"No dinner for me," I told Francesca who was stirring a pot of pasta sauce.

Mom and Dad were perched at a breakfast bar stool. Dad was still in his track pants and blue t shirt that he wore to practice and Mom sat in his lap with her laptop open, her spread sheets across the screen.

There must have been somewhere more comfortable for her to work. But whatever.

"I'm going to Amalia's."

My hair was still a bit damp from the shower and I'd barely dried off before I threw on a black t shirt and a pair of chinos. I snatched my keys up from the hook and waved at the parentals who were watching me.

Dad scratched his stubble and pointed at the corridor. "I swear I just saw Flynn walking upstairs with two bottled waters. That he took from the fridge. You saw that right, babe?"

Mom nodded when he rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Yeah he's not here for me," I laughed as Dads brows began to furrow and he straightened up. "He's up there with his girlfriend. Also known as Abby. Also known as your daughter."

Dad narrowed his glare and began to spiel off some crap about how he needed to check on this and that upstairs.

Before he could stand up, Mom braced the countertop and pushed down on his lap so he couldn't move.

Well, he could've moved. He could've picked her up and dropped her with no effort whatsoever. But he didn't.

"Don't even think about it."

"But—"

"She's eighteen Drayton," Mom peered over her shoulder with a no nonsense expression. "Flynn is a good kid and we are not going to disturb her privacy. She's allowed it. Just like we were."

Dad groaned. "I don't want to think about what we were like back then!" He rested his forehead on her back. "Make it stop."

Mom rolled her eyes at her man child but he didn't argue further. It'd been like that from the get go.

Dad had never been one for following rules or procedure, which had landed him in hot water on more than one occasion, so she tells me. But Mom kept him in line, for the most part.

She couldn't filter the crude shit that came out of his mouth, or prevent him from publicly announcing real intimate shit when he did live interviews or chatted with his friends.

But when she put her foot down on something, he listened. Because Mom knows best. That little mantra was one we'd grown up with. Not that we'd always let it sway our choices, but we all respected Mom's opinion.

"Have a nice evening," Mom smiled, wincing a little as Dad continued to bang his head on her back. "Tell Amalia we said hello."

As I left, I considered whether I should pop in and see Max. We still hadn't spoken since he took the blame for the beating that I gave Tanner, which of course, resulted in his expulsion. Dumbass.

I slid into the car and sent him a text message instead to let him know we should talk soon.

Tonight or after school tomorrow. He wouldn't be going back to school with us but I wasn't sure what came next.

Would he even be accepted into a new school with that on his record? The street lamps illuminated the split knuckles on the hand that gripped the steering wheel as I drove down the road.

Was it worth it?

Yeah, of course it was. Max wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't have taken the blame if he didn't want to.

Which, I realised, was exactly what he wanted. I couldn't help but feel as if there was a better way for him to get what he wanted though. A way that didn't require expulsion on his permanent record.

I pulled up in front of Amalia's colourful home. The painted urns were still standing tall, the flower beds were vibrant and with the sun setting, the orange speckles of light that hit the front porch made the white railings appear a tinge more colourful than usual.

Amalia had the door open, waiting at the threshold as I jogged up the footpath. She was so breathtaking in a pair of black shorts with her white puma t shirt tied in a knot at her midriff.

She ran her fingers through her dark curls as I approached and stood in front of her.

"Hola," she said and I inhaled a deep breath as I placed a hand on her waist.

I lowered my voice to a whisper and leaned in. "Can I kiss you?"

She tip toed and pressed our lips together. She smelled and tasted divine, as usual. Her back arched as I pulled her in tight and deepened the kiss for a brief moment.

Our tongues moved against each other just once and then we broke apart.

It went without saying I could have kept doing that for a hell of a lot longer. But when it came to Amalia, there was just no controlling what happened downstairs and greeting her father with a half chub wasn't going to earn me the points I needed.

We walked inside and she laced our fingers together as she closed the front door. The familiar scent of air tainted with chemicals and paint was strong when we wandered past the living room.

Down the hall, a new aroma took over when we walked through into a dining area with canary yellow walls and a rich pine six seater dining table set with place mats and glasses.

The place mats were decorated with pictures of popular attractions in Spain. The only one I recognised was the great mosque of Córdoba. We'd done an assessment on it for history back in Sophmore.

I figured I'd remember to ask about the other attractions during dinner if the conversation ran dry.

Elias was in the kitchen buttering some bread rolls which were steaming hot. He looked up and smiled. Though it was devilish. Something that made me feel as if I was the butt of a joke I hadn't heard.

