers were nervous. Only restaurant reviewers come in and replicate your actions."

"Really?"

"Well, food bloggers. Restaurant reviewers we know, but there are a million food bloggers. We have to be on the lookout for strange behavior."

"Dining alone and reading a book is now strange behavior?"

She smiles. "Yes, especially when you place your cell phone on the table and order half of the menu. It screams 'I intend to take pictures of every dish' to the wait staff."

I laugh. "Am I keeping you from something?"

"No." She signals to someone and a bottle of wine appears at our table. "I was about to take a lunch break when I was informed that a reviewer might be here. I'd prefer to dine with you, unless you object."

"Not at all." I open the bottle and pour the wine into two glasses. Malbec. Excellent choice. This has become one of my new favorites. I swirl and sip, appreciating the aroma and the texture in my mouth. This is delicious!

"So, what did I do for this unexpected pleasure?"

I raise a brow. "Is it?"

"It is." She sits back as the waiter brings our appetizers. "First, you've chosen to patronize my restaurant on New Year's Day. Second, I assume you ran into Robert only a short while ago and he mentioned he was with me yesterday?" She smiles coyly. "Third, you ordered half my menu. I assume you're trying to make some sort of evaluation of me via the menu, known in the military as intelligence gathering and assessing ground conditions."

I'm frozen. She's perfect for Bobby because she's abso-fucking-lutely right. Two people who are right all the time? Oh boy … and I love her use of it as a defense mechanism.

"I'm in awe of you, Ms. Stanton. Bobby came in looking like he'd wrestled with a tiger and drew." She laughs. "I left him to the tender mercies of his favorite masseuse."

She sits back in the booth, peals of laughter ringing out across the restaurant. We're attracting attention, but I don't care. I like her. I really do. She laughs like Bobby does: with genuine joy, wholly unconcerned with who might see her, and she's not hiding her laugh behind her hands, like most women.

"Your menu appears to be well-balanced, lots of comfort food but nothing pretentious. I smelled fresh bread when I walked in and nothing short of a tsunami could have convinced me to walk out at that point. That was an excellent wine, remarkable for the fact that Malbecs are a specialty of Argentina, although," I rush to cut her off, "I am aware they originate in France and that was a French one."

"Tres bien. Go on."

"So far I've learned that you're confident in who you are, no need for fancy gimmicks. You have an appreciation for heritage but you're not stuck in it. You're direct and funny and use charm and a disarming honesty to get your way. And you ride my partner like he's a pony and leave him to drag his carcass home, an activity for which I must commend you. I can't remember the last woman who drained Bobby of all his energy and left him waiting on the next call."

She sits back, a wide smile on her face. "I think you and I will get along wonderfully."

I drop the smile. "Will we?"

She sits back, the smile fading a bit. "What do you want to know?"

"Is my bro dick on tap or are you going to take it further?"

Gloves off, Paris. The charm and the smiles and the wit are wonderful, but I'm thinking about Bobby here. I want to disappear knowing he's in love or on his way to being in love with someone.

She's quiet, staring at me. Our salads arrive, but we're still in a staring stand-off.

"Your bro interests me, but I've met his kind before. I'm not interested in being another number and I have more to do with my life than worship him."

"Good. Bobby's a deist and I did say that you two took each other to a draw. He wants and needs an equal."

Her cheeks pink. "And your interest in this?"

"He's more than my best friend. He's truly my brother. I want to see him happy and right now? Seeing you, socially, would make him happy."

She picks up her salad fork. "Then perhaps we have more in common than I assumed, but how can I be sure his interest more than carnal?"

I hold a finger to my lips and dial.

"Yo."

"Yo. I'm at Paris's bakery. Want anything?"

"Is she there?"

"I can check."

I can hear him huff. "You mind finding some way to convince her to call me?"

"What's my pretext?"

"I'd like to try something … upright? A date? Perhaps I could try cooking for her."

