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“Benito and Dominic are downstairs,” I told her. “They’re probably hungry.”
“Why would I care—?” She paused. Understanding filled her eyes and then she pushed off the counter. “I’ll go tell them lunch is ready.”
Red and orange streetlights blurred beyond the drips of rain running down the glass. The sky was dark, pretending to be night when it was only six o’clock on a summer’s day.
Benito’s phone flashed and buzzed in the console, again. Ironically enough, Benito reminded me of Manny Ribera from Scarface, in looks and personality. I could count on him flirting with at least one woman everywhere we went, like clockwork.
“Read it, Elena.”
“No,” I protested. “The last time I did that I saw something I didn’t want to see.”
“Then don’t bitch at me for checking it.”
Ugh. I reached forward and read it. “From ‘Blonde Angela.’” I didn’t blink twice to see that he had to mark his female contacts by more than their names, probably because there were simply too many. He wouldn’t want to mix them up. “I don’t want to see you anymore,” I read blandly and set the phone back in the console before a “goodbye” picture could be received.
His brows furrowed with one hand on the wheel. He wore black pants and a white dress shirt, no tie. It was a casual day for him. There was a high possibility he took longer than me to get ready in the mornings.
Mamma and Papà had a dinner planned with one of my father’s connections, and I’d told Nonna not to worry about coming because of the rain falling like it never had before. So, it was just Benito and me, and he would only drop me off like he usually did, before driving to whatever girl’s house in the meantime. Not Angela’s now, though.
My cousin sighed and ran a hand through his dark, gelled-back hair. “As a woman, Elena, how would you interpret that text?”
I paused. “Well, I think it means she doesn’t want to see you anymore.”
“And that includes sex?”
“Yep.”
He frowned. “Dammit.”
“Double-Ds?”
“Yeah,” he said sadly.
I copied his tone. “Shame.”
He pulled up to the curb outside the theater, reached across me, and pushed the door open. “Go kill it, cuz. Be back at nine.”
“Thanks.” I hopped out of the car and grabbed my duffel bag from the backseat.
“Elena.” Benito’s expression was serious as he leaned over and stretched his arm across the passenger seat headrest. “You think her text applies to oral, too?”
I rolled my eyes. “God, you’re disgusting.”
He grinned. “Break a leg!”
With my bag over my shoulder, I headed inside and said hello to a few other dancers on the way. It wasn’t a large theater, but it was upscale—like my papà would ever allow me to dance in a hole in the wall. Sparkling lights, cream walls, and gold and red accents. It was a beautiful auditorium. I loved the flash of it all: the makeup, the dress, the friendships I’d gained—as shallow as they were—but for me, dance was merely a great form of exercise. The small amount of passion I’d once held for it was fading away, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d continue with it.
A brush of air rushed over me, followed by a deep voice. “Say you’ll go out with me.”
Without looking at the man matching my steps, I shook my head, a smile pulling on my lips. “No.”
“Sushi?”
I wrinkled my nose.
“Okay, no sushi. Italian?”
“Ha ha,” I laughed.
