Pushing Limits (21 page)

“I’m in!”

I call Aunt Patty, and she answers on the first ring.   “Hi
Amber.  What’s up?”

“A couple of things, but the reason I’m calling is that I want to invite
you down to visit.  That is if you can come.  Summer break is next
week.  I was going to hang out and study before the summer session starts,
but my roommate tells me that I’m completely lame.  So, I thought you
could come down.  We could stay at the hotel with you and explore
Austin.  What do you think?”

“I would love to.” 

“I want you to meet my advisor.  He might be around if he has
classes scheduled over the summer.  Can you stay until Wednesday of the
following week?  That’s when the summer term starts.  We might be
able to catch him then.  I don’t want you to miss work if you don’t have
enough vacation days.  Maybe you could stagger the time so you’re here
over a weekend.  That way, you won’t miss too much work.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem.  I liked the hotel I stayed in when
we came down.  Why don’t I book two rooms?”  Her voice is filled with
excitement.

“That sounds good.   Text me once you know when you can fly
down.  Bye.”

“Bye, hon.”

I hang up the phone and look at Sally.  “She’s going to text me the
info.  I hope mom doesn’t give her shit about using the jet,” I say
offhand.

“Your family has its own jet?” Sally says, her eyes widen to big brown
saucers.

“Yeah,” I say looking away
.  It’s always so embarrassing whenever
a friend finds out how wealthy my family is.  I hate that look.

“So, why haven’t you invited me to Paris yet, bitch?” Sally says with her
hand on her hips.

“I don’t know.  Not willing to give up a pound of my flesh,
maybe?”  I sigh.  “Everything comes with a price with my mom,” I say
hoping my eyes don’t reveal how sad that makes me.  “Bobby asked me
out.  I said yes.  Is that ok with you?”

“Why should I care?  I have no desire to go down that road
again.  Believe me.”  She waves me off.  “Go have fun.” 
Her face curves into a smirk as he points her finger at me, playfully. 
“Watch his moves, honey, or you’ll be one of the many.”

“There is no chance in hell that I am sleeping with him. 
None.  Nada.” 

“You will be surprised how fast that man can get your resolve to fade
away.  Almost as fast as he gets girls out of their panties, I’ll
bet.  Besides, you don’t need to jump into something else.  You
haven’t even talked to Tommy.”

“And, obviously I’m not going to.  That ship has sailed.  I’ve
tried to reach him, and I haven’t heard word one.  I think I’m finally
ready to move on.”  

“Well, I just got you back.  You are not tying yourself down to
another guy if I have anything to say about it.  We need to set this town
on fire first.  Come on.  It’s been so long since I’ve had a partner
in crime,” she says.  Her eyes are alive with mischief.  “Tomorrow
your ass is mine, ok?”

“Ok.” I smile, giggling. 

I haven’t had any real girl time with Sally.  I got here and started
dating Tommy right off the bat.  Date?  Who am I kidding?  I
jumped into bed with him.  Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit.  I sleep
with who I want, when I want.  I don’t follow
The Rules
or any shit
like that.  It could be two dates or twenty.  If it feels right, I go
for it. 

It’s not like I was looking for a boyfriend.  He wiggled his way
into my heart before I knew it.  The familiar ache resonates in my
chest.  Now, I’m here, my heart bumped and bruised. 
No
. 
He’s gone, and I can’t even get him to talk to me.  Sally’s right. 
It’ll be nice to be single for a while.  Keep it casual.

“Go get ready but don’t look too cute.  No need to break his
heart.  Just dress like you used to, street thug a la 1980.” 

“Bitch.”  I laugh, glancing at my phone absentmindedly.  I
still look at my phone every night to see if there’s a text from Tommy….hoping
he’s had enough time and he’s ready to talk.

I wonder when that will stop.  Constantly feeling the pull to check
my phone to see if he’s ready to talk, come to his senses…willing to trust me
again
.  Shake it off.  He’s out.  Let him go
. 

I text Bobby:

Where are we going?

My phone pings:

It’s a surprise, pequena.

I type:

What do I wear?

My phone pings:

Jeans are fine
.