"Bad idea. Your cooking sucks and she's a pro."

"You ate it the other day."

"I also ate MREs for years." Paris stifles a laugh. "You suck at everything except breakfast."

"At least my scrambled eggs are edible, Les Pepin." Paris wipes away tears as I grin at my phone. "Anyway, it's been so long since I had to think of a first date activity that I'm rusty. The Georgia Aquarium? I haven't been and I heard it's impressive."

"First, I think you're past first date activity. Second, whatever you're doing leads to sex. What's wrong with this scenario?"

Paris frowns, but I raise a brow. Hey, he'll know something's up if I'm not honest with him!

"I'm willing to forego the sex to get to know her! She's holding me at arms' length when I'm dressed and fucking my brains out when I'm not! Kinda frustrating." He exhales. "I like Paris. A lot. As much as I love the sex—"

"Clearly."

"I'd like to get to know her more."

I look over at her. She nods, a small smile on her face.

"OK, I'll pitch it if I see her."

He exhales. "Thanks. If you don't, text me."

"Yo."

"Yeah?"

"No Facebook friending quite yet."

"Terrible. Terrible attempt at humor." Click.

She's stabbing her salad. "OK, I'll call him."

"What's the issue?"

She chooses to finish her salad instead of answering. As the waiter is clearing the table, she finally says, "Do you know what it's like to be right a little too often? To have men tell you that it's nice to meet a self-confident woman, but you're just a bitch? To have people tell you that 'The more you know, the less you need to show it' because they're intimidated by you? That, because you didn't settle for mediocrity, you need to hide who you are so they feel better?"

I raise a brow. "So it's easier to use him as a sex toy because if you two start talking, he'll grow bored and disinterested in you? He might be intimidated? He'll think you're a bitch?"

Her stare is direct, challenging, and proud. "Yes."

"In the family he grew up in? Have you met his mother? His sisters?"

Her lips twitch. "I never realized that the charming woman who came in so regularly for lunch was his mother." She looks around. "I half expected to see her today."

"Jacqueline and Genevieve?"

"Don't really know them yet."

I take a bite of my salad. My god, this is delicious! What's in this? Hmm … palm hearts … artichokes … what kind of dressing is this? "Bobby grew up with strong, intelligent women and that's what he wants. Nothing less. It's why he stayed hidden in that butler's pantry rather than walk out and speak to Alicia." She leans forward, clearly interested. "True or False? Alicia would spend her life trying to be Bobby's perfect wife. She would do what he said, like what he liked, have as many babies as he wanted, and become the perfect stay at home mommy, right?"

Paris's lips twist as she tries to hide a smile. "No comment."

"And that's the answer. You?" I finish the salad and make a note to order that again. "You'll never roll over for him and he likes that. Right now, a text from you is the highlight of his day." She blushes. "His problem? He was recently told that he needed to meet the brother of 'I Told You So'."

She snorts and hangs her head. "'Shut The Fuck Up'?"

"I see you are also acquainted with him."

We laugh. I pass her my handkerchief and refill our wineglasses, politely ignoring her as she dabs at the tears she never allowed to fall. She returns my handkerchief, swirls her wine and finally nods. "Then I'll give him a chance."

"Glad to hear it." I raise a glass to her. "I also know how you feel. I'm not arrogant. I'm confident but I'm considered as having a screw loose. My motto? I define who I am."

"Agreed." She smiles and motions for the waiter to place our entrees on the table. "Well, this was not the conversation I expected."

"Me neither, but witty and charming? Check!" She laughs. "As for me? I never want to be on the outside of Bobby's life looking in, so you and I need to become best friends."

"Lester, I'd like that regardless of whether or not your bro and I become an item."

It's the perfect lunch. Every minute that passes by convinces me Bobby's met the right one for him. She's well-read and well-traveled and has a great sense of humor. We talk about the difficulties of being a business owner, her experience in the military compared to mine, and what she likes to do for fun. I promise her that our conversation is strictly between us and I leave feeling good about her.

