Page 44 of Raspados & Regret

Twenty.

Thirty.

“Fucking coward,” I whisper, but my voice doesn’t land right.

Maybe it’s me that’s the coward. Maybe this was all funnier when it was comments and jokes and him looking at my mouth like he wanted to argue. But now it’s Thursday, and tomorrow I have to see him again. In person, under the market lights with our families five feet away and my body acting like it signed up for something my brain has not approved.

My phone buzzes.

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

Good.

One word.

That’s all.

Good.

I read it three times, and every time my skin prickles. The pantry suddenly feels too small.

Lalo.Con.Limón

Good?

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

Yeah.

Now I know it’s not just me.

I stop breathing, and I wait for the punchline. No joke comes. That is rare enough that it should be reported. I stare at the screen, tongue pressed behind my teeth, heart beating way too fast for a weekday afternoon surrounded by paper goods.

Not just me.

He said that. Fabián, who communicates like every word costs him a piece of his soul, just admitted there is something between us.

Enough to make my mind flash back to his thumb at the corner of my mouth. The rough slide of it over my skin and way he looked at the syrup before wiping it away.

The way he called me a coward and the way he stepped closer when I dared him. I close my eyes for one second.

Bad choice.

Immediately, I picture him in his shop bathroom. Fabián in that gray crop top from Junior’s story. Grease all over him. Dickies low. Pierced ears, nipples, and God help me, maybe other places I don’t need to be fantasizing about at two in the afternoon in my family’s pantry.

Except I do need to know. I want to know too much.

Where else silver catches on him?

What his face looks like when he stops scowling.

What would happen if I put my hands under that crop top and my thumbs brushed over his hard nipples?

My body heats in a hard rush.

“No,” I whisper to myself. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

The pantry door opens; I scream and almost throw my phone. Anita stands there holding a roll of price stickers, Fatima strapped to her chest, watching me with big baby eyes like even she knows her tío has lost his damn mind.