But that was what she must do.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking into his eyes and pleading for an understanding that she knew he couldn’t offer. Given her open provocation, she’d be lucky if he didn’t follow and break the apartment door down.
Jesse shook his head in disbelief. “Estrella . . .”
“I made a mistake,” she said. “Good-bye.”
And she turned and ran.
Chapter Four
“I freaked,” Estrella said two days later as she stood over her minute electric range top waiting for the kettle to heat. “And I’m not talking about having second thoughts and backing out. It was a full-fledged panic.” She poked her finger near the spout and winced at the burning metal. No whistle and only a wisp of steam, but her stinging fingertip didn’t lie. She picked up a potholder and tipped the kettle over the teapot.
Brenda snuffled, not thrilled about the prospect of tea, especially green tea, even though Estrella had explained that the quality of its flavor was all in the precise steeping. Brenda, who read cozy mysteries and believed she knew about such things, had replied that only a jolly round Englishwoman in a cardigan and Wellies should be that concerned with serving tea.
The redhead dropped another Kleenex into the wastebasket. “So what were the tattoos of anyway?”
Estrella shook her head as she measured scoops of loose tea into the pot. “That’s not the point. Any kind of tattoo scares me.” She felt foolish, admitting that. But after a person has been attacked by a vicious dog, even friendly ones seem risky to approach.
“Get off the pity pot, chica. We’ve become a tattoo nation. Even my Lou has them. And you never said a word. You’ve seemed comfortable at our house.”
“I know. I am, but . . .”
Brenda went off on her own tangent. “I’ve told our boys they can’t get any until they’re eighteen, but I doubt either of them will listen to me.” Her teenagers were hellions. After Sunday dinner, she usually escaped to Estrella’s bachelor-girl apartment, where the three small rooms were austere but peaceful.
“Please don’t misunderstand. Lou’s tattoos are fine.” True, they’d given Estrella a jolt the first time he’d shoved a hairy arm at her out on the Ventanos’ front lawn. Her aversion was involuntary, but not exactly a phobia. She had some control. She’d looked into Lou’s kind eyes and been able to take his hand.
But Jesse had expected more than a handshake.
“It’s in, you know, intimate situations that I’m most—” She waved the tea strainer. “When my defenses are down.”
Brenda huffed. “That explains Benny Marx.”
Estrella brought the tea tray to her kitchen table and sat down. She’d dated Benny every Saturday night for three months, her only real relationship since the divorce, setting aside a couple of short-term flings. Benny had liked schedules, and she’d liked his predictability. But he’d also liked precisely six minutes of foreplay, the Sci-Fi channel and Taco Bell, sometimes in that order. He had asked Estrella to marry him, out of momentum more than passion, she’d believed. This had been confirmed when the gentle nudge of Estrella letting him down easy had rolled him in the direction of the shoe rental girl at Steverino’s Super Bowl.
Estrella distributed paper napkins and mismatched porcelain cups and saucers, mentally ticking off the final seconds of steeping time. Benny Marx had been safe—and about as likely to get a tattoo as he was to go out in the sun without proper SPF protection.
“You know that Benny was a toe in the water.” Thirty seconds early, she poured the aromatic tea through the strainer she’d placed on the rim of Brenda’s cup. “Drink up. This will be good for your sinuses.”
“Like Benny. Hold my nose and swallow?”
“There was no need for swallowing with Benny.”
“I don’t suppose.” Brenda turned her teacup, still looking doubtful. “If he was a toe, what’s Jesse Drummond? Or do I have to ask?”
Estrella passed the squeeze bottle of honey. She thought of the wave tattoo. “He was a tidal wave.”
Brenda squeezed, stirred, sipped, wrinkled her rabbit-pink nose and squeezed again. “You’re regretting letting him go, I can tell.”
“Yeah.” Estrella sighed. Her fantasies of the roadside he-man had been replaced with endlessly replayed moments from their time in the pool. She hadn’t dared delve into what the remainder of the night might have been. “But I think I’m better off this way. For one, lying to him was wrong. For two, his resemblance to my ex is more than a little weird. The physical part is explainable, if I accept that that’s the type of man I’m attracted to. But the other—the dangerous, violent thing . . .”
The green tea must have done wonders for Brenda’s sinuses because suddenly she got very quiet.
Estrella put her chin on her hand. “Do you think I’m a head case? Like subconsciously I want a man who’ll treat me badly?”
Brenda slammed her spoon down on the table. “What did the guy do to you? If he hurt you, I’ll get after him with my hedge clippers and turn his trunk into a twig.”
Estrella waved. “No, no! It wasn’t like that. Honestly. He was a perfect gent—well, maybe not a perfect gentleman, because that wasn’t what I asked for.” Ha! She’d asked for a righteous screw, but had backed out before she got it. “He treated me well. This is more about my attraction to his type.”