Even if she and Bobby don't make it, I've met a new and interesting person that I'd like to hang out with. She's sharp and I enjoyed kicking back with her.

I head back to RM-ATL and spend a few hours setting up meetings with Manny, putting standard meetings with everyone on the calendar and setting up my new selfish life. It's harder than I thought. I suck at being selfish. I've been sharing and doing for as long as I can remember. I'm staring at my screen, wondering how to fill three months of enforced leave, when Bobby walks in and closes the door.

"What did you say to her?"

I raise a brow. Bobby looks both hopeful and … nervous? "I ran into her in her restaurant and had lunch with her. She's fun."

Bobby looks as if he'd like to wring all the details from me, but sighs instead. "She called."

"Where are you going?"

He snorts. "No idea."

"My suggestion?" He nods. "Museums. No restaurants because she'll pick the food apart. The High is a good option."

"Yeah." He nods. "Yeah, good idea. The High."

He leaves and I stifle a laugh. Bobby's game is perfect for the club. A real woman?

Time to reengineer your game, bro.

Final stop of the day is in Nate's office.

"Sir."

"Hello, Mr. CIO." He smiles. "Congratulations. How are you enjoying it?"

"I underestimated what Hector did," he replies. "The workload is fantastic."

"Fantastic as in 'I need help' or fantastic as in 'I'm endlessly fascinated by what I do'?"

"Both."

"Let the CEO know."

"Yes, sir."

"In other news, do you have access to Hector's tracking program?"

He freezes. "Yes, sir. Emergency basis only."

"Good. I need you to access it now."

Nate turns, clearly nervous about this request, but logs in. My dot shows up immediately in his office.

"Great. Remove me from everyone's view."

"Yes, sir." He pulls his notebook, types in a code, types in three more codes from memory and I disappear.

"Now, what's the procedure for making me show up again?"

"I reenter the code I just entered and you'll show up."

"Can you change my code?"

"Yes, sir."

"Change it to this." I hand him a piece of paper. The code makes him raise a brow, but he types it in.

"Any chance Hec can break that?"

He smirks. "Our boss can break almost anything, but it'll take him a few hours to grab that code."

"Good. You are the only person with the code to reactivate me and I want it to stay that way." I wait for him to look at me. "No one, not even Hector, should be able to reactivate me."

"Hector has an override code, sir."

"Meaning I can show up anyway?"

"Yes, sir."

I consider this and nod. "Leave my code as it is. Thank you, Nate."

"Yes, sir."

—oOo—

Need you to do me a favor.

Sup?

I asked Nate to remove me from your tracking program. I don't want to be followed.

I would have done it.

I don't want to be followed by *anyone*.

Fine. What's the favor?

Don't look for me. If you need me, contact Bobby.

—oOo—

I leave Manolo's and Mark's tickets at RangeMan Atlanta and head to Hartsfield. I have a weeks' worth of clothing in a small carry on.

Where to go? Where to go?

Well, since I missed midnight mass my parents are a good option, so after a quick pit stop in Miami I fly to Newark. Papa picks me up from the airport and he and Mom talk over each other trying to fill me in on the family. Once we get home, Abuela pinches my cheeks and turns on Abuela-vision.

"Too thin!" she moans, pulling me into the kitchen. I have rice and beans, salad, and tamales in front of me before I have my coat off. Once I'm full (and ready for a nap), Papa pulls me into the den to play chess.

I might be full, sleepy, and only half concentrating, but the old man will have to try much harder than that to beat me.

I try to like the new guest room, aka my old bedroom, but it's just not the same. I flop back on the bed and sleep well for the first time in months. Thirteen hours. I only wake because Bobby texts me, just wanting to know if I'm alive and made it safe.

Coming home was the perfect option. None of the guys, except Bobby, would ever think to look for me here. If they did, Ric can't call, Tank would dismiss it, and Hector would send someone from the investigations unit up the road to check and I know how to avoid them.

