Page 130 of Raspados & Regret

Badly.

A guy in a sleeveless shirt comes to the counter and asks Elías for the best flavor. I step in before Elías can answer.

“Tamarindo,” I say.

The guy blinks at me. “Oh. Okay.”

Elías looks at me. “He asked me.”

“I heard.” I smirk at the guy.

“You don’t even like tamarindo.”

“It’s a popular flavor.”

“It’s sour,” he snaps.

“So are you.”

His mouth twitches. I’m calling that one a win.

Tiny.

Ridiculous.

Mine.

The guy laughs. “Is this the part where you two argue?”

Elías opens his mouth and I beat him to it.

“No.”

The guy grins. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Elías hands him the raspado. “He gets cranky when it’s hot out.”

I lean closer to Elías. “I get cranky when people ignore me.”

His hand stills on the spoon, and he looks up.

Direct, with no joke and no smirk, he says, “Then stop asking for space you don’t know what to do with.”

My chest tightens, and the guy at the counter goes silent.

Behind us, Junior whispers, “Damn.”

I turn my head. “Shut up.”

Junior raises both hands.

Elías turns back to the line. “Next.”

No papi.

No smile.

Nothing.