Page 106 of No Greater Oblivion

I reach for my water and take several deep gulps to help push down the dry, flavorless pastry. This pie cost thirty dollars and tastes like someone dug it out from the bottom of a kindergartner’s lunch box.

“Just admit it,” Alejandro says. “Mine is better.”

“On principle, I’m going to stick with my terrible apple pie. Your ego is ridiculous.”

“Almost as ridiculous as that disgrace of a baguette you bought. If someone tried selling those in Paris, they’d get put to the guillotine.”

“Parisians will put anyone to the guillotine. Don’t threaten them with a good time.”

“Are you? Having a good time?”

I don’t answer right away. I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten. “I’d have a better time if you weren’t so close to my face.”

His smile hasn’t faded all night. I can tell it’s real by the way the skin around his eyes crinkle slightly and one corner of his mouth rises a little higher than the other. The way he looks at me makes my skin heat. A blush blooms across my cheeks as his gaze focuses on the details of my face; eyes, nose, lips. It lingers like a physical touch and the intangible weight of it makes my bones ache.

“Are you done staring?”

“No.”

“You look like a lunatic.”

“That’s all right.”

“You better not kiss me in front of everyone again.”

Alejandro leans forward and presses his lips against mine. I regret the moment he pulls away.

“Any other requests for this evening?” he asks quietly.

I swallow the lump in my throat and give a weak shake of the head.

“Alex?” I whisper.

“Sí, mi amor.”

“I…I think I’m a little drunk.”

His nose crinkles. “It’s fine. Me too.”

“Don’t let me do anything stupid tonight.”

A flicker of light dances across his eyes. “Okay.”

Alejandro

After a final—fatal—glass of merlot, Lyss is carted off to bed by a diligent Doña Ana who then helps clear the dining table. She insists on doing the dishes but I can tell that after a rare evening of wine and good food, the exhaustion is starting to weigh heavily on her so I send her off to bed with a glass of water and an Advil for tomorrow morning.

A few minutes later Dahlia stumbles into the kitchen and leans against the archway. Hiccups burst from her lips and she gasps, smothering her mouth with both hands which does nothing to cease the jumping of her shoulders.

“One too many?” I ask.

She giggles through the hiccups. “Don’t be—ridiculous. I c-can hold my—liquor!”

“Yes, but oddly enough not your wine. I’ve never seen anyone who can consume tequila at the rate you can, be taken down by a few glasses of merlot.”

She waves a finger at me. “Cheap kind too. Never underestimate the power of a good grocery store wine!”

I can’t exactly disagree. The last time my head was this fuzzy after an evening of drinking, I was a freshman in college. Either my alcohol tolerance has gone to hell or Lyss must really be on to something with her choice in grocery store wine.