Mom, Papa, and Abuela keep my presence in Elizabeth to themselves and I enjoy spending time with them. Miriam was right: I need someone to pay attention to me and me alone. Maybe it's the only-child in me coming out, but I want to be the sole focus of someone's attention for a while and no one loves me like my Mom except Abuela, of course.

The first Sunday of the year rolls around and, as usual, the Mañoso and Santos clans are gathering together to catch up on each other's lives. In a rare twist, the gathering is being held at my parent's house instead of at Tío Ric's and Tía Maria's. I watch as each of The Sisters troops in, kids and husbands in tow, followed by Alex, who has only gotten fatter, and his family.

Alex! Treadmill! Geez! Much more and you'll be an Gabriel Iglesias double!

"Lester!"

"Abuela Rosa!"

She tsks at the sight of me. "Too thin!" Abuela vision. "Come, let's fatten you back up!"

"How about I hold that dish while you take your coat off?" Abuela Rosa rolls her eyes and hands me the casserole dish. I hope this is enchiladas. I've missed her enchiladas.

"Lester, where is Ric?" Ana's looking around as if I'll magically produce him from my pocket.

"Still overseas, Ana."

"When is he coming home?"

"March."

"A full year?" Sophia says incredulously. "This is ridiculous! All of you are too old for this! Playing soldiers as if you're still young twenty year olds! You're in your thirties and retired from the military—"

I place the casserole dish on the counter top in the kitchen and head upstairs. I pack everything I have to the sound of Sophia's strident voice still lecturing me on how I need to grow up and settle down. I grab the suitcase and troop downstairs. Abuela Rosa spots me. "Lester? Lester! Where are you going?"

I'm pulling on my coat and hat. "Back to Miami, Abuela."

She rushes off to the kitchen and, moment later, everyone piles into the foyer as I pull on my gloves. Papa lunges for my suitcase and holds it behind him, as if that might stop me from leaving. "Son, don't go. Stay and enjoy dinner."

"I agree." Uncle Ric frowns. "Please stay, Lester."

I stop pulling on my gloves and look around the room. Four generations of Santoses and Mañosos looking at me.

"I'll stay, but only one condition."

"Ay!" My abuela says, running forward to snatch the hat off my head. "What is it?"

I stare straight at The Sisters. "I don't care about your opinions and I don't want to hear another one tonight." Each one stiffens. "I'm not your Ric news source, so don't ask me questions about him. I don't want to hear your opinions on what I'm doing with my life and how I live it. I don't care about your opinions about my lack of wife or children. I don't tell you how to live your lives, so quit trying to lecture me on how to live mine. In short, if you open your mouths to pass one judgment on the way Ric and I live our lives, I will walk out of that door and nothing short of Death himself will force me to cross the threshold ever again."

Everyone immediately crosses themselves. The sisters are ashen.

"We clear?"

"Yes, son," Tío Ric says quickly, on their behalf. I remove my coat as Papa grabs my suitcase and takes it back upstairs. Meanwhile, Tío Ric scolds The Sisters. Mis primos are amused to see their mothers scolded so openly.

"I agree with Lester," Tío Ric says heatedly. "You walked into your Tío's home and started telling Lester how to live his life, but the moment tus madre makes a single suggestion, all of you whine and cry about how she hurt your feelings and you're grown women and don't need to be told things!"

The Sisters are swallowing hard and staring at the floor.

"Now, what Lester asked for? You'll give the same to Ric the next time he comes home. Tus hermano y tus primo are men, not children and they are definitely not your children!"

I follow Abuela back into the kitchen, a big smile on my face. Abuela vision means I quickly have another bowl of beans and rice in hand. Abuela Rosa immediately dishes up an enchilada for me and I dig in happily, ignoring the contingent of sullen and angry cousins staring at me. Since I've decreed no speculation on my life or Ric's, their favorite topics of conversation are now dead.

