"Dessert?" Charlie asks.
There's a chorus of agreement, and we all stand, gathering dishes to clear the table for dessert. Well, everyone except Mateo. Cooper takes his plate and stacks it on top of his own as Addie's brother slips the rolled-up cash into Coop's pocket.
I take my time gathering the condiments, and when the door closes behind everyone else, I speak.
"Don't do that," I say, keeping my voice quiet but firm.
"Do what?" Mateo asks, brushing hair from his face.
"Don't give my kid money or talk to him like he's your friend. He's eight. This house is a sanctuary for him. Don't ruin it. And he's not a punk."
The smile plastered on his face vanishes, and the frown that replaces it doesn't suit him. My skin crawls as if he gave me abad handshake. He scrubs his hand over his jaw. Specks of gray sprinkle the blond in his short beard. Fuck you, universe.
"He's a good kid," he says. "Smart."
"And impressionable."
"Listen, I like the kid. He's funny and, unfortunately for you, I'm living here for a bit. I don't know what your deal is, but I'm a nice guy."
"Forgive me if I don't trust that."
"My little sister is your best friend. What's not to trust?"
"Everything," I say, and then with condiments piled into my arms, I push Coop's chair in with my hip and head to the door. I'm walking past him when the ketchup slips from my grasp. He catches it with ease, while I stand rooted in place.
"You work at a tattoo shop?" he asks, gesturing to the cluster of roses and thorns that wrap my forearm and disappear up my sleeve and out of sight.
"My cousin is an artist. I work in exchange for ink."
"And piercings?" he asks, his eyes trained on my lips.
I ignore him and take the ketchup from him.
"It's solid work," he says, flexing his left hand.
What's with that?
"Looking to even out the other cheek with a caterpillar?" I ask.
He cringes, and I swear he loses twenty years. If he's this good looking now, I can't imagine what he looked like back then.
Do not google him, Jade.
Chapter five
Mateo
I'm pretty sure I've aged another thirty years. Everything hurts, and at this point, I don't know if it's from Mom and Dad's hard as nails bed or from overcompensating for my knee.
It's mid-afternoon, and I'm up from a nap. A fucking nap. I can't remember the last time I napped that wasn't on a plane.
"What are you watching?" I ask Addie, joining her in the living room. "American Love Abroad," she says. "These long distance—like across the pond—couples try living in each other's country for a month. It's a shit show, and it's fantastic."
With effort, I lower myself into the recliner.
Addie hands me the bag of Hot Tamales she's snacking on.
I pour myself a handful and give the bag back to her.