I take an advantage of my non-date by wearing my most comfortable jeans,
boots with a Joan Jett t-shirt I happen to love, and Sally happens to
hate.  I smile at my sweet f-u to her for her comment about dressing like
a thug from the eighties.  I’m not trying hard, just getting out there
again, a fun outing with a friend.  Sure he’s been asking me out…Sally’s
right…it’s ok to be single for a while.   Sure, he’s gorgeous, all
dark hair and sultry brown eyes, but I’m not on the market.

So, I do what’s easiest - spiked hair and heavy eye makeup.  It
takes about thirty minutes and I’m ready to go.  No frills, no fuss. 

I text Bobby:

Where am I meeting you?

My phone pings:

This is a date, pequena. 

I pick you up like the lady you are.

It’s hard not to smile.  His sweetness is touching.  I don’t do
“dates.”  I don’t like all that formal shit.  I know his heart is in
the right place, trying to show me I deserve the full treatment. 

I don’t do the door thing.  I’ll meet you in the lobby
at 7.

After I finish in the bathroom, I walk to the bed to shove some missing
items into my bag.  “Good golly, miss molly, Amber.  You’re wearing
the Joan Jett t-shirt
again
?”  She laughs, her eyes
twinkling.  “Nope, you are not taking this date seriously at all. 
What’s wrong?  None of your pajama bottoms are clean?”  She cracks up
at her own joke.

“You said don’t make an effort.”  Looking at my watch, I realize I
have half an hour before he shows.  “That reminds me, I asked Bobby about
you a while back, and he seems to have the impression that you were mistaken
about him having a problem with all your ladies.  He said he didn’t have a
problem with it.  Actually, he said you broke his heart.”

“Are you serious?  He told you that?  Huh.”  She looks at
my closet, moving hangers and inspecting the items on each hanger, oblivious to
my comment.

“What, why do you look so...so, reflective?”  I tilt my head. 
My eyes zero on what she’s doing, and I say, “I’m not changing, Sally.”

“Yes, you are.  Just because you aren’t serious about this date,
doesn’t mean you won’t run into someone who does interest you.  You are
single and no longer allowed to dress like a homeless person.”

“Very funny.  I do not look like a homeless person.  I am
deeply offended.”  I smirk at her.

“Here, put this on.”  She slings an off the shoulder number in
purple at me. 

I inspect the top, worried it might give him the wrong impression. 
Fuck
it.
  I might as well look nice.  Who knows maybe I’ll take a page
from Sally’s book and get a waitress’ number. 

My eyes glance back at the bathroom. 

“Are you serious?”  She exclaims, crossing her arms.  “You’re
wearing a bra.  Geez give me some credit.  Just change.”

“Ok, but don’t try to cop a feel now that I’m single.  I’m not
interested in becoming one of
your
many, Sally Westin.”  I pull up
the hem of my shirt.  “Answer my question…what about what Bobby said?”

“It’s
not
how I remember it, that’s all.  I remember that I
thought I had found the ideal match, one that would please my dad.  And
one I could live with, a guy who didn’t have a problem with my liking
women.  Hell, he loved that.  He likes to watch,” she says with a
wink, smiling.  “I thought I had found a guy who accepted me for who I was
and didn’t try to change me.  And, he was good, I mean really, good in
bed…for a guy.”  She smiles shyly.  “The bossiness got to me, telling
me how to dress, what to do, who to be friends with.  It was like my dad,
but on high octane.  He wants to be a politician you know.  He is
always aware of how things look, what people might say.  I broke his
heart?  Please.  I don’t believe that.”  She frowns slightly and
she rolls her eyes.

“Geez, why am I going on this date?”  I slip the top on and plop
onto the bed, my head in my hands.  “He sounds like my mother.”

“He has nice qualities, too, Amber.  Now I want my friend back so
please do not think I am convincing you to take this any further than this
date.”  She sits down next to me on the bed, squeezing my hand. 
“But, he is incredibly sweet.  You get sick?  He takes care of
you.  Someone mistreats you or gets up in your face, and he’s the first to
defend your honor.  He’s loyal, Amber.  He will be by your side
through the good and the bad.  He loves, and he loves hard with all of his
heart.  There’s no half way with him.”

“Sounds like Tommy.”  I study my hands, gripping my fingers. 
Shake
it off.  He’s not coming back.