"Ay, Mijo! What have you done this year?"

"We expanded the business to Texas, Abuela."

"Texas! They're arresting Mexicans for being Mexican!" Abuela Rosa cries.

I snort. "That's Arizona. Texas is pro-business. Black, white, or brown, they just care about green."

She laughs and sets a large glass of water in front of me. Papa and Uncle Ric have drifted in and are listening, so I start telling some stories about building RMSA this year that have everyone in tears.

"So we get this report that our men are up a tree and we can't believe it! We race out to the scene and look and it's not a joke. Two recruits have been treed by dogs and the third isn't sure what to do to distract them!"

"So what did you do?" Mom asks, tears streaming down her face.

"Called animal control! We aren't the dog catchers!"

Abuela is holding her chest, she's laughing so hard. "Ay, Lester, you funny face," she says, pinching my cheeks. "You're as silly now as you were as a child! Tell us more!"

I tell more stories for another hour and everyone listens. The stories continue over dinner and I realize, for the first time, that I'm enjoying being home.

Bobby doesn't have to run interference for me. Ric's not sullen and angry. Tank's not silent.

It's just me. I finally have everyone's attention.

This selfish thing has its advantages.

At the end of the night, as I'm helping my little cousins put on their hats and gloves, Sophia motions for me to follow her into the dining room and shuts the door behind us.

"Look, I don't want to walk out of that door upset and angry, but I have to say this." She takes a deep breath. "You're our only way of getting any information about Ric. He doesn't speak to us. He rarely drops by. We all play by his rules. We live our lives the way he told us to in order to stay alive, but he can't be bothered to come say hello.

People drop by our houses looking for him and, no matter how innocent the request, we have to pretend we don't know him, see him, or know how to get in touch with him. Sad part is, we don't have to pretend that hard." She hugs me. "I'm sorry that we make you feel like we're not happy to see you, but he's still our baby brother. We want to see him. We want to know he's OK."

"I get that, Sophia, but you made two mistakes in what you just said."

She stiffens. "What's that?"

"First, he's not a baby. He's a man. You don't like that you can't reach him? Tell him. He's not willing to tell you anything? Accept it. You want to encourage him to come home? Quit trying to tell him how to live his life when he does. You don't respect that what he does, what we do, allows you to live the life you live. Your first words to me today were to insult my sacrifices in keeping both you and this country safe. Who wants to come home to a nag who disrespects everything about the way a man lives his life?"

She reddens.

"Clearly, you didn't pay attention to what Tío Ric said earlier because you just referred to him as your 'baby brother'. Sophia, Ric hasn't been a baby for over thirty years—"

"He's still my younger brother—"

"Then refer to him as your 'younger' brother! Quit calling him a baby!" I take a deep breath. "Words have power, Sophia," I whisper. "As long as you think of him as a baby, you'll call him a baby. As long as you call him a baby, you'll treat him as a baby or a child. As long as you treat him as a child, he'll refuse to speak to you." I stand up straight. "We don't have to justify ourselves and our lives to you and as long as you think we should, the only person you're making miserable is you because believe me, Ric and I don't need the headache."

Tears are streaming down Sophia's face. I pass her my handkerchief.

"Second, when I come home, how about you give a damn about me? A moment ago, you said that you were sorry that you made me feel like you're not happy to see me. What you didn't say, haven't said, and never say is 'Hi, Les! We're happy to see you!'" She closes her eyes in pain. "I'm the one who does come home and you spend my visits asking about him and I'm sick of it. When I leave, what have you learned about me and what I'm doing? We are two separate men, prima. Try to remember that, huh?"

I open the door and everyone's standing there red-faced and embarrassed. Tía Maria has tears streaming down her face and I hug her tight, whispering an apology into her ear. I open the door, take the leftovers from Abuela Rosa's hand, and gently take her arm.

"Ready to go?"

She nods and I help her to the car. Everyone drives off and I walk back in and lock up before joining my parents and abuela in the den. They're all talking quietly.

