Page 142 of Raspados & Regret

He laughs, quiet and bright.

That laugh.

God, I want to hear it every day. In bed with me every morning, and at night before I go to sleep.

The thought arrives like a brick through glass. I don’t say it out loud, because it’s too soon for sappy shit like that. But I don’t shove it away either.

Progress.

Elías opens the trailer door a crack and peeks out. “Coast is clear.”

I try to step around him, and he blocks me with one hand on my chest.

“What?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Zip.”

I look down.

My fly is down and my waistband is crooked. “Fuck.”

He snickers, and I fix myself while he watches like this is fine dining.

“Stop staring.”

“You look cute after you come.” He teases. “Kinda want to see you like this all the time.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

No. I really don’t.

We slip out of the trailer separately enough to pretend we are subtle and together enough to prove we are not. The market lights hit too bright and the air outside feels cooler for half a second before the heat rolls back in. People are still in line. My tía is at the register. Elías’s mother is restocking spoons. Junior’s still on the cooler, because God refuses to test that man with employment.

His eyes go to us immediately.

Then to my face.

Then Elías’s mouth.

Then back to me.

His grin spreads so wide I consider his murder a civic duty.

“No,” I say.

He points at me with a new corn cob. “You look like you saw the Virgen.”

Elías chokes.

I glare. “Shut your mouth.”

Junior’s eyes drift lower to where I’m still semi-hard. “Oh my God.”

I point harder. “Don’t.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Bro.”