"Hola, Lucas."

I inhaled a quiet breath and dredged up what I'd practiced for a solid hour in my first Spanish class this afternoon.

I figured I'd have more time to ensure it was fluid but I was semi confident that I could spit it out. "Hola, Elias. Es bueno verte de nuevo."

Amalia's grip on my hand tightened and she grinned with a semblance of pride. I could have stared at those beautiful long lashes fluttering for hours.

"Not bad," Elias said.

"I'm taking Spanish now," I informed him.

Elias turned to his daughter. "Perfecto, ahora no podemos hablar mierda de él."

"Papá," Amalia scolded with her jaw clenched. The two of them engaged in a stare down and she cocked her head to the side. "Se bueno"

He tried to hide his laughter. It was obvious there was some joke I couldn't get in on but I figured Amalia had my back and that was all that mattered to me. However, it was also motivational. I wanted to step it up in Spanish as fast as possible.

Amalia glared and pointed at her father. "English tonight Papá. You promised."

He exhaled with boredom.

It seemed the food had been wrapped up and refrigerated while the rest of them waited for me to arrive.

I apologised but even Elias dismissed it and said it gave him time to stir up some sangrias.

A traditional alcoholic Spanish beverage. He'd been unsure whether to allow me one or not but I insisted that Mom and Dad were casual when it came to that sort of thing.

Not too casual though. I didn't want him to think Amalia was spending time with someone whose parents were irresponsible.

Elias carried a tray of tall round glasses into the middle of the table and placed them at each setting except for one. Bernie's.

Amalia started carrying dishes into the dining room and placing them on the table. She offered I choose a seat but I waved it off and told her to tell me how I could help.

Once we had all of the food set down in the middle of the table, Elias called for Amalia's little sister.

After the excitement of last time, the photos, the declaration of love, the hugs, I was surprised she hadn't come out earlier. We sat down, listening to the sound of doors opening and closing from the corridor.

Amalia and I sat on one side of the table, her father and sister on the other. That was when Bernie finally emerged and I heard the stifle of her squeal from behind me.

Elias shot her a warning glare as he shovelled yellow rice on to his plate.

"Hi, Lucas," she said, almost dancing around to her side of the table. "El es hermoso."

Elias dropped his fork and sighed with frustration. "English tonight, Bernie. Y déjà de hablar de este chico. Es demasiado viejo para ti."

"So," Amalia clapped. "We like to keep the culture alive at home with our traditional foods. Dad always makes way too much, as if he's still feeding the Familia back at home."

"I do not."

"You do Papá," she laughed but ignored him and pointed at the delectable smelling food. "We have Gazpacho. It's a cold soup with vegetables, it's delicious."

"How do you pronounce it?" I asked, stalling her before she could continue.

"Gazpacho."

"And what about the other dish?"

"Paella," she subtly shook her head. She knew.

She knew I was a goner for her native tongue and erotic sounding voice. She made it sound so damn arousing. The way her tongue caressed the words and her plump lips delivered them. It was so hard to concentrate around her.

Elias cleared his throat and we both snapped our heads in his direction, realising that we'd been staring at each other and I was about to eat her face instead of the food.

"Gazpacho," he pointed at the soup and then pointed at the yellow rice. "Paella. It has lots of spices and seafood. There's shrimp in there also. Allergies?"

He had a thick accent but it wasn't quite as arousing as his daughter's.

"No allergies," I assured him.

He nodded and we continued dishing food into our bowls and on to our plates. Elias brought his attention back to our side of the table when I grabbed a couple of bread rolls.

He ladled up his soup with a chuckle. "Made sure we had those especially for the American boy. In case Spanish flavours are not for you."

In all honesty, the first retort that came to mind was that Amalia would be my favourite Spanish flavour of all and I could eat her all damn day.

But this was obviously some sort of subtle test and I didn't think announcing that I wanted to lick his daughter out would help my case.

So I bit that back and instead put a forkful of the rice into my gob so I didn't say something inappropriate. Because it was bursting to come out.

I could tell Amalia was watching me, anticipating whether I would give some sort of clue in my expression.

I was relieved when I found the food was genuinely fucking amazing. It was a flavour burst and I nodded as I swallowed the mouthful. "That's fuc— that's delicious sir."

"Gracias Lucas."

Amalia smiled when I turned to her and quirked my brows in that I-love-it-but-I-knew-I-would sort of way.

"So," Elias said after a few minutes of silence which was filled only by cutlery chiming, soup being slurped and the occasional sip of Sangria. Or in Bernie's case, Apple juice. "What are your interests Lucas? Do you have plans for College?"