"Lester?"

"Yes, Mama?"

She bites her lip before swallowing hard and staring at me. "Is that why you don't come home that often?"

I sigh. "Yes and no." Papa raises a brow. "It's annoying when everyone asks me about Ric, but when I come home to see you, you guys don't ask about Ric. You ask about me." I smile. "I know that when I come home, Mama and Papa want to know what's going on in my life."

"That's what Ric and Maria want," my abuela says. "Rosa too."

"I know, Abuela. I just wish they'd realize that I'm not the way to get that info." I smile. "And I've been telling them for twenty years that The Sisters are not helping matters. As long as they think they have the right to run Ric's life, Ric will stay away."

"Last time he came home, it was like looking at a stranger," Mama says. "Wouldn't you agree, Leonor?"

"Yes," my abuela nods. "Maria and Ric are desperate to get close to Carlos again and so is Rosa. You really think Celia, Ana and Sophia are the problem?"

"They're part of it."

"Son, they just want to be close to Ric again," Papa says. "We shouldn't have to beg Ric to come home and see his parents. We shouldn't have to beg you to drag him home."

I nod, thinking of Steph. Steph doesn't know how to get her family out of her life. Ric's isolated his so well he wouldn't know how to begin to get close to them again.

I can't help Ric here. Steph can. They can help each other.

—oOo—

I head to Miami to help Ric review the info for this trip. After Ric leaves, Bobby and I head out on vacation. There are a lot of stunned individuals in Miami, but I don't care. Bobby was thrilled. My new attitude is making him feel better about my mental state and getting to see it live? He laughed the entire time.

Thanks, bro. For knowing what I needed, making sure I'd get it, and standing behind me. Thanks for never letting me down. He's going to take my place with Mark, helping him with the branch and the company. As much as he hates paperwork, he's efficient with it. The setup for the new division is chugging along, Mark's doing a great job with the workload, and Trenton settled down and accepted what's going on.

Hector's drowning under my old workload. Tank took on more of it, and they farmed some out to Manny and Mack (since he's connected), but no one is handling everything I was juggling well.

Hector really wants to know when I'm coming home. So does Tank. And Manny. And Mack. Bobby too, but Bobby told everyone to piss off. I'm not allowed back at work until both he and Miriam clear me. That pretty much guarantees I'm out for three months because Bobby doesn't intend to clear me anytime soon.

"One month for every year you haven't gone on vacation. Minimum." I tried to argue, but it was as useless as I knew it would be.

Fine.

Steph also wants to know when I'm coming back. She must think I'm stupid. I'm sure she's planning something. I'm on my guard, but …

I'm very missed.

—oOo—

Bobby rented a villa in the Bahamas. He hates resorts and prefers not to be followed everywhere, so this arrangement is right up his alley. We 'commandeered' Ric's catamaran, sailed over to the Bahamas and directly up to our villa. I love the privacy. I've spent every day trying to do something new, so I spend most of my time snorkeling. Bobby sunbathes and holds meetings from the deck or the boat. I bought a new camera and started taking pictures of everything I see.

So week one passes in quiet contentment. I get my first report from Mack. Miami accepted Mark without a problem and Mark came in humble and ready to work. Thomas is still pissed about him being there, but Mack's trying to be fair and neutral. He admits Mark's a good boss to work under so far. Diego leaves next week to report to RMSA and the recruits are almost ready to pass out of training. Two weeks to go.

Good. I want Manolo in Miami when I start the 'brotherhood' retraining.

"Hi."

About time. This woman's been staring at me for the past twenty minutes as I attempted to read my reports on the sly. I stand and smile. She's cute. Green eyes, blonde hair, tiny bikini under a coverall. "May I join you?"

I wave at the chair across from me. "Of course. What would you like?"

"A Cosmo is fine." I signal the bartender to bring a Cosmo over and she smiles. "Are you here on vacation?"

