Motor Mouth

spoon fashion, my back to his front, wrapped in his arms, his hand cupping my breast.
    “Damn it, Hooker,” I said. “You’ve got your hand on my breast.”
    “Just holding on to you so you don’t fall out of bed.”
    “And I’d better be wrong about the thing poking me in my back.”
    “Turns out I have a little energy left for some more excitement.”
    “No.”
    “Are you sure? Did you ask the man in the boat?”
    “Do not even
think
about the man in the boat. The man in the boat isn’t interested. And you’re going to be sleeping on the floor with the dog if you don’t get a grip on yourself.”
     
    I opened my eyes to sunlight pouring in through the pretty mint green curtains. I was partially on top of Hooker, his arm draped around me. And I hate to admit it, but he felt nice. He was still asleep. His eyes were closed, and a fringe of blond lash lay against his suntanned, stubbled face. His mouth was soft, and his body was warm and snuggly. It would be easy to forget he was a jerk.
    Barney, Barney, Barney! Pull yourself together
, the sensible inner Barney yelled.
The guy slept with a salesclerk
.
    Yes, but it wasn’t as if we were married, or even engaged. We weren’t even living together
, Barney the slut answered.
    You were dating…regularly. You were sleeping together…a lot!
    I blew out a sigh and eased off Hooker. I slipped out from under the quilt, stood, and stepped over Beans and into my jeans.
    Hooker half-opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and still husky from sleep. “Where are you going?”
    “Time to get up and go to work.”
    “It doesn’t feel like time to go to work. It feels like time to be asleep.” He looked around the room. “Where are we?”
    “Felicia’s house.”
    Hooker flopped over onto his back and put his hands over his face. “Omigod, did we really steal a hauler?”
    “Yep.”
    “I was hoping it was a dream.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “And Oscar Huevo?”
    “Dead.” I had my shoes on and my bra in my hand. “I’m going to the bathroom and then I’m going downstairs. I smell coffee brewing. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
    Ten minutes later, I was across from Hooker at Felicia’s kitchen table. I had a mug of coffee and a plate heaped with French toast and sausage. Felicia and her daughter were at the stove, cooking for what seemed like an endless supply of grandchildren and assorted other relatives.
    “This is Sister Marie Elena,” Felicia said, introducing a bent little old lady dressed in black. “She come from the church on the corner when she hear Hooker is visiting. She’s a big fan. And this guy behind her is my husband’s brother Luis.”
    Hooker was shaking hands and signing autographs and trying to eat. A kid climbed onto Hooker’s lap and scarfed down one of Hooker’s sausages.
    “Who are you?” Hooker asked.
    “Billy.”
    “My grandnephew,” Felicia said, putting four more sausages on Hooker’s plate. “Lily’s youngest boy. Lily is my sister’s middle child. They’re living with me while they look for a place. They just came here from Orlando. Lily’s husband got transferred.”
    Everyone was talking at once, Beans was barking at Felicia’s cat, and the television was blaring from the kitchen counter.
    “I have to go,” I shouted at Hooker. “I want to get to the car. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided to take a look. Just in case.”
    Hooker stood up at the table. “I’ll go with you.”
    “When Gobbles gets up, tell him to stay in the house,” I told Felicia. “Tell him we’ll be back later.”
    “Dinner at six o’clock,” Felicia said. “I’m cooking special Cuban for you. And my friend Marjorie and her husband are coming. They want to meet you. They’re big fans.”
    “Sure,” Hooker said.
    “But then we have to leave,” I said to Felicia. “We need to get back to North Carolina.”
    “I’m in no rush to get back to North Carolina,” Hooker said, grinning down at me. “Maybe we should stay another night.”
    “Maybe you should take out more health insurance,” I said to Hooker.

FOUR
    It was early morning and the sky over Miami was a brilliant azure. Not a cloud visible, and already the sun was heating things up. It was the first day of the workweek in a neighborhood of hardworking people. Clumps of Cuban immigrants and first-generation Americans stood waiting at bus stops. Not far off, in South Beach, the traffic was light and the