Page 78 of Raspados & Regret

His jaw tightens.

I laugh under my breath and tsk. “But ya can’t.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, and my pulse thrums. Then I step back before he can try to persuade me.

That’s the game now.

Give him one inch—take three.

Let him feel the hook but never let him pull me all the way in.

Fabián spends the rest of the night dying.

Beautifully.

I watch him like my life depends on it. He watches me too, but I’m much better at multitasking. I flirt with customers, with women, with men, with aunties, with anyone holding a phone and a wallet, and every time I do, Fabián gets sharper. More silent. More dangerous. He stops making jokes, stops pretending he isn’t bothered.

He even goes so far as using my full name in that low warning voice when I step too close to someone else’s smile.

“Elías—”

I look over my shoulder. “Sí?”

His eyes say, “enough.”

Mine say, “You want me so bad? Make me stop.”

The tension’s so thick by closing that I’m surprised the syrup bottles don’t explode. Our families notice. They would have to be blind not to. My mom and Consuelo exchange one of those silent mom looks across the booth. The kind that says, This is either going to end in a wedding or a police report.

Anita shows up near the end with Julio and Fatima, clocking the whole situation in less than three seconds. She points at my neck, then at Fabián, making a heart with her hands.

I flip her off behind the cooler.

Fatima laughs. I swear that baby loves drama.

Once everything is nearly packed up, I’m sticky, tired, overheated, and wound so tight one touch might snap me clean in half. Which is exactly why I don’t let Fabián touch me.

Not once, even though he tries.

It’s subtle—reaching for the same cooler handle I’m trying to grab. I switch sides, as if the touch is burning me. He steps toward the back table, and I duck under the canopy. He tries standing too close while I stack cups, and I hand the stack to Julio and walk away.

Julio looks between us and mutters, “Damn, crop top’s getting edged in public.”

Fabián turns on him. “I didn’t know you could read the comments on TikTok, Julio?”

Julio raises both hands. “Man… this joke’s getting old. Anita! Tell these culeros I can in fact read.”

I laugh, and Fabián looks at me like the sound hurts him.

When the last cooler is loaded and the market lights start shutting off row by row, I feel him behind me. Close enough that my whole back knows where he is.

“Lalo.” My name sounds wrecked coming from his mouth.

I grip the edge of the trailer’s door.

Do not turn around.

If I turn around, we’ll end up inside this trailer, and this time I do not trust either of us to stop at kissing.