Rico held out his hand.
Lori stepped off the pier and on to the yacht. The LA sun bounced off the sleek white surfaces and crisp flat sails. Rico’s strong grip encircled her waist and he drew her into a kiss. When the kiss became more fevered, Lori pulled away.
‘This one’s beautiful,’ she commented, scoping the length of the boat. ‘Whose is it?’
Rico shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Beats me,’ he said, ‘I’m just paid to make sure it goes.’ He grinned, showing his dimples. ‘Someday I’ll be the guy some kid’s sweating his balls off for. I’ll be the owner of a piece like this, you’ll see.’
‘And would you sail me a long way away?’
‘Wherever you wanted to go.’ He kissed her again, his hands running down her short dress and over her luscious hips. She felt him harden, his tongue slip into her mouth.
‘Not getting distracted, I hope?’ a voice admonished from behind. Lori turned her head to see a rotund man removing his shades and rubbing them on his shirt.
‘Almost done here, boss,’ said Rico, holding Lori firmly to him.
Rico’s supervisor frowned. He scanned Lori’s body, from her mane of wild hair to her bronzed calves and scuffed sneakers. ‘You know I don’t let girlfriends on the boats, Marquez.’
‘It won’t happen again.’ But still he didn’t release her.
The man watched them uncertainly before moving off down the boardwalk.
‘Can you let me go now?’ Lori teased.
‘Can we wait till I’m in a position to move?’ Rico laughed.
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah, oh. You know what you do to me.’
Lori glanced away. It was unfair of her to hold out on Rico—she liked him; he was good, he was kind and he treated her right. Yet instinct kept telling her she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for: marriage, soul mates, a new life.? People talked about meeting The One, that single person you wait and hold out for because you love them more than anything else in the world and you’ll always be together, always always no matter what. but that was fantasy, a plot from one of her books. Stories, only stories. Real life didn’t work out that way.
Then why did it scare her that she didn’t feel those things with Rico? If they didn’t exist, why should it count?
But, it did. Somehow, it did.
They rode the freeway on Rico’s bike. Lori loved the feel of the wind in her hair, the way it whipped round her legs and filled her lungs with air. For those moments she could forget. She could be a new woman, whoever she wanted.
Rico lived in a beat-up apartment with his mother but she was out of it on drugs and didn’t hear them come in. His father wasn’t around, and his brother Diego, chief of El Peligro, the most feared gang in Santa Ana, hadn’t been home in a week. No one asked why.
‘We should leave,’ said Lori when they were in his room. ‘Just go.’
Rico put music on. ‘Where?’ He lit a cigarette.
Lori sat cross-legged on his bed. It was a mess, strewn with unwashed clothes, and Rico hauled his T-shirt over his head with one hand and tossed it on to the crumpled mound. She knew he had it worse than she did. Her family was poor, the women were unkind, but at least she knew when she got in at night that she wouldn’t find her father overdosed in a chair, vomit down his front and his tongue bit in half. The first time Rico had found his mom, he’d been only ten.
‘Anywhere,’ she said. ‘Anywhere’s better than here. I’m tired of LA.’
Rico inhaled smoke. ‘You’re tired of your end of it.’ He opened the window and leaned out. A group of boys were fighting in the dusty street and the sound of it washed in, a dry shower of curses and the exploratory flare of violence. ‘We just got the bad deal, didn’t we? Everything you dream about is right here, Lori, just around the corner. You’re on top of it. It’s that close.’
‘Hollywood?’
Rico lifted his shoulders. ‘Something like it. You’re pretty enough. Damn it, you’re beautiful.’ He set his jaw. ‘You can do anything you want.’
‘That’s not what they say.’
‘What do you care what your family thinks?’ Rico’s voice tightened. He knew the Garcias looked down on him. They and their stupid Spanish friends treated him like shit because he was poor, from a bad lot, and his parents had been first-generations. Hadn’t they all started out in the same place? Hadn’t they all crossed a border at some point? Just because the Garcias had been in this city longer they felt able to spit on him, judge him, dismiss him.
‘Move in with me,’ he said bitterly. ‘Forget them.’
‘You know it’s not that easy.’
Rico tossed his smoke out of the window and joined her on the bed. ‘I wish you knew how special you are,’ he said, gathering her into his arms. Perhaps Lori was right—they should pack up and leave, go somewhere no one could find them. But his mother needed him. He wasn’t going to quit on her as his father had.
Lori breathed in her boyfriend’s scent: salt and sweetness, heat and hard work. Was this love? It must be. She didn’t want to lose Rico; he was all she had. And yet, as she felt his hands begin to roam, she was already preparing how to turn him away. Was there something wrong with her? None of the girls she knew had a problem with sex.
‘You drive me crazy,’ murmured Rico. He trailed his fingers down the front of her dress and over her curves. Man, she was hot. He didn’t know how much longer he could wait. It would be her first time and she wanted it to be right, he got that, but this was sending him wild. He was far from inexperienced himself, but recently he’d forgotten what sex felt like.
Lori let herself be kissed and reclined uncomfortably, putting her head back when Rico buried his face in her neck. Every so often she experienced a brief, sharp dart of desire, but it fizzed and died like a match in water. Maybe she was incapable of it—some people were. Other girls talked about getting so turned on by their boyfriends they were prepared to do anything, anywhere, but, as always, the moment Rico’s attentions became too fervent, a sense of claustrophobia overcame her and she had to get away.
‘Rico, don’t …’
He was moving down her body now, his hands on her breasts, attempting to free them as he kissed and bit her skin.
She didn’t want to offend him, knew she kept leading him on only to let him down. What was he doing with her? ‘No, Rico.’
‘Relax,’ he responded, just a muffle, ‘I promise I won’t hurt you.’ She felt his touch trail the inside of her thigh and hook the elastic of her knickers.
Roughly she pushed at him. ‘I told you, I’m not ready.’ She sat up, pulling down the hem of her dress, her face flushed.
Rico bit back his frustration. Instead he put his arms around her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have …’ The
