Page 56 of Raspados & Regret

You stalking me now? I just put a white one on.

Lalo.Con.Limón

Lucky guess.

Bullshit.

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

Wear the black shorts.

He doesn’t answer for almost a minute.

Lalo.Con.Limón

Already have them on.

My chest does that stupid tight thing again, and I toss the phone onto the bed like it started the fire instead of me. Then I pick it back up because apparently I have no pride left, just silver jewelry and nerve damage.

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

Of course they are.

Lalo.Con.Limón

You sound mad.

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

I am mad.

Lalo.Con.Limón

Good

You’re hotter when you’re mad.

I close my eyes—the smart thing would be to stop answering him. The mature thing would be to put my phone away, drive to the market, do the shift, and treat Elías like any other man I am not constantly imagining pressed up against a wall. A door or really any surface that could hold him upright.

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

Better watch your mouth tonight.

Lalo.Con.Limón

Make me.

I stare at those two words until they stop looking like English. Then I shove my phone into my pocket, grab my keys, and leave before I do something more embarrassing than exist.

The market is already loud when I pull in. Friday night hits different, and the fact that it’s over a hundred makes it even more chaotic. The lot is packed before sunset: vendors unloading under string lights, food trucks lined along the far fence, kids screaming near the bounce house, and music thumping. The air smells like grilled meat, sugar, diesel, and hot pavement cooling too slow.

Normal.

It is normal.

I am normal.

Then I see him. Elías stands at the back of the Cárdenas trailer with one foot propped on the bumper, tying his shoe.