Page 173 of Raspados & Regret

“Stop looking at me like that,” Elías says, loud enough for my tía to hear.

I blink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure out if the trailer has enough room for more bad decisions.”

Junior coughs. “It does.”

Everyone turns to him, and he raises both hands. “What? I know dimensions.”

I look at Elías and he looks at me.

No.

Not here.

Instead, I carry the trash to the dumpster and spend the walk reminding myself that patience is a virtue and murder is illegal. Elías follows with the last bag because he is a menace and apparently committed to testing every saint I have ever prayed to.

Behind the trailers, the market noise dulls.

Same place as last summer.

Same heat.

Same smell of sugar, trash, and fried food.

Same shadowed strip between public and private.

He drops the bag into the dumpster and turns to me but I behave, and I don’t touch him.

That is growth, if you ask me.

His eyes drop to my mouth.

That is not growth; that’s temptation wearing slutty little shorts.

“That was cute,” he says.

“What was?”

“Telling me you love me in front of everyone.”

My throat tightens. “Kinda felt like it was time everyone knew.”

“So, loverboy.” His smile softens. “You really mean it?”

I step closer and he stays put, making me come all the way to him. “I meant it.”

“I know.”

“You better.” I say, running my finger up the length of his arm, just to feel him shiver.

His mouth curves. “Still bossy after a year.”

“Still annoying after a year,” I retort.

“You love me.”

“Clearly my standards are low.”