To Each Her Own (The Swirl Book 1) by Sylvia Sinclair Page A

everything going for you. That’s major.” He reached over, put his hand on hers, and squeezed.
    She suddenly heard a ticking sound, and was reminded that though she did have a lot, she didn’t have everything. The sound she heard was that of her biological clock. “Thank you.” She paused, remembering his dinner offer. “I want you to know that I’ll take you up on that offer to cook for me.”
    “Done deal.” He removed his hand, set his beer on the table, leaned back, and smiled.
    She looked at him, and then up toward two stylish, tall black women who paraded by. One looked at Ramón, and then at her. The one woman said something to the other woman, who looked back at Ramón, and then looked at Shasta, cutting her big brown eyes so hard, that she sliced Shasta’s face down the middle. To Shasta, the look said she was stealing their black men. And Shasta felt it. Her reply to them in her mind was, Bitter Bettys !
    Shasta immediately looked down, and wanted to say something to Ramón about it. She wondered if they continued to meet in public, would she get more flack than he would. But instead she asked, “So, do you prefer to only date white?”
    He looked like he wanted to laugh. He spoke fast. “Does a pimp drive an El Dorado?”
    She laughed.
    “Does Paula Deen use the N word?”
    “Stop.”
    “Does Pinocchio have wooden balls?”
    She chuckled. “Okay, I guess that’s a yes. But seriously, why?”
    “Why not? Shit’s good.” His long eyelashes flirted.
    “Come on, Ramón.” She didn’t want to laugh, but couldn’t help it.
    He grabbed his beer again, taking a sip, looking focused. “I guess because I grew up around white people in Miami. My parents live in Weston, in Broward County, and that’s like eighty-percent white and twenty-percent other. Very few blacks. I went to a private school with mainly white kids. I had to be open to women of other races. There weren’t a lot of black girls.”
    “I see.”
    “In middle school I think I related better to white people because my early interactions in life taught me to not have issues with them. I was comfortable. I was one of a few kids in my high school that wasn’t white. You adapt to what you’re used to. I will admit that one time when I invited a girl to my birthday party, she said she couldn’t come because I was black. But she was still nice to me. In school I felt like I could be myself, and I even talked to my mom about it. She told me she related to people outside of her race better, too. She grew up in Maryland, around a lot of Hispanics. It just is what it is.” He took the final gulp and set the bottle down.
    “I get it. So your mom is black?”
    “Yes. And my dad is from Mississippi, but he’s Puerto Rican. They both ended up going to school at Broward College in Florida. That’s where they met.”
    She thought. She spoke. “Excuse me, but let me ask you this, because I’ve wanted to know: Is Puerto Rican considered Latin American or Hispanic?”
    “Actually, they’re two different things. Hispanic is not a race. It means someone who relates to Spain or a Spanish speaking country, or they speak Spanish. So it means you come from a Spanish speaking country. Like Mexicans are from Mexico, but they can be called Hispanic because of their language. Latin Americans, or Latinos, are people having actual heritage in the countries of Latin America, like Brazil, Mexico, Chile, Costa Rica, and many others, including Puerto Rico. Does that make sense, or do I sound like a bogus Spanish teacher?”
    She winked. “It does make sense. So your dad is Latin American, from Puerto Rico, right?”
    “That’s it. So I say he’s Puerto Rican.”
    “Got it.” In her mind, she just had to go back to the subject of him dating black or white. “But as far as black women, have you ever dated any?”
    “Oh, I did.” He held up one finger. “Once. But her problem was that she had a problem with my height. I didn’t have a problem with