“You know what I’ve noticed about you, querida?”
I should step away. Create distance. Instead, I stay perfectly still as his voice drops lower.
“You’re always careful around me.” He twirls one of my braids around his finger. “For years, I wondered if I’d offended you somehow. That you didn’t like me.”
I turn to face him, which is a mistake because now we’re standing too close. “What? No, I...” I catch myself before I blurt out something mortifying like I’ve had a crush on you since I first met you.
“No?” His thumb brushes along my jaw, and there’s something almost hopeful in his expression. “Then why do you always look like you’re ready to bolt whenever I get too close?”
Because you make me forget how to breathe. Because I’ve spent years convincing myself you’re off-limits. Because if I let myself want you, I won’t be able to stop.
“I’m not comfortable around men,” I admit. “Too many foster homes, too many reasons not to trust.”
His hand drops from my neck, giving me the space he thinks I’m asking for. “Meesha mentioned it.”
Of course she did. My best friend probably hoped he’d not think I was cold, just... reserved.
A heavy, quiet pulse beats between us. “But you’re here with me now,” he says finally. “In this gallery. You allowed me to touch you. Maybe I’m not just any man to you.”
My breath catches because he’s right. I’ve had boyfriends before, but none of them made me feel like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t come back from.
“No,” I admit. “You’re not.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, then back up. “There’s a lounge right outside. Have a drink with me, querida.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is the moment. Say no, stay safe, keep the fantasy intact. Or say yes and find out what happens when the distance finally closes.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “One drink.”
The slow smile that spreads across his face is triumphant.
“One drink,” he agrees, but the way he’s looking at me suggests we both know it won’t stop there.
Antonio
Four months later, I’mstill thinking about Vegas and Jasmine. Which is probably why I keep putting myself through what has become excruciating gatherings.
I pull into the driveway of Meesha and Connor’s lake house at exactly seven fifteen. The cars already parked tell me I’m the last one to arrive.
I grab the bottle of wine from the passenger seat and head inside.
The front door is unlocked. I let myself in, calling out, “Meesha? Connor?”
“Kitchen!” Meesha’s voice floats from somewhere deeper in the house.
I find her pulling a salad bowl from the fridge. She turns and grins at me. “Only fifteen minutes late.”
I kiss her cheek and hand her the wine. We’ve had this easy relationship since my mother married her father. She’d called me her older brother right away, and I’d watched hernearly sabotage the best thing in her life before finally marrying Connor.
“Where’s your husband hiding? Did you scare him off with your cooking?”
“Very funny. He’s outside playing grill master.” She sets the wine on the counter.
I lean against the counter. “Need help with anything?” I pick up a cherry tomato from the salad and pop it in my mouth.
Meesha swats my hand away and hands me the salad bowl. “Take this out to the table. Everyone’s already on the patio. And behave yourself.”
“When don’t I behave?” I give her my most innocent smile.
