Taming Romeo by Rachelle Ayala Page A

tomorrow.”

Chapter 18
    “So Romeo,” I ask as casually as I can en route to picking up Tita Elena. “Does your mother go all crazy every time you have a girl over?”
    He glances over from the driver’s seat of his mother’s Mercedes. I can’t believe he’s wearing driving gloves, but he told me Mama Elena doesn’t want oils ruining the wood on the steering wheel. Humpf. I better watch what I touch in this highly appointed car.
    Oops, better pay attention to his reply, including body language, gestures, and voice inflection.
    “Does she?” I repeat.
    He cocks a one-sided smile. “I know what you’re getting at. You want to know if I have girls over and how often. In fact, you’re dying to know if someone else has been to my place before or after your visit.”
    I roll my eyes and smear my fingers over the wood grain panel on the dashboard. So there.
    He doesn’t answer me. Instead he gets off the freeway, hangs a u-turn and zooms the opposite direction.
    “What happened? Did you forget something?”
    “As a matter of fact, I did. You left your helmet at my place.”
    “We don’t have to get it now.” I glance at the dashboard clock. “Isn’t your mom waiting?”
    “I want you to observe where your helmet is sitting when we enter the apartment.”
    “Romeo, this is ridiculous. Okay, I don’t have a right to invade your privacy, and I don’t see what all the fuss about the helmet is.”
    He doesn’t answer. I can see the determined set of his jaw, his lowered eyebrows and his to-die-for profile. No more baby face. This guy is pure testosterone. It sets my heart skittering and my juices running.
    He maneuvers the large Benz into a tiny parking space in the garage. Before I have a chance to step out, he hurries around to my side.
    “Come on.” He tugs my arm roughly. The long floral skirt I’m wearing gets tangled with my heels as I stumble out.
    “Romeo, you’re overreacting. Okay? Forget it. You have tons of girls over, night and day and I’m okay with it. Let’s go get your mother.”
    He maneuvers me into the elevator and as soon as the door closes, he lowers his head and presses his lips over mine.
    Oh, hot, hot. I utterly and completely surrender to his assault. Greedily, I sweep my tongue into his mouth, my hands busy loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.
    We barely make it out of the elevator clothed. My legs already wobbling, I race him to his door.
    He throws it open, grabs my head and points it at the helmet. It’s sitting on the low wall that separates the entry from the living room. Right next to it is a picture of us, taken at the pre-prom photo session. I was holding him, smiling in the innocence of young love. An hour later, I would stand him up by stealing the tickets and showing up with Kuya Carlos.
    He closes the front door. “No one has ever taken your place.”
    “I didn’t ask.” My heart’s thumping, I’m perspiring, and my hormones are confused. Are we supposed to be angry, fight or fly, or bop like bunnies?
    “Yes, I’ve had many women friends. I’ve even slept with a few of them. But no one is in here,” he thumps his chest, panting, “except you.”
    I almost melt on the spot. That has got to be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me, hands down.
    But what comes next chills me to the bone.
    “You, on the other hand, have been living with a guy for years. You ditched me for him. You met him that weekend you went to Boston to visit the campus. And you texted him right before the prom. He told you not to go through with it. Why did you lie to me and tell me it was Harvard you picked over me?”
    “Oh, shit, Romeo, how did you know?”
    “It doesn’t matter. Tell me, Evie. Why?”
    “I don’t know.” I clutch my chest, feeling like my insides are about to spill. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
    “Are you in love with him? Answer me.”
    “Why? What does it matter?”
    He smashes my face against his and plunders me with his lips.