“Competitive?” he supplied. “My guess is everyone here is.”
“—or we wouldn’t be here,” they both said together and burst into laughter.
Her flashbulb smile dimmed again. “But my sister makes me look easygoing. She’s a human rights lawyer. Works for the ACLU. She’s at the border right now, trying to make sure the children separated from their parents are reunited.”
“That’s amazing work to be doing.” Rico hated what was happening in America right now. The inhumanity of it was baffling. He’d been taken in by this country when he’d had nowhere else to go. For that he would always be grateful and loyal. He hadn’t even been a refugee, just an orphan in need of a home. “People who have no empathy for refugees are soulless. No one who’s forced out of their home has any interest in anything but embracing the land that gives them another chance. It’s been proven over and over again, that refugees—and their children—go on to do great things for the countries that become their new homes.”
“I just heard one of the guys who’s running for governor of California say exactly that on the radio this morning. I think he’s the guy my sister is working with on the border crisis.”
“No way! She works with Yash Raje? I’ve been following his campaign and the man is amazing. I can’t believe the bigoted nonsense that piece of shit Cruz has been saying against him.”
“You’re interested in politics,” she said with exaggerated disappointment. “That means you too are going to like my sister more than me.”
“Do you make all your friends choose? Between your sister and you?”
That made her laugh. Unexpectedly, she threw her hands around him and gave him a hug. “Honestly, I’m crazy proud of her,” she said sincerely. “I’m so glad you’re here. This is going to be so much fun!”
Her buoyancy was contagious, and for the first time since he had come back to California, the deep restlessness inside Rico relaxed. The room was filled with talented, interesting people. Song was right, this could be fun.
When he pulled away from the hug, he noticed that his lovely partner was back in the room. Yes, he felt it, shoot him.
A bitter little smile danced around her red, bee-stung lips—a combination of smugness and annoyance. Rico had no patience for it. And no, the fact that her chef boyfriend was right behind her, his body language all protective of her, had nothing to do with Rico’s lack of patience.
Rico turned back to the sweet person he was talking to.
Song was watching him with awe, which made him extremely grateful right about now. “You guys are guaranteed to get through the first few rounds. Given the, you know . . .”
“The video.” His eyes found Ashna again as she made her way across the studio toward him—not by choice but because DJ was heading this way and she had her hand hooked into his arm as though he were an overinflated life raft and she were swimming against a current gone wild.
Song gave him another hundred-watt smile, and he chose to mirror Ashna and cling on to it. “That was such an amazingly brave thing to do. You’re a hero!” Song said.
And yet, he had barely received a grudging thanks for his heroism. “It’s the curse of being a football player; you see a flying object and you automatically leap toward it.”
She loved that, laughed heartily at it. Rico loved that he didn’t have to work for her laughter, she gave it easily and he was as grateful as a starved puppy. As if he didn’t like her enough already, she turned the conversation to his last World Cup final, one of his favorite topics. They had come so close to losing that one. If not for that goal in the ninetieth minute, they would have gone to penalties. Song wasn’t kidding when she said she was a fan. She knew every detail of all the major games he’d ever played.
By the time Ashna and DJ made their way over, Song was in full-blown superfan splendor. The first thing she did when she saw Ashna was tell her how very lucky she was to have Rico as her partner. “Could you believe it when you found out?”
“No,” Ashna said, voice dripping sweetness even as she threw all sorts of eye-daggers at Rico. “I still can’t believe how”—or why, her eyes added just for him—“it happened.” Then she ruined things by adding kindly that Song’s chef was lucky to have her too.
Song beamed. “I’m so happy to be here!” she said delightedly before going off to join her chef.
“How is that knee?” DJ—yes, he was still stuck to Ashna’s side—said, sounding annoyingly concerned. “Ashna just asked Jonah to bring you a chair until we start shooting.”
Ashna studied her toes. They were covered by sneakers today, but the need to know if they were still painted bright pink stirred inside him.
“My knee is perfectly fine now, thanks. I don’t need a chair.”
“That’s great news,” DJ said with more of that sincere concern. “My girlfriend saw it the day you hurt yourself. She said it was a good thing you were so close to a hospital. Believe me, she never thinks anything is serious.”
“Doesn’t she?” Rico looked pointedly at Ashna, who looked back at him as though she’d like to kick him in his knee. “I guess she wouldn’t have dropped the knife if she thought it was serious.”
This seemed to throw DJ. “Trisha dropped the knife?” He looked to Ashna for confirmation. “I’m pretty sure Ashna dropped the knife.”
You know those realizations where you’re faced with your own stupidity? One of those zinged inside Rico’s medicine-addled brain, for the second time that day. But the damage was done. He’d kicked the ball right at Ashna.
She slapped her hands around it with panache. “You’re right, DJ. I was the one who dropped the knife. Your girlfriend, my cousin Trisha”—yes, she stretched out that last part like well-chewed gum—“she was just kind enough to look at Frederico’s knee when he hurt it.” All of this she said while looking at DJ, but of course, every overenunciated word was meant only for Rico.
“Ah.” All sorts of understanding dawned on DJ’s face, and on Rico’s own face too, no doubt.
Before this painful conversation could drag on any longer, China Dashwood, bless her, called them to order and requested that DJ join her at the front of the room.
“Go,” Ashna said to DJ, with all the warmth of a dear friend.
As soon as DJ left, Ashna turned to Rico, anger brightening her too-large, too-dark eyes. “There’s still time. The first episode hasn’t aired yet. You can ask for any other chef and they’ll give you what you want. I don’t think I can do this.”
“The habit of walking away from things must be a hard one to break,” he said, when the last thing he wanted to think about right now was that particular moment from their past.
She’s just a girl I dated in high school.
Her long, incredibly delicate fingers squeezed her temples, her jaw clenched, every inch of her screamed how badly she did not want to be doing this with him.
If she wanted to walk away, she was going to have to be the one to do it. Again. “As for how I behaved with DJ,” he said when the silence had stretched out long enough that he knew she wasn’t going to respond, “it was an honest mistake.” None of this was about DJ.