“Yeah, Tommy is loyal.  That’s one of his great qualities.  But,
we’re moving on, right?”  Her eyes twinkle.  “Hmm, what else can I
tell you about him?  Oh, his best quality.”  She leans in and in a
low husky voice, she says, “He has an open mind about sex. 
Nothing
is too freaky, and he
loves
to experiment.  We were a perfect match
in the bedroom, except for the lack of a vagina, of course.  But on paper,
we both have open ideas about sex.  It’s too bad that he annoyed me to no
end the rest of the time.”  She smirks and runs her hand across my back. 
“And, the fact that I prefer to be with a women ninety-five percent of the
time, made a huge difference.  Now, if he only had boobs and a vagina, I
probably could have made it work.”  She shrugs and giggles, but her face
has a twinge of regret.

I wonder if she misses him.  There’s a knock at our door at six
forty-five, on the dot.  I open the door and motion for him to come in,
rolling my eyes as I turn away.

“I saw that,
pequena
.”  He chuckles.  “Hi Sally. 
How are you?”  I take this opportunity to look at them while a fumble with
my bag.  He looks open and genuinely glad to see her.  She looks
happy to see him with a touch of annoyance mixed with sadness around her
eyes. 
He was probably the closest thing to the perfect husband she is
ever going to find. 
Too bad he’s a guy.
  Worse yet, too bad
she can’t have what she deserves, a person she chooses.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Where are we going?”

“The best restaurant in town.”  He smiles, unwilling to say anything
more, obviously.

He walks me to the north end of campus and across the street, chatting
the whole way.  He tells me about Spain, being away from home, his
relationship with his parents, everything.  He is very open and answers
all my questions.  It’s nice.  He is funny, insightful, entertaining,
and charming. 

 “So, you went to boarding school from the age of six to high
school.  Who was your worst roommate?”  He asks.

“Easy.  Missy Callahan.  She was pretentious beyond belief,
annoying, and she hated me.  She loved torturing me.  I think she
spent all her free time trying to humiliate me any way she could.  The
worst part was she was sleeping with one of the teachers so it was near
impossible to get her busted for any of the shit she pulled on me.  I got
her in the end, though.”

“How?”  He asks, his eyes narrow.

“Nair in her shampoo.  She had to wear a wig for the rest of the
year.”  I giggle.  “I heard once when she was having sex, and it came
off in the guy’s hands.”

“
Pequena
, a revenge streak.  I like it.”  He nudges me with
a mischievous grin.

“How about you?”  I ask.  “Worst roommate.”

“That would be Archibald Winslow.”  He sighs, his eyes narrowing,
and his lips twist into a frown.  “He used to love to talk about my
heritage like it was something less than appropriate for our boarding
school.  He would call me names and degrade me at every turn.  Like
you, I got my revenge.”

“What did you do?”

“I had a prostitute pick him up in a bar and leave him with a little
gift.”

“What kind of gift?”  My eyes light with intrigue.

“She had a case of gonorrhea.  I had her tie him up, shave his
entire body, balls and all, and fuck him.  I told her to tell him I sent
her so that every time he had to take a pill, scratch his balls, or his legs
would itch, he would think of me and remember that you don’t fuck with Roberto
Sanchez.”  He puffs out his chest and smiles down at me.  “Every time
I needed a laugh, I would just stare at his legs in gym class, and I always
felt better.  Needless to say, he never messed with me again.  He
learned his lesson.”

Wow.  That’s hard core.

The restaurant is this white building that looks like a Dairy Queen from
the fifties, with glass windows and picnic benches in front.  Red
Coca-Cola signs, fountain service, and the owners name in a green sign are on
the front of the eatery.  The name reads “Dirty Martin’s,” but as Bobby
informed me, everyone calls it “Dirty’s.” 

We order at a counter in front with a white menu above our heads that has
everything from burgers to chicken fried steak sandwiches with all the
sides.  Bobby orders a burger and a pitcher of beer.  I order the
same.  Our food is ready in minutes.   The smell of cooking
hamburgers teases my stomach.
 
I walk down the line of booths, find
an open one, and take a seat.  The restaurant is packed with
students.  “What do you want to do once you graduate?” he asks, his eyes
gleaming with interest.

“A music producer.”  I straighten the salt and pepper shakers,
arranging the sugar with the labels facing the same way.