Page 31 of Reno

All I needed to do was convince him to proceed along those lines.

“Hurt me? I asked in rhetoric. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Having sex with you was slightly above average,” I lied. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to fall in love. I learn from my mistakes. I’ll use that cock of yours one more time, though. If you’ll let me.”

12

Reno

Carma’s bold nature wasn’t something I was accustomed to seeing in a woman. Brash or not, goading me into having sex with her wasn’t going to work. I was far too stubborn to give in to my desires—or her requests.

“Enough about sex,” I said. “It’s not going to happen. Let’s talk about something else.”

She peered down her nose at me. “Like what?”

“Tell me about your life in Mexico.”

“Mexico?” She rolled her eyes. “I hated it there.”

She looked away and shook her head. I wasn’t sure if she was disgusted with me mentioning Mexico, or my refusal to comply with her sexual requests. Either way, it seemed she was just shy of being infuriated.

“Why?” I asked.

“So many reasons I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“You don’t have any good memories of it? There wasn’t anything you liked about living there?”

She faced me. “I liked our home.”

Frustrated. She was frustrated. I looked her over and grinned. “Tell me about it.”

After a moment, the look on her face softened, as if she was recalling fond memories of her childhood home. The corners of her mouth curled up a little. “I miss it.”

“Where was it?”

“Rosarito.” He eyes lit up a little. “It’s in Baja California, about twenty minutes south of here. The ocean is the deepest blue you’ll ever see. The beaches go on forever, and there’s rarely anyone there. My bedroom window faced the beach. I’d stare out at the ocean for hours on end. The waves washing ashore were hypnotic. It was so peaceful. I’d sit and watch them, convinced the ocean was endless. It defined the feeling of freedom.”

I realized her eyes weren’t brown. They were sprinkled with green specks, which I thought was odd, considering her ethnicity.

“What did you have there that you don’t have here?”

“Everything.” She shook her head. “We had a home that overlooked the ocean. It had a huge kitchen, big bedrooms, and we had a swimming pool. We had a live-in nanny. She was like a member of the family. Anita. She lived with us from the time I was born until we left. She was wonderful. Now, we live in a crappy three-bedroom rental house in a run-down neighborhood.”

I didn’t have to listen to what she was saying to know she was disappointed. I could see it in her eyes. I tried to divert the conversation to something that brought her comfort.

“Is Anita still there? In Mexico?”

She lowered her head. “She is.”

“Do you ever talk to her?”

“I haven’t in quite a while.”

“Did your mother work?”

“No.”