Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) (10 page)

“Marisol?” The voice was low, angry, and very close to the door. That much was clear, despite being muffled by the wood. I nearly peed my pants, and my hand came down on the red panic button with a decisive slam.

The house filled with the ear piercing sound of an alarm, and I slapped my hands on my ears.
Cocinero jumped off of the chair to dart from one end of the house to the other several times, his fur turning into a white blur.

“
You’re not helping!” I yelled, barely hearing my voice over the alarm. I pounded on the door with all my strength. “HEY BUDDY! YOU’D BETTER GET OUT OF HERE, BEFORE THE COPS SHOW UP!”

Though I could barely make out his words, I thought I heard a holler coming from the other side. “OH, COME ON, PRINCESS. THE
ALARM?
”

             
Wait. What? Did I recognize that voice? That low, gravelly pitch? That edge of irritation in the tone? It was hard to hear over the screech of the alarm. I peered through the window, but only saw darkness, part of the garden hose, and those damned yellow flowers.

“
DEMO? IS THAT YOU? I—” Groaning, I punched in the code to stop the alarm. Once it stopped, a deafening quiet filled my house. Breathing a sigh of relief, I leaned against the door. “Demo, why are you on my porch?”

I heard him sigh. “You are seriously high strung.”

Shaking my head, I flipped off the door. “There was a man on my porch in the middle of the night. What did you expect? I could have
shot
you.”

“
Doubtful. But it’s only ten,” he called. “That’s not the middle of the night.”

“Shut up,”
I whispered.

“How long until the cops come?”

As if on command, a tinny voice filled the foyer. “
Good evening, Ms… Vargas. I see you hit the panic button. Are you in need of assistance
?”

So that’s what I paid an extra forty bucks every month for,
I thought.

“Um
…” I said into the speaker on the wall. Snickering to myself, I added, “Maybe.” It would serve Demo right to get handcuffed and frisked by a cop. Besides, it might be kinda sexy.

“Oh, come on, Marisol. You
gotta be kidding,” the growly voice said from the other side of the door.

The tinny voice returned, this time more insistent. “
Ms. Vargas, are you in need of assistance? Should we connect you with emergency services
?”

“No
.” I rubbed my eyes, and scooped Cocinero off of the floor. “I’m fine, thank you. It was a mistake.”

“You can say that again,” he muttered.

“Helllllooooooo?” Agnes came in through the kitchen, making me jump a foot off of the floor.

“Holy hell!” I yelled. “How did you get in?”

She held up a flowered keychain. In her spare hand, she held a cast iron skillet. “I used the key you gave me. Are you okay? Did you see another mouse?”

             
I stared at the pan. “Why did you bring that?”

             
“Oh, this?” She held it up and examined it. Her breath smelled like Irish cream. “I grabbed it in case you needed me to fight off an assailant. Are you sure you’re all right, dear?”

Releasing a long breath, I leaned against the wall. “I’m fine, I just—”

Static crackled through the speaker.
“Pardon me, ma’am. Are you in need of assistance?”

“
I’m fine. It was a misunderstanding. I’m sorry.” The tinny voice thanked me, then with a beep disappeared. I turned to Agnes. “It’s my mechanic. Er, a friend. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Mechanic?” Agnes cuddled
Cocinero to her ample bosom, which was pushed up and locked into place by her square dance costume.

“Friend. Or, well, I don’t know… just…” Tucking the stray strands of hair hanging loose from my ponytail behind my ears, I unlocked the door and swung it open.

Sure enough, there in the darkness stood Demo, with my black garden soaker hose wrapped around one of his legs and a seriously pissed off scowl on his face.

“Are you sure it’s your friend?” Agnes whispered, once again right behind me. “He looks a little bit
angry.”

“He’s always
angry,” I whispered back, before shaking my head at Demo. “What are you doing here so late? What is wrong with you? Are you stalking me now?”

He scoffed. “Of course you think
I’m stalking you.”

I threw out my hands. “You’re on my front porch in the middle of the night!”

“I already told you, it’s not the middle of the night.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Two or three in the morning is the middle of the night,” he countered.

“No, it’s not.
That’s a good morning.”

The corner of his lips ticked up.
“Okay. Maybe one. But definitely not ten at night.”

“You’re a moron.”

“You’re a brat.”

Agnes flicked on the porch light, and stepped between us. One of her hands went on each of our shoulders. “You two are so cute.”

Demo and I both gaped at her. “We can’t stand each other,” I said lamely.

She shook her head, grinning. “You can’t fool me. That there’s a lovers quarrel.”

“No,” Demo said, scrubbing a hand across his five o’clock shadow. “It’s not.”

“Please.” She wagged a red nailed finger in Demo’s face. “I know two people who are mad about each other. You should’ve seen my Theo and me. We were at each other’s throats
nearly every day. Then at night, we were at each other in another way, if you know what I mean.” Agness jabbed Demo in the ribs with her elbow.

“
Ow.” He rubbed his side, then held out my car keys. “Look, I’m only here to give you these.”

“My car is here?” I peered out the door
. The shining back bumper of my Beemer gleamed in the darkness. “You already finished it?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t so hard.” Demo waved a hand. “Figured you’d need it tomorrow, so I thought I’d leave it here. You know…” He shrugged and his words trailed off.

“As a surprise?” Agnes fed him. “That’s so romantic.”

He scoffed. “Please.”

I was taken aback. Every time I made up my mind about Demo-the-mechanic, he surprised me with a random kind gesture that was more Prince Charming than giant douche bag. “Thank you,” I said quickly. “Very much.”

Demo nodded. “Yup.”
He looked around awkwardly. “Listen, Marisol, you need to take better care of yourself. You should leave your porch light on, so burglars won’t think the house is empty.”

