Page 126 of Raspados & Regret

“Keep doing that,” I grumble.

His grin widens. “You’re sensitive today.”

“I will throw you into traffic.”

“With my ankle?” He fakes a gasp. “That’s cruel, primo.”

“Trust me, people will thank me for it.”

Elías hears my voice, and his shoulders shift. My whole body expects the usual.

A smirk.

A lazy little “crop top.”

A look down my body like he has decided to make my blood pressure his personal hobby.

Instead, he turns with a polite smile.

Polite.

Like a customer service representative, a stranger with good manners.

Like he didn’t have his legs locked around my waist less than twenty-four hours ago while I came inside him.

“Hey,” he says.

Hey.

That’s it.

No papi.

No Salcedo.

No “you look like you’re about to fight your own feelings again.”

Just hey.

I hate it so much my molars ache.

“Hey,” I say back, because apparently I have also lost all language skills. His gaze flicks over me once.

Quick.

I wore a black crop top tonight. The one with the hem that sits higher than it should. Silver chain, earrings, rings. I didn’t dress for him; I dressed because it is hot and because I have always made excellent choices with terrible consequences.

Fine. I dressed for him.

And he looks for half a second like he barely even notices.

Then he looks away and I think that’s worse than staring.

My chest pulls tight.

Good.

Fine.