Sofia comes downstairs

Next comes the sound of rapid footsteps racing down the stairs. I can hear bare feet slapping against the hard floors, then squeaking sharply as Sofia bursts into the kitchen.

“What the hell was that screaming?!” she yells with alarm. Her silk robe is barely cinched, and her dark hair is dripping onto her shoulders and the floor. One of her hands is clutching the lapels closed while the other braces against the archway. She skids to a stop when she sees me crouched behind the island, and my hands awkwardly shielding my groin. The two glasses have drops trailing down the sides where they join the pool around the base on the counter.

Marisol glances back from where she’s standing with her purse contents scattered around and clutching the canister with the spray nozzle pointed in my direction. Sofia’s eyes dart between us, widening at what’s been playing out prior to her arrival.

“Marisol?!”

Marisol stays mainly focused on me. She just arches one perfectly sculpted brow, shifting her weight so her hip cocks out and only glances back at Sofia for a brief second.

“What?” she asks, loudly. “How else am I supposed to react when I walk into… this?” she finishes, waving the canister at me.

“Put… whatever that is away,” Sofia says quickly, stepping forward with her palm out like she’s calming a spooked horse. “Mari! Now please. Everything’s fine.”

Marisol hesitates, then finally lowers her hand, but she doesn’t release her grip on it. She keeps it loose at her side, pointing it vaguely in my general direction, but at least it’s not directly at me anymore.

“What is he doing here?” Marisol demands of her sister. She jerks her head toward me, finally turning to actually look at Sofia. “And why is he walking around with drinks, naked, like he lives here?”

Sofia’s mouth opens for a second before she snaps it shut, glancing in my direction and gathering her thoughts. She pulls the robe tighter, and then goes redder than I’ve ever seen her. She’s flushed from the exposed top of chest up to her cheeks. I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment, or from having to scramble to explain something she clearly hadn’t planned on explaining to her sister.

“He’s… he’s a friend,” she says as if that’s supposed to explain everything. “I told you I was taking him out last for his birthday. Remember? And the kids weren’t here because they were with you, so–”

Marisol cuts her off with a short, incredulous laugh.

“Yeah, you told me you were taking him out!” she repeats, emphasizing the last word. “This…” she says, waving her hand in my direction. “This is not out. This is a naked little boy wandering around your house in the morning while you’re in the shower.”

“Excuse me, I’m twenty-one,” I interject when she pauses, feeling somewhat offended at what she called me.

Marisol’s head spins back to me with an expression that says she doesn’t think I should be speaking. “Yeah. Exactly what I said,” she snaps and turns back to Sofia. “What if Carlos had come home? What if he walked in on this? You think he’d just accept that ‘he’s a friend?’ Or would he just start breaking things?” she continues, then looks back to me. “Like him.”

Sofia flinches, just a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. Her shoulders stiffen.

“Carlos isn’t here,” she says quietly. “And he knows he’s not allowed here without my permission. And even if he was–”

“Even if he was, what?” Marisol presses, cutting Sofia off for a second time. “You’d explain that the delivery guy he already had a thing about spent the night? That he’s walking around his house, butt-naked, serving you in bed like it’s room service?”

I can’t take it anymore. My face is burning, my dignity is somewhere on the floor next to the spilled drinks, and the longer this goes on the more likely it is that Sofia’s kids are going to wander back down and get an eyeful they’ll need years of therapy to forget.

Clearing my throat to get their attention as well as hopefully keep it from cracking again, I cut in. “Uh… hey,” I say, keeping my hands strategically placed and trying to sound as calm as a man can when he’s hiding his junk in a situation like this. “Can I… you know… maybe go get dressed now? Please? Like… right now?”

Both women turn to look at me.

Sofia’s expression softens instantly, and I see the guilt flicker across her face like she’s just remembered I’m a person and not a prop in this sisterly standoff.

“Yes, pap-Jay!” She catches herself halfway through using the pet name she’s been calling me since last night, and glancing over at her sister. “Yes, of course. Go upstairs and get dressed. Your clothes are…” she sighs at the way everything sounds in front of Marisol, “wherever you left them. I’ll be right up.”

Marisol snorts, finally putting the little black canister down. When she lets it go, I see a label on the side. Hairspray. It’s a fucking travel-size bottle of hairspray. Feeling that much more ridiculous, I make my way around the corner of the island to head toward the stairs.

“Better hurry, delivery boy,” she says, smirking at me after seeing me read the label. “Before I decide to take pictures for the rest of the family. ‘Sofia’s new juice guy’ has a nice ring to it. Guess Sofia didn’t order the sample size, did she?”

On that note, I don’t wait for permission twice. I snatch one of the glasses on my way by and only make half an effort to hide myself at this point. Too humiliated to care, and she’s clearly already seen more than she should have anyway. I make no effort to hide my ass, but hearing what she says next makes me rethink my choice.

“Ay, Dios mio! I can see it from back here. Does he charge extra for oversized deliveries?” I hear her snickering.

Next comes Sofia’s exasperated voice, but even she can’t hide the giggle in it. “Mari, stop,” she half-chastises her sister, but there’s no bite in it. Marisol just giggles some more and then I hear her scooping things back into her purse.

By the time I make it to Sofia’s bedroom and shut the door, not even my embarrassment can keep me from remembering the way Marisol’s tits looked in her top. Hunting around for my clothes and getting dressed doesn’t even begin to quell the thoughts of them, and I’m damn near hard again by the time I’m dressed.

Downing the last of the orange juice, I figure I should probably call an Uber to get me home before Marisol finds some other way to make me feel any worse. Or uses her apparently vivid imagination to come up with more things that could happen if Carlos were to come home. I sink onto the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, and my head in my hands while I decide what to do.

When Sofia still hasn’t come upstairs several minutes later like she said she would, I open the heavy bedroom door and head over to the stairs where I hear their muffled voices. Sofia is clearly shushing her little sister while Marisol teases her relentlessly. Telling myself I have to sack up, I head back down to join them.

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