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tonight.
    That had better be tonight … and not tomorrow
morning.
    ****
    We were shown
to an intimate table near the cantina within the colorful Mexican restaurant.
The clientele was a mixture of locals and tourists. Sedona locals couldn’t keep
their eyes off Maximo while the tourists couldn’t keep their eyes off the
moonlit scenery.
    Maximo ordered
two large margaritas made with a tequila brand I’d never heard of, plus an
order of guacamole and plenty of chips. He dug a corn chip into the green stuff
and shoved it into his mouth at the first chance. Apparently vampires could eat
people food. That might be part of why they’d been able to blend in with the
vanilla populace for so long before they’d come out of the coffin.
    A live
mariachi band played within the cantina to our left. Maximo’s smile was lively
as he patted his hand against his thigh in time with their beat. The music was
a little too loud for us to carry on a conversation without the other diners
hearing. It meant I’d have to wait until later to bring up the subject of the
enthralled priestess.
    The band began
playing the familiar refrain of the tequila song. His lips spread wide. He
motioned for the waitress to bring us another round of margaritas. Thus far I’d
taken a mere sip of mine to wash down the nasty guacamole.
    Maximo waved
at my full glass. A challenging lift of his dark eyebrows and a glance at his
pinky suggested my drinking with him was part of the deal for the ring.
Reluctantly I brought it to my lips, certain to get a bit of salt on my tongue
to soften the lime juice’s tart taste.
    After his
second margarita and a half a plate of enchilada, Maximo began chair dancing.
Had anyone else in the restaurant attempted it, they would have looked foolish.
He managed to look sexy.
    Maximo’s mood
brightened yet further when the mariachi band played a song that involved
singing. He mouthed the words along with them, failing to miss a single
syllable. Clearly he knew his Mexican music.
    In between songs,
he leaned over the table and uttered quiet words while he still could. “How am
I to get you drunk if you’re behind by an entire cocktail?” He gestured at his
two empties and the nearly drained third glass in his other hand.
    One margarita
would be safe. Two would be bad. Two drinks and three dances had been the
requirement to go home with a man I’d met at a bar since I was old enough to
drink. If I never finished the second margarita, then I couldn’t go home with
him. Then again, we weren’t dancing. I didn’t see space for us to do so. I’d be
fine.
    I lifted the
second glass to my lips as the band started up a new song that had Maximo
bouncing his sable head of hair back and forth. He was just a little adorable
when he’d contort his face into humorous expressions that coincided with the
different instruments entering and leaving performance. If he’d been a
different person in a different circumstance, I probably would have dragged him
out of the restaurant after the appetizer.
    The band began
playing the familiar refrain of “La Bamba ”. The look
of pure glee he adopted was almost frightening. But it wasn’t until he popped
up out of his seat and took hold of the third margarita I’d lifted to my mouth
that I began to worry. Maximo set the drink aside and then drew me around the
corner by my fingers. He tugged us onto the stone floor between the band and
the cantina.
    And then he
began to dance.
    His hips shook
to the rapid beat. He called out the lyrics right along with the mariachi band.
Maximo twirled me nearly to his chest, our arms lifting above us before he
pushed me out again.
    The two
margaritas made me a little woozy. I stumbled into him, far too close to his fragrant
body with its notes of fresh lavender, warm sand, moss, and cedar.
    His grin was
unrepentant when he gazed down at me. He’d been planning this all along, hadn’t
he? I quietly growled.
    The band
completed “La Bamba ”. He called out,