"Yeah, football," I answered. "The plan is to join the NFL. It's a longstanding tradition in our family. I guess I'm also into softball as well. Just as a spectator though."

Amalia lowered her gaze, hiding the light blush that coated her nose.

"Amalia plays softball," Bernie said. "She's not bad."

"She's not bad at her art either," Elias said.

He winked at Amalia. He knew that 'not bad' was an understatement.

I was sure he must have been proud that she was following in his footsteps as well.

That was a parents wet dream. For their kids to follow after their interest and career paths.

Of course, a good parent would never begrudge their child for choosing another course in life, but brownie points if you managed to grow up with that same tingling for art or football or whatever it was.

"Art is an interest of mine as well," I said, scooping another spoonful of rice onto the plate while I raised my other arm and twisted it so he got a view of the tattoos that circulated my arm.

As if he hadn't seen them when we met because it was impossible to miss.

"Yeah I noticed those," he laughed when I shot him a cautious look. "Don't stress. I'm a judge of character. Not exterior."

"Respect," I said, sort of surprised.

A short pause followed. Amalia asked Bernie to pass the salt.

"So what about other sports, such as, bull fighting?"

The change in the atmosphere was palpable. This was it. If I thought the other questions were testing, there was no denying this might have been the biggest challenge of the evening.

Amalia had stilled beside me, pushing her food around with her head down. Bernie discovered something fascinating on her nails and Elias waited, piercing me with an expectant stare while he chewed his food.

It seemed I was alone in coming up with a suitable answer for this mammoth of a question.

On the one hand, I didn't want to offend their traditions or culture. I had no idea where they stood on the 'sport'. On the other hand, I couldn't lie and pretend I was a fan.

That would be one of those long term lies I would have to commit to. Plus, it wasn't the impression I wanted to give. Not even when I desperately wanted the approval of this man for the sheer fact I was so hung up on his daughter.

"To be honest sir, I think it's gross. Yeah I mean, I'm not a vegan or vegetarian. But it's not humane. It's torment and cruel and I know it's traditional but it's just sort of fucked up."

He chewed on his food, still staring with that same flat expression I found so hard to gauge.

He began to nod after a moment. "I agree," he said and I exhaled with subtle relief. "It is indeed fucked up."

"More bread, Papá?" Amalia picked up the plate of rolls and held them at arms length in the direction of her father who was staring at the table top with a distant expression.

The atmosphere had changed. There was a tension that wasn't there a few minutes ago. I wouldn't have called it relaxed before. But this was something else.

Amalia lowered the plate of bread after a moment.

"Amalia and Bernie's Mother loved bullfighting. She loved it."

I could have heard a pin drop in the silence that enveloped this room. Bernie stood up with her glass and said she needed a water.

There was no mistaking the sound of a door closing in the corridor a moment later though.

I'd occasionally wondered about her mother. How come she didn't join them when they came to America. When Amalia and I first met, she said her Mom didn't come with them. She didn't say she was dead.

But I figured if she wanted to talk about it, then she would. In the mean time, it wasn't effecting how the two of us were getting along.

I felt like a dumbass. I should have at least asked. Even if she had said that she didn't want to talk about it. She would have known I cared. What a fucking moron.

"Papá, please."

"The rest of us hated it," he continued. "She loved it. Tradition, she would tell us all. It's an artistic tradition. You should understand Elias. You are an artist. She said it all the time. And then she wanted Amalia to go along. To watch that. She would say just because you don't enjoy it, that does not mean my daughter shouldn't appreciate it."

This was the most uncomfortable situation I had ever been in.

Amalia was almost buzzing beside me. Her leg shook, she chewed on her nail. It was obvious she needed some sort of comfort but I just sat there and let the thoughts stew while I contemplated what to say.

I always knew what to say. I had a mind that never stopped. Conversation wasn't an issue. But this was a sensitive topic and this wasn't my family where whatever I said, went.

"Amalia never wanted to go," he said. "She used to tell me that. But I never stopped her mother from dragging her along and forcing her to sit through those damn events—"

"Papá," Amalia stood up in her seat, the chair legs scraped the wooden floor as she pushed it back. "No hablamos de esa bruja!"

Elias finally looked up and it sort of terrified me to see how fast his demeanour had changed from protective inquisitive father to defeated broken man in just minutes.

He gave her an apologetic nod and pushed his chair back, leaving his dinner plate full and his daughter on the edge of tears while she regulated her harsh breathing.

_____

Thank you VextedLove for helping me with all things Spanish ♥️