"Yes. What brings you here?"

The start of an hour of boring chit-chat while we both assess the likelihood of sleeping with the other. Hour two finds me naked in her bed, with her trying to impress me. She finally rolls off me and stands.

"Thanks."

I toss her her thong and stand. Her eyes go to my dick. "No problem. Anything else?"

"Dinner?" She smiles seductively. "Tonight?"

"Lunch tomorrow?"

"Sure. Noon?"

"Sounds wonderful." I leaves in search of a taxi to take me back to my side of the island.

Lester, we've had this conversation before. No brainless idiots! What are you going to talk to her about?

I know, Les, I know. We can talk about her.

Fine, but don't screw her again. I was bored at the end.

I take a water taxi back over to the villa and flop back on my bed to stare at the ceiling. Sexual psyops? Perhaps. I knew I'd end up sleeping with her five minutes into the conversation and, now that it's over, it was an hour I could have spent doing something else. Physically great, emotionally unfulfilling. Same with Alina.

Thanks, Miriam. Now I have you in my head.

I go looking for Bobby and spot him on the deck. I think … I think he's out there naked. Naked? Bobby doesn't really do au naturel. I walk out, wondering if my eyes are deceiving me.

"You OK?" he asks as I approach.

Yup, he's naked. "Are you drunk?"

"Nah." He flips over and I toss a cushion on top of his dick. "Thought I might even up the chocolate goodness a bit."

I snicker. "Getting comfortable with public nudity, I see."

"Why not?" He sits up. "My body is beautiful and I'm not ashamed of it. More people should see it in its natural state."

I raise a brow. He stated that as if he was chanting. "Been repeating that to yourself?"

He grimaces. "And fighting the urge to go pull on some boxers."

I fall back against the deck chair laughing. "So why are you putting yourself through this?" He pulls his blank face into place and I think. "Ah. Paris likes the nude beach?"

"How did you know that?" He turns slowly. "What did you two talk about over lunch?"

I smirk. "Don't worry about that. So you're doing this for a woman?"

He shrugs. "No. Not really." He reaches down and grabs the towel next to the chair, draping it over his lap. "It's just … OK, you and I both know I'll never be the first man to strip down unless I'm in a place where I'm totally comfortable. My home, locker rooms, pools, I'm OK there." I nod. "So she asked me why I'm constantly covering up in the privacy of my own home. Was I ashamed of my body?" He smirks. "I'm a work of art and I shouldn't be ashamed to be admired."

"She likes to admire you?"

"Loves it."

"So she'd like you to quit reaching for your boxers after sex?"

"Pretty much. And it would be nice if I remembered to take my socks off before." He blushes.

I snigger. First world problems. "Again, you're putting yourself through this because … ?"

He grabs the spray sunscreen and reapplies it before handing me the can to spray his back. "Because … because … I believe that every person in your life has the ability to teach you something. Paris? The woman intrigues me. It's the combination of holding me at arm's length, then falling in bed with me the moment we're together. I'm never quite sure if I'm making any progress with her." He snorts. "I actually found myself wishing for her period so we could go out and not end up in bed at the end."

"There are men in the world who heard that and looked for lightning."

We laugh, but I understand his dilemma. "So, what do you plan to do?"

He flops back on the deck chair. "No fucking idea, Lessie."

I flip him off and grab my laptop. The perfect brotherhood exercise came to mind yesterday and I just need some time, and help, to finish it off. I turn to him, but he shakes his head.

"Nope, this is my problem to figure out. Not that I don't want your help, but does that really fit into your 'selfish lifestyle'?" He grabs his thermos and smiles. "I'm a big boy. I'll figure out how to romance this woman. You relax and let me solve my problem."

Stop doing things for everyone else! Stop thinking of everyone's needs before your own.

And this is why I'd rescue Bobby first.

A/N: We're back in the main story Friday, where you'll find out why Les left a bunch of stunned individuals in Miami.