after my parents died. But gliding through traffic, I had to admit, for the first time since Joaquín had been arrested, my pulse steadied, my heartbeat calmed. For our brief ride, I vanquished memories of my parents, Joaquín’s troubles, my heartache—this overwhelming sense of urgency. I was truly enjoying living in the moment.
We pulled up to some hole-in-the-wall sushi joint. We weren’t in the ritzy part of downtown. No, we were on Broadway, a few blocks from the county jail where Joaquín was being housed.
I’m here, Joaquín. I haven’t abandoned you.
It was hard being so close to him and not being able to reach out to him, but I had faith I was on the right path.
I removed my helmet and crinkled my nose. The stench of urine and tar churned my stomach. Grant would never have taken me to a restaurant like this. This was a place where a guy took a girl to hide her, not to show her off. Was he shrouding me because I was a stripper? Or did he have a girlfriend somewhere who he was cheating on?
Last night, I almost felt guilty for dumping him back then and then using him now to find out the truth. But he chose to date a stripper, who on the surface was clearly not the type of woman to get serious with. So if he wanted a fling, at least he would be spending time with a woman who actually cared about him.
Grant studied my face. “This place is great, I promise. I know it doesn’t look like much, but the food is incredible.”
Great, he could still read me even as Ksenya. “I’m sure it is wonderful. I’m excited for good meal.”
His eyebrows lifted. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who looks beyond outside appearance.”
I bit my lip. “Compared to where it is I am from, this place is like palace.” Grant had a point. This could be the best sushi in the city, but I would’ve never agreed to go here when we were dating.
I’d never considered myself to be pretentious, but I’d admit I’d been a tad judgmental. I wondered if Grant had held himself back with me, afraid to push me to try new experiences. Why hadn’t I just been more open when I was with him?
The waitress sat us at a cramped table, stuck between the sushi bar and the restroom. Grant ordered a bunch of rolls, Asahi beer for himself, and saké for me.
He held my hand across the table. “So, how long have you been in San Diego?”
“Few months. I lived together in San Francisco with my baba. She died, and it was too much money for me there to live. I have friend here who was dancer and made good money, so I come down. The clubs in San Francisco are good, but houses are not so cheap.” My story was solid—I’d gone over it a thousand times—but gazing across at a man who regularly interrogated terrorists caused my palms to sweat.
The waitress brought us the first batch of rolls. Grant swirled a neon green mound of wasabi in the soy sauce with such concentration I shuddered from his intensity. “So you live with your friend?” he asked.
“No. She got boyfriend and quit the club. I live with older woman. She gives to me room in home, and I help with cleaning and cooking.” I tasted a piece of sushi—the Motion in the Ocean roll. The spicy jalapeño sauce lit my lips on fire while the sweet citrus put out the flame. I swallowed the tuna, the slithery fish sliding down my throat. Dear God, please don’t let me gag. I had been a vegan for years. But I knew that there was no chance that I could remain one in front of Grant.
“You could clean and cook for me.”
“Very funny.”
He popped a crunchy soft-shell crab roll into his mouth. “I’m serious, I travel all the time for my job. I could use some help.”
Was he kidding me? He had to be joking—he did not invite a stripper he had just met to move in with him. I dated this jackass for two years and we hadn’t even lived together.
“No, thank you. I do not know you.”
His eyebrow lifted, and his mouth widened into a sly smile. “Well, get to know me.”
My
We pulled up to some hole-in-the-wall sushi joint. We weren’t in the ritzy part of downtown. No, we were on Broadway, a few blocks from the county jail where Joaquín was being housed.
I’m here, Joaquín. I haven’t abandoned you.
It was hard being so close to him and not being able to reach out to him, but I had faith I was on the right path.
I removed my helmet and crinkled my nose. The stench of urine and tar churned my stomach. Grant would never have taken me to a restaurant like this. This was a place where a guy took a girl to hide her, not to show her off. Was he shrouding me because I was a stripper? Or did he have a girlfriend somewhere who he was cheating on?
Last night, I almost felt guilty for dumping him back then and then using him now to find out the truth. But he chose to date a stripper, who on the surface was clearly not the type of woman to get serious with. So if he wanted a fling, at least he would be spending time with a woman who actually cared about him.
Grant studied my face. “This place is great, I promise. I know it doesn’t look like much, but the food is incredible.”
Great, he could still read me even as Ksenya. “I’m sure it is wonderful. I’m excited for good meal.”
His eyebrows lifted. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who looks beyond outside appearance.”
I bit my lip. “Compared to where it is I am from, this place is like palace.” Grant had a point. This could be the best sushi in the city, but I would’ve never agreed to go here when we were dating.
I’d never considered myself to be pretentious, but I’d admit I’d been a tad judgmental. I wondered if Grant had held himself back with me, afraid to push me to try new experiences. Why hadn’t I just been more open when I was with him?
The waitress sat us at a cramped table, stuck between the sushi bar and the restroom. Grant ordered a bunch of rolls, Asahi beer for himself, and saké for me.
He held my hand across the table. “So, how long have you been in San Diego?”
“Few months. I lived together in San Francisco with my baba. She died, and it was too much money for me there to live. I have friend here who was dancer and made good money, so I come down. The clubs in San Francisco are good, but houses are not so cheap.” My story was solid—I’d gone over it a thousand times—but gazing across at a man who regularly interrogated terrorists caused my palms to sweat.
The waitress brought us the first batch of rolls. Grant swirled a neon green mound of wasabi in the soy sauce with such concentration I shuddered from his intensity. “So you live with your friend?” he asked.
“No. She got boyfriend and quit the club. I live with older woman. She gives to me room in home, and I help with cleaning and cooking.” I tasted a piece of sushi—the Motion in the Ocean roll. The spicy jalapeño sauce lit my lips on fire while the sweet citrus put out the flame. I swallowed the tuna, the slithery fish sliding down my throat. Dear God, please don’t let me gag. I had been a vegan for years. But I knew that there was no chance that I could remain one in front of Grant.
“You could clean and cook for me.”
“Very funny.”
He popped a crunchy soft-shell crab roll into his mouth. “I’m serious, I travel all the time for my job. I could use some help.”
Was he kidding me? He had to be joking—he did not invite a stripper he had just met to move in with him. I dated this jackass for two years and we hadn’t even lived together.
“No, thank you. I do not know you.”
His eyebrow lifted, and his mouth widened into a sly smile. “Well, get to know me.”
My
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