Page 43 of Raspados & Regret

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

You worried about my happy trail now?

I set the knife down, carefully. Like it might become part of a crime scene if I keep holding it.

Anita leans closer. “Oh, that face is nasty.”

“Stop looking at my face.” I move away from the counter and head into the walk-in pantry, because I’m a grown man who needs his privacy when he’s about to be stupid.

It is cooler in here, thank God. Shelves line both walls, packed with cups, lids, straws, syrup jugs, extra napkins, candy, bulk Tajín, condensed milk, and the giant tubs of chamoy my mom treats like family heirlooms. I shut the door behind me but not all the way.

I’m not that dramatic.

My thumbs hover over the keyboard.

Lalo.Con.Limón

I’m worried about public safety.

People see that little trail and forget how to act.

His reply comes fast enough that I know he was waiting.

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

People?

I stare at that one word.

People.

Not you? That’s what he means. Fabián Salcedo, crop-top hypocrite, is trying to make me say it. I laugh under my breath, and I’m surprised at how shaky it comes out. The sexual tension between us stopped being background noise sometime after he followed me on Instagram and became a live electrical wire wrapped around my neck.

Lalo.Con.Limón

You fishing for compliments, Salcedo?

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

Answer the question.

I swallow.

My tongue ring clicks against my teeth.

I press my back against the shelves and type before I can think better of it.

Lalo.Con.Limón

Fine…

I see it and forget how to act.

The message is sent, and my heart starts beating faster.

And there’s nothing—no bubbles, no reply.

I stare at the screen, and ten seconds go by.