“Did he, now?” The doors open and I step out, nodding at the guard beside the entrance. He has an envelope in his hand and casually slips it into mine before I cross the exit. I know what’s inside: my ID for clearance, a key to a company SUV, and a monetary donation for agreeing to his terms. “When was this?”
“Did you give the order?” she counters, and I can imagine her arched brow and the drumming of nails atop the wheelchair’s arm. “Am I being shipped off next, too?”
“Mamita, I had nothing to do with that. I swear.” Lies. All lies, and she knows this. Her huff over the line tells me as much, but at the moment I’m left with few options. With Quintero Jr. coming into power as the next Colombian president, we’re on the defensive. Their family hates ours, and the feeling is mutual. “Listen, come and visit me here and see for yourself how well I’m living. Even cook me a meal or two?”
“That’s the second time you mention food.”
“Just miss yours.”
“No.” There’s a pause between us, the silence heavy right before she sighs. “I love you, Javiercito. Love you more than my own life, but I need you to accept something. I was born in Colombia and I’ll die here...that family nor their hijueputa obsession with mine will send me running.”
“One week?” It’s a compromise. The parking garage is up ahead and I walk toward it, ignoring the passersby and the one lady in her fifties that sends me a wink.
“Three days.”
Pausing at the Asher garage entrance, I look up toward the sky. “Five, and—” I’m cut off by the sudden bump to my side and the sharp pain at my hip. The hit isn’t hard, but I do lose my balance and end up staring at the car’s owner with my front bent over and hands splayed over the hood, phone still caught between ear and shoulder.
Her eyes dance with mirth.
Her lips quirk up into a devilish grin.
Mariah’s the epitome of trouble and simply asks me to move out of her way with the flick of her wrist. The action is meant to be condescending, but I catch the sly lick of her lips when I bite my own.
I’m not mad. Not at all.
She hit me with her car, and I’m hard. Throbbing.
Get out of my way, she mouths, and I shake my head. She’s revving the engine, and I grin.
“Javier! Mijo!” Mom’s voice gets louder with each unanswered call of my name, and it’s the worry in her tone that pulls me back from lustful thoughts. It’s enough to make me stand and move to the side—to give the beautiful little criminal a bow as she stops and lowers her window beside me.
“You might want to take care of that. It looks painful?” She’s not the least bit worried about her actions or the fact I’m going to be bruised where her sports car met my flesh. No, her eyes devour me where I stand and the heat behind her hooded stare is thrilling. More satisfying than every throat I’ve slit.
“I will.” My voice is rough and my cock flexes behind my zipper. “You have a good night.”
“You, too.” Her brows furrow and lips pout at my dismissal, driving past me when I don’t say anything else.
But now isn’t the time. Not yet.
I’m going to confuse and overwhelm and then conquer Mariah. I’m going to own and enjoy her.
“Que fue eso?” Mom asks in my ear, and I laugh at the simple yet arduous question: what was that?
“That was your future daughter-in-law hitting me with her car.”
She gasps, the sound a mixture of excitement and awe. “What did you say?”
“I met someone crazier than me.” And I’m infatuated after one encounter. Crazy but true, and yet, I’m following my gut on this one. Something is driving me toward her, and I’ll let it.
“Give me a month or two and I’ll come.”
“Now you want to come. Wait…why so long?”
“One, yes. And two, none of your business.”
“What are you up to, woman? Do I need to call Alejandro?”
A loud giggle comes through her end of the line and I smile. “Quit it and send me a picture of this beautiful, crazy girl.”
“I’m still calling.”
“Don’t ruin my small getaway with your aunt, kid. I need some relaxation near the coast.”
“Two months.”
“Deal, Javi. Now be the gentleman your father never was.”
My face scrunches up in disgust at her insinuation. “I’m going to ignore that last statement.”
“Put a ring on it first, Javier. Mother knows best.”
5
“YOU’RE KIDDING ME?” My friend Allison asks between fits of giggles later that night, her margarita sloshing—spilling over the rim and dirtying her white silk blouse. She’s more than amused by my encounter with Javier; the certifiable she-hoe is jealous and excited. “He sounds delicious.”
“He is.” No point in denying it. I’m sure it’s written across my face and highlighted by the lights above our table inside of our favorite taco bar. There aren’t many people here tonight and I’m glad. The decibel of her gossiping battle-cry is embarrassing.
Especially since my shame surrounds me like a halo, and now that the lust-induced fog he created has receded, I’m left exposed. Open to judgment by one of the few people that know my past and the promise I made that night.
Someone who’s been trying to get me to agree to a blind date for a month now. I’ll never hear the end of this.
“Height, eye color, and to the right or left?”
The mere question makes my body flash hot from jealousy—an aggravating feeling that I fight to push back. It takes me a minute, breathing in and out slowly while forcing my expression to remain friendly. She’s not buying it; her smirk only intensifies my annoyance.
“At least six foot three, warm brown, and don’t ever ask me that again.”
“Possessive much?” The gleam in her eyes makes me want to hit her, but I settle instead for a subtle middle finger and shrug. “Girl, I’m liking him more and more. This level of feisty looks good on you.” Bringing the glass to her mouth, she takes a large sip, smiling before it turns into a petulant pout. “Now, if only Malcolm would marry me, we could double date.”
“Not happening.” Two voices answer, and she goes from red to white to near blue as my cousin slips into a seat beside mine, shocking her.
“You suck!”
Malcolm rolls his eyes, not sparing her outburst much thought. They’ve always been that way, though. Allison says something, he blows her off, and then she whines.
One day she’ll get it. He’s just not into her, and the man isn’t subtle about it. Malcolm isn’t cruel, but his disinterest shows clear as day.
He doesn’t trust women after Karina.
The woman who catches his eye has to be near sainthood to put up with his grouchiness.
“You’re crashing our dinner and you’re going to ignore me?”
“Option one or two,” he says, impassive eyes on mine. I know what he’s asking. Life or death.
He can’t— “Don’t touch him.” It leaves me through gritted teeth and clenching hands, the stem of my glass breaking. It pierces my hand, the sting surprising me while he just nods, stands, and leans down to kiss my forehead.