Page 61 of Truth or More Truth
I look up at Diego, who’s watching me carefully.
“Do you know what this emergency is?”
He nods. “I do.”
“But you’re not going to tell me what it is?”
“That is Bobby’s story to tell. Not mine.”
“He’s OK, though?” I fold the note back up and stick it in my pocket. “He said not to worry, but how can I not? This has to be something really serious if he left in the middle of the night.”
Diego places his hand on my shoulder. “Bobby is a strong man. He will be OK, don’t you worry. But he has a lot of responsibilities, and he doesn’t like letting down the people he cares about. Please just trust him, and be patient with him. It’s not easy for him to let people in. He is ready to let you in, but that will have to wait a little longer.”
I’m dying to know what Bobby’s many responsibilitiesare. It don’t think it’s his parents, considering he emancipated himself at sixteen because his home life wasn’t good. And he was cagey about any siblings when I asked. He also didn’t specifically say it was a work emergency, so I don’t think it’s that. I really hope he wouldn’t leave me in the middle of the night on New Year’s Day for work. But maybe that’s part of being an agent. I don’t know enough about that world to take an educated guess. If it is a work thing, though, I’m not sure how I feel about that, when it comes to potentially having a long-term relationship with him. Do I want to be with a guy who has to take off unexpectedly in the middle of the night?
“OK.” I nod, even though my head is spinning. “I can be patient.”
“Yes, you can. Now,” he claps his hands together, “the sooner we leave, the sooner we get there. Who’s driving first?”
Diego is an entertaining road trip partner. His giant bag contains several cassette tapes that he brought to listen to in his Walkman, and he’s introducing me to some of his favorite Spanish-language singers. Listening to him sing along is a delight. He’s overly expressive, and he has excellent pitch. He occasionally takes a break from singing to translate the lyrics for me.
“What did you and Bobby do in the car on the way to Arkansas?” he asks me as he switches out one tape for another.
“Mostly listened to music. We also got to know each other a little bit. And we played ‘Truth or Dare.’”
Diego rubs his hands together. “Oooo! Let’s play. I’ll start. Truth or dare, beautiful Melissa?”
I’m scared of what he might ask me, but I’m more afraid of what he might dare me to do, so I choose truth.
“Yes!” He pumps a fist in the air and yelps like a little girl when it hits the ceiling. Thankfully it’s not his pitching hand. “What do you think of our Bobby? Does he make your heart go pitter-patter? Do you want to have his babies?”
I smack his chest with the back of my hand, making him yelpagain. “Diego! I’m not telling you any of that. It’s none of your business. Plus, that was three questions. You only get one.”
“Itismy business, because Bobby is my brother from an American mother. I need to make sure you will not break his fragile little man-heart.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Nothing about Bobby is fragile.”
“Ah, on this matter you’re mistaken. Deep down, under all the no-nonsense agentyness, Bobby Jacobs has a sensitive soul. He feels things deeply when they are personal to him and the people he loves. You will come to see that.”
I flick my gaze his way. “Yeah?”
“Si, mi amiga.And he is as loyal as they come, our Bobby. He is a prince among men. I wouldn’t trust him with my career and my friendship and the matters ofmyfragile little man-heart if he was not. Promise me you will treat my brother with tender care.”
My heart warms at how much Diego cares about Bobby. “I promise I will.”
“Good. Now, answer my questions. That is the way this game works. You must answer, or you owe me one million dollars.”
I laugh again. “I don’t have a million dollars.”
“Then you must answer!”
There’s no stopping the corners of my mouth from turning up when I recall Diego’s questions. I decide to answer one of them, because he already knows the answer, or he wouldn’t have asked. “He does make my heart go pitter-patter.” In fact, it’s pitter-pattering right now, just from thinking about the way Bobby kissed me last night.
“Yes! I knew it! You know how? Because I can hear it, even now. Pitter-patter-pitter-patter.” He taps his fingers on my shoulder to the beat.
I giggle. “You can’t hear it.”
“Maybe not, but I saw how you looked at him last night. There ismuchopitter-pattering in your chest.”
