Page 79 of Raspados & Regret

“What?” I ask.

“You done?”

“Working?” I ask. “Yeah.”

His voice dips. “Playing games?”

My breath catches.

Damn him.

I turn slowly, and his face is too controlled, but his eyes aren’t. His eyes are honey-brown with frustration mixed with want so sharp it makes my knees remember last night.

I smile because it is the only armor I have.

“Maybe.”

His jaw flexes. I step closer, just enough to make him think he’s winning.

Then I pat his cheek lightly.

God, I’m terrible.

“Looks like you survived.”

He catches my wrist, and my body sings. Then I twist free before his grip can turn into anything else. His eyes narrow, and I watch his chest rise and fall.

I grin. “Not here.”

“Then where?” The words come out before he can stop them.

I see the want sitting there, ugly and honest. I could tell him to follow me home and let this become what it’s been threatening to since the first time he looked at me like he hated my mouth.

Instead, I lift two fingers in a salute. “Buenas noches, Salcedo.”

Then I walk away, and I feel him watching me all the way to the truck.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

But I look back once, and he’s still standing there under the parking lot light, a grey crop top clinging to him, arms crossed over his chest, looking like a man who has just realized he’s starving.

I get in and shut the door before I do something stupid. Then I laugh, and the laugh turns into me choking back a tear because I spent all night teasing him and didn’t think about what it cost me. Every time I flirted with someone else, I wanted to look at him. Every time he got jealous, I wanted to reward him. When he tried to get close, I wanted to let him.

But I didn’t.

Now he knows.

He can want.

He can ache.

If he wants me so bad, he can come get me.

After I get home, shower, and collapse into bed, my whole body feels too awake for how tired I am. The house is quiet my mom’s room is dark. Anita and Fatima went home with Julio. I lie on my back in clean boxer briefs and an old oversized Raiders shirt, glasses on, hair damp, and one hand on my stomach.

My phone sits on my chest, and I tell myself I’m not waiting.

I’m a big fat liar.