Love, in English

Froggy Carlos cleared his throat and I looked over at him. His pick was Albert Einstein. Hmmm.

“Who am I?” Froggy asked me. Always so exuberant.

“Um, that’s not how this works,” I told him. Damn, it had been one minute already and my arm was getting tired of keeping this at my forehead.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Oh dear. Drowning in translation.

“Yes. Who am I,” I said slowly. “Am I a movie star?”

A dawn of understanding came over his face and I could hear Mateo chuckle softly beside me.

“Oh,” Froggy said. “Yes! You are a big movie star. You were. You’re dead.”

I raised my hand. “I think we’re only supposed to do one question at a time.”

“Lo siento,” he said, then clamped his hands over his mouth in shock over his contraband Spanish. Then dropped the card so it landed face up and just ruined the game for himself. What a noob.

“Oh no,” he said softly, bending down to pick it up. “Oh no, I was Alberto Einstein.”

I swiftly turned to Mateo, trying to suck up all of his attention.

“Okay, you ask me something about yourself,” I said, making sure he hadn’t gotten sidetracked by Froggy’s version of the game.

As he kept the card to his forehead I started noting the largeness of his hands, the details of his forearm, the way his dark hair complimented his bronze skin but never overtook it.

“I think I am a male,” he said slowly, a gleam in his eye. “In fact, I know I am. How could I not be?”

Good question. Seemed impossible.

“So,” he mused, “I have to ask then, am I dead or alive?”

I had to think about that for a second? “You’re alive,” I told him. “Though I don’t think you’re doing too well, which is a shame since you’re such a trailblazer.”

Okay, so I said more than I was supposed to but I wanted to help him out. Besides, he looked puzzled over the word trailblazer anyway.

“Okay, do me,” I said excitedly. And then my whole body flushed hot from my words. My god, I was losing my edge here.

I had hoped the little phrase had gone over his head, but he just gave me a look that told me he knew. He seemed to pick up on the things I didn’t want him to.

“Yes, I will,” he said with a smirk. He straightened up and seemed much taller. “What do you want to know?”

“Oh, right,” I said, forgetting how the game worked for a second. I pursed my lips, thinking, my arm growing more strained. I had a feeling I knew who I could be, someone I hoped I could be.

“Am I sexy?” I asked, almost whispering, as if this was a secret. “Beautiful?” I added, in case he didn’t understand the sexy part.

His eyes looked me up and down and the slowest, wickedest smile tugged on his lips. “Yes. You are very beautiful. And very, very sexy.”

I raised my brow. “Not me, the person I’m trying to figure out.”

“Yes,” he said smoothly, eyeing me through his long lashes. “That is what I meant.”

We stared at each other for much longer than two almost strangers should, the room feeling like it had emptied out, like it was just us here and we weren’t surrounded by thirty-eight other people tripping on their words and laughing at their mistakes.

But we weren’t alone. Claudia was squeezing Mateo’s arm and saying something to him and he was tearing his eyes away from mine and breaking the spell. If there even had been a spell. Things of this nature were usually in my head.

With his attention on her now, I sca

I spied the rocker dude making his way through the crowd, heading to the bar. There was no bartender there, though with the nervousness of the Spaniards and the lameness of the game, you’d think there would be one, just handing everyone free shots.

I squeezed through the people until I was at his side.

“Hey,” I said to the guy as he peered over the copper-topped bar in frustration. He turned around and I looked to his name tag. “Dave,” I said slowly. Damn, I thought he would have had a cooler name than that, like Jet or Bones or Styxx.

“Hi,” he said brightly with a North American accent. He had really nice deep blue eyes, though slightly bloodshot. He looked at my tag. “Vera,” he read thoughtfully. Then he looked at the one on my forehead. “You’re still playing that?”

I shrugged. “I’ve almost figured it out. Thought you could help me.”

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the bar, resting one black boot up on his toe. His arms were covered in tattoos, nothing too pretty or interesting though, just the generic snakes and symbols and shit.

“Sure, ask away,” he said.

I purse my lips in thought, hoping they looked poutier than usual and asked, “Am I a blonde?”

He nodded.

I smiled. “I’m Marilyn Monroe, aren’t I?”

I took the nametag off of my head and looked at it. Sure enough, I was Marilyn. I totally knew it. I had a bit of a Marilyn obsession and was convinced she was my sad yet sexual spirit animal.

“Not bad,” he said. “I’d buy you a drink to celebrate but…”

As if he sensed we were contemplating going behind the bar and taking a warm bottle of beer off the wall, Jerry appeared. He had a bit of Froggy Carlos’s bug-eyed thing going on too, coupled with bad teeth and a nose that wouldn’t stop twitching. I wanted to make a bu

“The bar will be open after di

He wagged his finger at us and then scampered off to the next person.

I looked to Dave who was rolling his eyes. “So,” I said. “What building are you in?”

“Eight,” he said, dangling his keys in front of me. “Want to go check it out?”

I gave him a wary look. He smiled—cute dimples—and said, “Let’s go.” He jerked his head over to the door and started walking. He had quite the swagger, shaking his little butt that was half the size of mine. I kind of wanted to bite it.

I followed him out, looking for Mateo and Claudia but not seeing them in the chattering crowd, and he picked up his duffel bag. I decided to go back for mine later.

As we walked up the road to his cottage, he brought out a pack of cigarettes and shook it in my face.

“You want?”

I shook my head. I smoked sometimes but usually when I was drinking or feeling down. Right now I was sober and delightfully optimistic, something I just realized I hadn’t been in a really long time.

I watched him light up with a gold zippo and studied his hands. I liked men’s hands, obviously. His fingers were ski

“What do those mean?” I nodded at them.

He glanced at his hands as if he was surprised to see them. “I don’t know. I got them in Thailand. I was drunk.”

I laughed. “Good story.”

“Better than waking up with a young boy you thought was a woman.”

I grimaced and he shot me a smile. He had crooked teeth but it suited him. “That didn’t happen to me, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t,” I said. “I can tell you know the difference between a man and a woman.”

He cocked his brow but said nothing until we got to his cottage. He was in a duplex style one, single story and very charming.

“Wow,” I said as we stepped inside. There was a really small kitchenette off to the side but what was impressive was the gleaming wooden floors, the iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the cream colored couches complete with plush woven throws. The white stone walls had Spanish tapestry hanging from it. I didn’t follow him into the bedroom where he put down his bag, but I assumed it was just as nice.