Tiburón cocked his eyebrow. “Something funny, prima?”
“Nope. Just glad you two are getting along.” She turned to Ramón. “I should go inside and deal with my mom.”
“Got it.” He waved goodbye to Tiburón, gave Julieta a kiss, and hopped back in his ride. “Bye, bella.”
Julieta melted when he called her beautiful. “Adiós. Oh, let me know when my bike gets delivered to your place.” The bikes couldn’t fit in or on the McLaren, so Ramón had arranged to have them delivered to his home. Julieta figured the bike would be safer in Ramón’s garage in La Jolla.
“I will.” He waved and drove down the street.
Julieta exhaled. It was time to face the music.
But first, she needed some sustenance. A woman should never face a firing squad on an empty stomach. She ordered a horchata cold brew and a chorizo bolillo from Señora Flores’s café.
Señora Flores served Julieta and then sat next to her under a mural of La Virgen de Guadalupe. Like Julieta needed more guilt. She should probably go to confession soon to admit all her sinful thoughts about Ramón.
“So, dímelo. What are your novio’s plans for our business?”
Julieta stuffed a bite of the chorizo on the soft white bread in her mouth.
“No sé.” Julieta shrugged. It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t know what Ramón was going to do. “And he’s not my boyfriend. But we are dating.” Was he? They hadn’t had the talk yet.
“Be careful with him, mija.” Señora Flores squeezed Julieta’s shoulder. “And, when you find out what he’s going to do with this block, you tell me.”
“Will do.”
Julieta wasn’t hooking up with Ramón just because she hoped he would do the right thing by Barrio Logan, but shewashopeful that spending time with her and in her community, like at the lowrider cruise, would make him want to strengthen and support the street instead of ripping its seams apart.
Once she was satiated, she walked inside her own restaurant. Mamá stood at the back, a scowl across her face.
Great.
“Julieta! Kitchen!” Mamá stormed into the kitchen.
Julieta looked at Tiburón, hoping he would save her, but he continued to wipe down the menus.
She pinched him. “Tib! Help me!”
He finally spoke. “Hey, don’t ask me. I think Ramón’s cool—for a pocho.”
Julieta rolled her eyes. “He’s not a pocho. He doesn’t act white.”
“Whatever, cuz. I’m not insulting him. It’s the truth. But we’re cool. If I were him, though, I’d be scared of Tía Linda.”
Good point. “Thanks, Tib.”
Julieta took the walk of shame into the kitchen, with Tiburón following behind her. He could never resist watching a train wreck.
“How could you spend the night with the man who is seeking to destroy us?”
“This isn’t a Metallica song, Mom. He has a name. It’s Ramón.”
Mamá rolled her eyes. “Ay! How can you be so foolish? I told you to take the job, not sleep with him. He owns the building, mija. He owns the business. He can fire you. Do you think just because youcooked dinner for him and had sex with him, he will change his mind and let you keep this restaurant as Las Pescas?”
Uh, maybe? But that wasn’t why Julieta did it. She lusted after Ramón. It was quite simple, really.
And, technically, she didn’t have sex with him, at least by the Clintonian definition. But she wanted to. Desperately. And she definitely would the next time she saw him. Julieta counted down the days.
Tiburón glared at her, the vein in his neck popping, which made his shark tattoo look even more menacing. “She’s right, prima. I like the dude, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”
