Page 73 of Raspados & Regret

“For business?” I ask.

“No, your public,” she chuckles. “You’re like some bisexual icon now.”

“Shut up.”

Someone in line points at me. “That’s him!”

Another person says, “Where’s Crop Top Papi?”

I close my eyes.

Beautiful. Terrible.

A gift from Satan dipped in chamoy.

Then I hear a truck door slam, and my skin notices before I look.

Fabián is here. Late, but here.

I turn, and he walks across the lot in a faded gray crop top, because apparently his goal is to test my cardiovascular health. The shirt is cut high, the sleeves are gone, and his stomach is out like a threat. Black Dickies shorts paired with old-school Vans that look like they need to see the inside of a trash can. Silver chain with that St. Fabián pendant at his throat. And an expression that looks carved from stone and bad coping mechanisms.

He sees the line, then his gaze pans over all the phones. Then he sees me, and his eyes go straight to my neck. To the hickeys, and he stops walking. His jaw tightens, so I do the one thing I know will make things absolutely worse.

I smile.

Slowly.

His gaze lifts to mine, but he keeps walking.

“Cárdenas,” he says when he reaches me. “Where’s my albóndigas?”

“Salcedo,” I chuckle. “Must have forgotten it… I was a little preoccupied in the bathroom this morning.”

His eyes flick to my neck again. “You didn’t cover them up.”

I adjust one of my silver chains, making sure it does absolutely nothing to hide the mark. “Cover what?”

His nostrils flare.

Lovely.

The line makes a sound.

Someone whispers, “Ohhhh, is that a hickey on his neck?”

Fabián’s face shuts down and mine lights up. Because I am a bad person, but he’s the one who put the hickey there.

Fabián walked away last night telling me he’d deny it, and now he is standing in public with the evidence on my neck and a dozen strangers doing forensic analysis in the background.

“Don’t,” he mutters.

I blink up at him. “Don’t what?”

“Feed them.”

I turn toward the line and smile. “Who wants extra chamoy?”

The line cheers, and Fabián looks at the sky like he’s asking God for patience and is getting left on read.