“Is your brother in ninth grade too?” she asks, smiling, her accent more pronounced than her son’s. She’s looking at Emmett, but I am acutely aware, as if every cell in my body is receiving a satellite signal, that her son is looking at me.
I force my gaze to my brother. Emmett nods. “Yes, ma’am.” I should be proud of his good manners, but the weight of this guy’s stare has my system on overload.
Turn around, dammit.
How can I ignore him and stick to my ten-year chastity plan if he’s staring at me like that? I refuse to meet his stare, but it might as well be a hand reaching across the space that separates us, seizing me by the belt. I feel like I’m being tugged forward. And maybe it’s not an invisible hand at my belt. Maybe it’s grabbing my chin, insisting that I turn to face him.
Well, I won’t do it,I silently tell him, keeping my gaze fixedly on Emmett.
“They’re the only freshman starters on the team,” the guy’s mother says with obvious pride.
I swivel my focus to her, completely bypassing Dark, Scarred, and Chiseled. His mother is safe territory. I meet her smile with my own and nod. I don’t mean to be rude to her. She has no way of knowing what I’m dealing with. Everything I’m dealing with. She can’t possibly know the threat both her sons’ very existences pose to my sanity. Still, I don’t want the conversation to continue, and I need the temptation of her older son’s eyes to ease up, so I don’t actually speak to her.
Instead, she turns to her son. “Luca, didn’t you start as a freshman too?”
The question is a Godsend. He finally turns away and faces his mother instead. “Only during the playoffs when one of the seniors tore his ACL.” He pauses for a moment, and I allow myself a glimpse at his profile. The dimple in his right cheek winks at me. “But don’t tell Alex. He’ll never let me forget he’s the better player.”
His mother snickers, shaking her head. “Alejandro wouldn’t rub it in. He has too big a heart.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mattie drop her elbow to her knee and lean forward, resting her chin on her raised knuckles. I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think I hear her whisper with dreamy appreciation.
“Alejandro…”
Chapter Three
LUC
I openmy eyes and pick up my phone: 4:57 a.m.
Across the apartment, coffee hits the bottom of the carafe, right on time. Tapping the clock icon on the screen, I swipe the green dot, killing the alarm before it kills the silence.
But I don’t move. Instead, I lie still, eyes closed, and figure out my Daily Three. Today’s top three priorities. According to Papi, anyone who says you can have more than three priorities a day is full of shit. To-do lists are long. Priorities are short.
Priorities determine to-do lists, not the other way around.
Yesterday’s Daily Three were Resources, Quality Control, and Family. I review yesterday in my mind. Repair costs on the Series II Crawler. Lumber orders. My visits to each Valencia & Sons job site. Hector’s fuck-up with the dirt delivery. Papi’s leg. Alex’s two soccer goals.
Eyes the blue of spring fever…
My lids snap open and I stare at the ceiling, but all I see is that redhead. I reach a hand behind my head and squeeze the back of my neck, surprised I don’t have a crick in it from turning back to look at her so many times—instead of watching Alex’s game.
“Pendejo,”I mutter to my empty room.
I should have stopped that shit the first time she yanked those blue eyes away. She might as well have held up her hand.Not interested in you.Message received.
But I didn’t stop.
I tried, but looking at her felt like striking a match. No. It felt likeIwas the match. I tried telling myself she was an ice princess. No warmth for some first-gen Chicano who works with his hands. But that wasn’t it. Even a minute or two listening to her with her little brother and sister made that clear.
No ice princess would stamp her feet to Queen songs. Or yell, “C’MON HARRY! TURN ON THE SCARY!” at the top of her lungs. Or keep her cool when the little brother spilled soda in her lap.
And, yeah, each of those moments made me turn back for a look. Nothing icy about her. Just hot.
Only not for me.
“Not a priority,” I say, flinging off the covers and pulling my mind back to the Daily Three. I make my bed and decide they’re going to be Customer Satisfaction, Staffing, and Bros.
I text my brother to see if he wants a ride to school today, and then I text Cesar. Maybe he has time for a beer tonight. Alex won’t answer for another hour, but my best friend is already up.
