The radio plays some cheesy pop song and I keep an eye on the GPS, focusing on getting her home. Twenty minutes later, we pull up to the familiar iron gate outside her grandmother’s sprawling, hacienda-style mansion. Reaching into the console, Maritza retrieves a remote, pressing a black button.
The gate swings open and I pull through.
“Just … drive around back to the guest house. I don’t want my grandma to see you. She’ll ask too many questions and then she’ll invite you in for tea and that’s going to turn into her showing you her Oscar and making you watch Davida’s Desire.”
“I see your sense of humor’s back. Feeling better?”
“Kind of.”
I come to a stop outside her little white guest house, and by little, I mean only in comparison to its big sister out front. This place, which looks different in the daylight, is still massive and it’s positioned just outside a sparkling teal-blue pool with trickling fountains and a Grecian-style cabana. There’s a lot of different styles going on here, but somehow it all fits in an eclectic, crazy famous person kind of way.
Killing the engine, I step out and move around to her side, getting her door. Placing her arms around my shoulder, I help her out and she hobbles to a side entrance where she punches in a key code. A second later, the lock beeps, and we’re in.
“Couch?” I ask. She nods, and I help her toward her emerald green velvet sofa. We prop her left ankle on a pillow I’ve placed on her gold-and-glass coffee table covered in fashion and lifestyle magazines, all of which are addressed to Melrose Claiborne. “All right. I’m going to grab you some ice.”
I head to her kitchen, which is the most eighties-looking thing I’ve ever seen, complete with yellow appliances and carpet on the floor, but judging by the kitschy accessories, it seems she and her roommate have completely embraced the vintage theme and made it their own.
Yanking the top door of the little yellow fridge, I grab an ice tray and check a few drawers until I find a spare hand towel.
“Here.” I return to her side, taking a seat next to her and placing the makeshift ice pack on her ankle. She breathes in through her teeth. “You okay?”
Maritza nods, leaning forward to place her hand over the towel, brushing mine in the process. “I’ve got it now.”
Reaching for the far end of the coffee table, I grab her TV remote. “Anything else you need?”
Her brows meet as she thinks. “Nope. I should be good for now.”
Pulling out my phone, I tap my Uber app.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Getting a ride back to my car.”
Glancing up at me through long dark lashes, she chuckles. “You’re welcome to stay here if you want. We can … I don’t know … watch Netflix or something? The day doesn’t have to be a total bust.”
Sitting my phone aside, I drag my thumb and forefinger down the side of my mouth.
“I’d like you to stay,” she says, point blank. “Honest.”
I pull in a hard breath, giving it some more thought. Sightseeing and Saturday-ing is one thing. But hanging out on a couch watching TV and trying to fight this bizarre attraction between us is something else entirely.
It’s almost reckless.
“Don’t make me beg, Corporal,” she says with a teasing tone. “I just feel bad that I ruined our hike. And also, I don’t want to sit here and be bored the rest of the day …”
“Fine. I’ll stay for a little while. But only if I get to pick what we watch.” If I’m going to stick around, it has to be on my terms.
“Oh, now that might be a deal breaker for me. I kind of had my heart set on watching season three of Fuller House.”
“Yeah, well Fuller House just so happens to be a deal breaker for me.” I shrug, rising slow. “So I guess I should be on my way.”
“Wait.” She stops me, palm lifted in the air and head cocked. “If I let you pick … what might we be watching?”
Dragging my hand along my jaw and inhaling the spicy floral scent of her living room, I blow a breath through my lips. “The Punisher.”
She makes a face.
“Luke Cage, then,” I say.
Her expression doesn’t budge.
“Stranger Things?” I ask.
Her full lips twist at the side and she taps her finger against her chin. “I guess.”
Taking a seat on her sofa, I ensure we’re separated by at least one full seat cushion as she starts the show.
“Oh, wait. Can you do me the tiniest favor?” Maritza turns to me just as the opening credits finish. “I should probably take something for the swelling. Can you grab me a bottle of water and some Advil from the cupboard by the sink? Oh, and help yourself to whatever you want in the fridge. I think there’s some leftover beer from Melrose’s last boyfriend.”