He was perfect.
Julián was absolutely perfect. He had texted me, asking for a date and a tour of Los Angeles, and because my mom had beaten manners into me, I’d said yes. He had been saying all the right things and doing all the right things, but still, I wasn't interested. Sure, he was kind, smart, and handsome, and he could actually hold a conversation. He checked every box, yet I didn't feel an inkling of attraction. Nothing.
If anything, I was hoping he’d settle for friendship. He was incredibly interesting—an artist, born and raised in Mexico, who had moved here for art school. If there were ever a man tailor-made for me, it was him. Pun fully intended.
So why wasn't it enough? What was wrong with me?
He’d even asked mytíato ask my mom about my favorite places to eat so he could take me to one. Which was how we ended up at my favoritetaquería, a little hole-in-the-wall in downtown L.A.
“So … you and Elliott, are you guys …” He left the question dangling, polluting what had been a perfectly peaceful afternoon.
“God, no. No.” I waved my hands in a frantic X in front of my chest. “Absolutely not.” I stopped when I realized I probably looked like a madwoman.
Sure, we hadn't talked about the ice tub slash boner incident yet, but it was fine. Everything was fine. I’d been avoiding him more than usual, and every time he caught me ducking into an empty room, I heard his chuckle echoing down the hall. Had I mentioned he was the biggest asshole I’d ever met? If anyone should have been embarrassed, it was him, but somehow I was the one dodging every encounter.
Julián’s blue eyes twinkled. Actually twinkled. “It’s just that I picked you up from his house, and you literally snuck out.”
It was the closest I would ever get toMission: Impossible. I had to escape without Elliott seeing me and, more importantly, without Steve noticing. Even thinking about it made a thin film of guilt crawl over my skin. My lips were suddenly dry, and I licked them too many times in a row.Perfect. Now I look even crazier.
“I’m working on a new bridal line, and I’m staying at Elliott’s so I can dedicate all my time and really focus.”
“And the sneaking out?”
“I’d rather die than answer questions about my dating life—especially from him.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, my heart doing a strange little kick.
Satan: Where are you?
My chest felt like it was caught in a vise. Why did I feel bad? He wasn't even Satan right now; he was more like Satan’s second-in-command. Still, there was no reason for guilt. None. I had two options: evade or confess. Either way, he would find out. He always found out.
I typed and hit send before I could stop myself.
Me: On a date.
Immediate regret.Stupid, stupid, stupid.Why had I said that? Truthfully, it was none of his business. Why had I typed so fast? Why had I hit send before thinking it through?
Bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then nothing. I put my phone down, my appetite suddenly gone.
Julián raised an eyebrow, looking like he knew exactly who had messaged me. “It’s Elliott.” Not a question.
“Yeah. He’s just asking where I went—in case my mom calls the house. She worries.”
“Yeah, your mom worries,” he repeated, but his tone was pure sarcasm.
I rolled my eyes, and he smiled.
“So, is it true then? You guys really hate each other?” He leaned in like it was the most intriguing story he’d ever heard.
“It’s a long story, but yeah, we have history.” Sordid. Ugly. Mostly unnecessary. “We don’t really get along,” I said. It tasted like a lie, and guilt prickled at me just for talking about him. Why did I feel any loyalty at all to a man I supposedly couldn't stand?
Julián cleared his throat. “So, you both hate each other, yet you’re staying with him. You snuck out today. And he’s texting to check in? Do I have that right?” His accent was thick, but the accusation landed sharp.
“I know what it sounds like, Julián. A lot of things about us don’t make sense. It’s just the way it’s always been.”
“You’re not ready for something new.” He said it plainly, but with the warmest smile, like he’d been let in on a secret I wasn't even telling myself yet.
“I’m a mess.”