I scrunched up my face. “We
re you worried about me?”

He didn
’t answer and instead turned to Agnes. “And you, lady, you’re not going to defend anyone armed only with a skillet. What if I had a gun?”

Agnes
grinned and jutted out her hip, as if she were some sixties’ sex kitten. “Oo, is it a big one?” I snickered, and she jabbed a thumb in my direction. “Besides, she’s the one with a gun.”

“It’s in my purse,” I whispered.

Agnes frowned. “Where’s your purse, dear?”

“
I’m not entirely sure.” I shrugged. “Whoops.”

Demo’s eyes narrowed before he turned back to Agnes.

“A skillet isn’t a defense against a weapon,” Demo continued as if neither of us had spoken. “Next time, you call the cops. Let them sort it out.”

“Yes, sir.” I saluted to him, and
looked around for someone in a waiting car. “How are you getting home?”

His shoulders rose and dropped in a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll walk. There’s a bus stop down the road, outside the subdivision.”

Agned beamed. “That was very chivalrous.”

Demo
ignored her and shook my keys. “I was gonna leave them under the mat, but then I tripped on your damned soaker hose.”

Snorting, I took the keys from Demo. “A little clumsy, are we?”

“Well, if you had your porch light on, I would’ve seen it,” Demo snarled, bending down to unwind the hose from around his boots. “It’s
black
, and it’s dark out.”

I tried to help his feet get untangled. “I didn’t know I was having company, so I didn’t know I needed to leave the light on.”

“Your porch light should always be on.”

“Oh, brother. Don’t start with that
again.” I rolled my eyes and tossed the hose into the flower garden. “I’m safe enough. You heard the alarm system.”

“You know, he’s right, dear.” Agnes patted my shoulder. “I always leave my porch light on at night.
It’s just good sense, Marisol.”

Demo smiled. “Told you.”

“Shut up,” I snapped. That smile was gorgeous. And impossible to ignore. My own personal kryptonite.

Agnes sighed and threw her arms around both of our shoulders. My face crunched against her starchy puffed sleeves. “You two bring back memories.”

“Of death by suffocation?” Demo’s voice was muffled by a mouthful of lace.

“Of my Theo.” She rested her head against mine. “He always told me to leave the downstairs sink dripping at night in the winter. And, of course, I was stubborn, and I refused. And do you know what happened?”
              I had to crane my head to see beyond the sleeve. “What?”

She squeezed us harder. “The darn pipes froze during the ice storm of ninety six!
Gah! Can you believe it?”

“Not at all,” I said at the same time Demo uttered, “Nope.”

“Why don’t you do yourselves a favor and kiss?” She loosened her grip on our necks, and grinned as we stood upright.

“Um, excuse me?” I folded my arms across my chest, suddenly uncomfortable.

Demo just stared down at me, his expression indecipherable.

“C’mon. Make your old neighbor happy.” She bounced in place, making her petticoats swish. “Kiss and make up.”

Dead silence fell. I considered telling Demo to take a flying leap and to take my neighbor with him. But I resisted. Mostly because Agnes was a pretty good neighbor. She gave me homemade huckleberry syrup—an inland northwest delicacy—every Christmas, and when her son came for visits in the winter, he always shoveled my driveway for me. They’re good people.

And the possibility of kissing Demo?
Holy mother of deliciousness. He was standing there on my porch with a pair of ripped black jeans and a white V-neck tee shirt so thin it was practically translucent. And his face? Oh, heavens… that five o’clock shadow was impressive. I secretly hoped he
never
shaved again. Even if it was just a kiss for Agnes’ sake, I didn’t care. It would be worth it.

For experimental purposes only, of course.

“Uh, I better go.” Demo turned to leave.

M
y heart dropped.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Agnes linked her arm in his and tugged him back into place. Then she hiccupped.
Or burped. I’m not sure which. “Come on. Don’t leave mad. Kiss and makeup.”

Silence filled my foyer, and
Cocinero started clawing at Demo’s bootlace. Five seconds passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.

“Listen, Agnes—”

“Shut up.” Demo shook off Agnes’ grip and closed the space between our bodies. His rough hands cupped my face, tangling in my hair and tugging it from my ponytail. I didn’t have time to think, or breathe, or blink, because he tilted my head to the side and crushed his mouth down on mine like he was going to war the next day.

Spots of light flashed behind my closed lids, and we landed against the doorjamb with a dull thud. Demo’s lips were like satin and sandpaper all rolled in one, and when they nudged my mouth open, I might have accidentally released a little moan. One of his hands went to the small of my back, tucking me against his body so snugly it took my breath away, and when his tongue tickled the inside of my lower lip, my knees turned into jelly and I had to grasp the front of Demo’s shirt to stay upright.

He pulled away just enough to nip at my lower lip, releasing a swarm of butterflies in my stomach that threatened to knock me right onto the tile floor, then dove in for more. The kiss was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was equal parts achingly romantic and utterly desperate. I raked my hands up his chest, to his neck—where I felt his pulse thudding underneath the tanned skin—and then up to his messy hair, which I grasped with white knuckles. I never wanted this kiss to end. I wanted it to go on for the rest of the night, until the paperboy threw the Spokane Gazette at our feet.

When Demo’s lips finally pulled apart from mine, he ran the pad of his callused thumb across my swollen lower lip, causing a shiver to two-step down my spine. His eyes were heavy lidded as he gazed down at me, mouth parted, breath halted. He looked perplexed.
And maybe sort of surprised. And… well,
seriously turned on
.

As was I.

“I… uh…” Demo didn’t finish his thought. Instead, he just stared at me. The air between us was electric, sparking and popping like downed power lines.