“Ay, Dios mío, stop teasing me. I can’t take it.”
“Maybe I’m not teasing you, Alma. Maybe I’m dead serious.”
“Well, maybe isn’t good enough.” She finished her food and purposely didn’t give him an answer. He didn’t deserve an answer. Her seeing him up in Northern California on her turf was one thing. But down in Southern California, in his hometown, where he was a socialite and seen as a king, was a whole other issue. Not to mention, there would be some type of press at this wedding. Would there be pictures of them together? She couldn’t fathom the level of hate she would receive on her socials for dating California’s most eligible Mexican. With Ramón engaged and Enrique in a serious relationship, Jaime was the lone Montez left. For years the media hailed the trio as the sexiest Latinos, and with Jaime’s looks, he had endless thirsty women commenting on his every post. Alma wanted nothing to do with the hate she would receive if he committed to her, even though she had been his one and only, once.
They shared a crème brûlée, Jaime paid, and they left the restaurant. Alma walked Tequila in the nearby park, where she chased after and barked at the ducks.
As they sat on a bench, Jaime put his arm around Alma’s shoulders, cautiously at first. She didn’t pull away and he squeezed her tighter.
His hand felt so lovely against her. She felt safe, at peace, even loved.
“I’m glad they haven’t changed this park. I love the ducks. So does Tequila.”
“Yeah, it’s so beautiful here. I forgot how much I loved it up north. It’s so much cooler and laid-back.”
“You used to get bored up here.”
“Yeah, I did, but I was younger. I’ve done a lot of living, and I want to slow down.”
With her? Alma was careful not to read anything into his words. “I get that.”
“Alma, I can’t change the past. But I’ve never found any woman as incredible as you. Would you at least open yourself up to not hating me?”
“I don’t hate you, Jaime. It’s the opposite. I’m just scared.”
“I’m scared too.”
He put his thumb under her chin and lifted it. What was he doing? And why was she letting him do it?
She tilted her head toward him, her heart wanting to kiss him, but her head screaming at her to stop. He closed his eyes, and she did as well. Their lips met in a soft kiss. It was nothing like their first kiss ever, which had been after a boozy night at a party in the dorms. He had slammed her up against her door in a passionate fit and she had kissed him back with abandon. Back then, she was full of lust and wonder; now she was filled with cautious hope and trepidation.
Or like their last kiss at Mezcalifornia, which was like scratching an itch of longing and sexual tension to the reunited lovers.
This soft kiss turned more urgent, as his hand cupped her face. She wanted more of this, more of him.
She finally pulled away.
His words rang in her head.
If I kiss you again, you’ll be the last woman I ever kiss.
That could never possibly be real. Alma knew it in her heart and Jaime probably did also.
But for a second, Alma held on to the hope that those words were true.
Ay, what had she done?
Chapter Sixteen
Jaime’s head was woozy but not from the mezcal. It was from Alma’s scent. He could still taste her on his lips, in his mouth, on his soul.
Fuck. He had cheesily told her that if he kissed her again, she would be the last woman he ever kissed. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why on earth would he say something like that? How could he make such a stupid fucking promise? He hadn’t even meant to say it as a line—in that moment, he was caught up in his feelings and he believed every word he said. But the kiss at that point was still a fantasy, not a reality.
Was this just some sick game to see if he could get her back? Enrique was right—Jaime needed a therapist. Badly. Unfortunately, it was too late for this mess he made. He hated himself.
At least his brothers would fly into San Francisco today. Ramón would set his ass straight and Enrique would help him clarify hisactual feelings. Jaime should’ve never come here. He was trying to prove to himself that he didn’t need them. What a fucking joke.
Back when he and Alma were together, Jaime would regularly book a hotel room overlooking the plaza. But tonight, there wouldbe no romantic getaway. There would be no more careless kisses. He would take Alma back home, meet up with his brothers at Santi’s house, and then spend the next week preparing for the festival. He had already honored his commitment to Leti, and as a man of his word, he would participate and promote the Cinco de Mayo–palooza or whatever it was fucking called.
