Page 25 of Raspados & Regret

It seems I’m noticing everything all of a sudden. And that’s a big fucking problem.

THREE

FABIÁN

On Monday morning, I make a decision. A mature decision, a responsible decision. One that proves I am a grown man with self-control, common sense, and the ability to move on from inconvenient thoughts.

I’m not going to think about Elías Cárdenas.

Not his mouth or that tempting little tongue ring of his.

Not his criminally short shorts and his adorable glasses.

And certainly not the way he looked at me in the parking lot Saturday night like he knew exactly how close I was to doing something stupid and wanted to see if I’d survive it. I am especially not going to think about the way he said, “Maybe you’re too scared,” like he was handing me a match in a room full of gasoline.

What if I am scared?

No, stop it. I have work to do.

I have responsibilities, like the 2012 Nissan Altima in bay two making a sound that should probably be reported to the church. I have a customer arguing that her brake pads “should still be good” because she replaced them three years ago. Then I have a Tío pretending he doesn’t know where he left the shop tablet even though it is always in the same place.

I don’t have time for whatever the fuck this is.

This is heat.

This is stress.

This is summer market fumes and too much tamarindo syrup and the fact that Elías wears shorts like he is legally forbidden from owning more fabric.

I am fine.

I am very fine.

Underneath the Altima, with my wrench in hand, I’m telling myself exactly how fine I am when my phone buzzes against the concrete beside my head.

I ignore it, and it buzzes again.

Third buzz, then a fourth, and when I glance over, it’s my cousin Junior’s name lighting up my screen with a text preview.

Junior

NO MAMES, BRO.

I close my eyes because nothing good has ever followed those words when they come from Junior. My phone keeps buzzing, so I slide out from under the Altima on the creeper and grab it with the same enthusiasm I would use to pick up a dead rat.

Junior has sent seven messages and a link to a video.

Junior

NO MAMES, BRO.

Ay, Cabrón, tú eres el mero rey de los crop tops.

Don’t get mad.

Actually, you’re gonna get mad.

But like in a hot way apparently.