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Chapter Four:
Fuck, Marry, Kill
I was sober and cleanthis time as I walked into Sunday’s and sat myself at the same booth I’d been at last time. My disheveled suit was swapped out for a polo and a nice pair of jeans, and my too-white shoes stood out against the black tiles they were planted on. I felt good, looked good, smelled good — so when I spotted Mia Camilla, I flashed her an award-winning, cheesy grin and waved.
Her gorgeous smile back was genuine, but the fact that she was all business when she reached me threw me off my game. “Welcome to Sunday’s, can I get you a drink?”
“Yeah, just water is fine. I look different, huh?” I asked, leaning forward a little with my elbows on the table. “I’ve been told I clean up nice.”
“Have you?” Her eyes danced so slightly I almost missed it. “Whoever told you that might not be wrong. You smell better than last time.”
Better. “I’d apologize, but you don’t know my name. Now you won’t know whether to call me the smelly dude or the devastatingly handsome man with impeccable taste in food when you talk to your friends about me.”
“I was going with Handsome Sad Huevos Dude, but Smelly Dude works fine. Would you like more huevos along with your waffles?”
“Sí.” Part of me didn’t want her to know how fluently I spoke Spanish, but everyone on Earth knew that one. “And lots of syrup. And hot sauce, por favor.”
“Coming right up. Huevos y waffles con spinach.” She winked and spun away, her hips swaying in a way so tempting I nearly got up and followed her like a dog.
“Hold the damn spinach, Mia!” I yelled, drawing the attention of those around us. I waved them off and went right back to staring at the way the overhead lights bounced off her caramel hair and gorgeous brown skin. It was a mark of how pretty she was that I was keeping my eyes north — I could watch her tuck her tongue between her teeth all fucking day — but that meant she caught me more than once.
When my food arrived, it was void of anything green and filled with what was sure to be a mouthgasm. She smiled down at me as she set it down, her voice low in a playful manner. “Extra syrup has to be our little secret, Papí.”
She held a finger to her full lips, drawing my gaze right back there. Jesus, I really am a puppy. A well-trained, horny, idiotic puppy. “Thank you. When’s your break?”
“Thirty minutes. Why?” She tapped the table like she wanted me to take a bite with her right there, her head nodding at my plate without breaking our eye contact.
Like the good little dog I was, I took a bite and moaned quietly. “Yeah. Definitely need you to marry me on that break of yours.”
Mia rolled her eyes with a chuckle and backed away. “I won’t marry you, but if you’re still around, maybe I’ll stop by.”
She approached another table with a welcoming smile, the Spanish rolling smoothly off her tongue as she took their orders but I didn’t miss how many times her eyes darted toward me. I wasn’t the only one getting caught creeping this time.
I ate slowly, dragging it out to make sure I was still around when those thirty minutes were up. It was easy with her, it was fun. Like our cat-and-mouse game could erase what was happening in the rest of Domingo, the rest of my life. So when she ditched that apron and headed for the front door, I felt betrayed. Surprisingly though, she turned back toward me with a grin and gave up pretending she didn’t remember. “All done already?”
She plopped in the booth and met my gaze again, drawing me in. “What can I say? Tiny helpings, Mia. I couldn’t cut the bites any smaller.”
“You stalled for me, how sweet. How are your huevos today? Sad, happy? So so?”
“Happy. I had a little assistance,” I admitted. “How’s your day been? Wanna tell me all about it over dinner tonight?”
“Smooth operator over here. Sorry, Papí. I’m a very busy woman, I don’t have time to date. Who assisted tus huevos? Maybe they can tell you about their day over dinner?”
I sighed quietly. “I deserved that. That’s fair. Let’s play a little game.”
She picked up her phone to check the time and set it down, her Guardians of the Galaxy wallpaper lighting up the screen. “Okay, let’s play.”
“You ever hear of Fuck, Marry, Kill? I give you three people and you tell me which one you’d fuck, who you’d marry and who you’d kill. You ready?” I asked.
She looked about three seconds away from leaving the booth but when she stayed it felt like a small victory. “Yes, I know the game. It’s normally more fun with some palomas.”
“Tequila is dangerous, and you also won’t agree to go on a date with me. So we’ll have to settle for this.” I leaned back, smirking slightly. “Star-Lord, Drax, and me. I’m Oliver, by the way. Oliver Bishop.”
“Oliver Bishop. Now I can’t call you Handsome Huevos,” she joked, then at least pretended to think about the question. “Okay, fuck Drax because although he’s hubby material, his heart belongs to another. So does Star-Lord’s, but I’d definitely still marry him when he got over Gamora. Sorry, Oliver. Looks like I have to kill you.”
I’d known it was coming, so I played it off. “You can call me whatever you want, but I gotta ask. Would I have been bumped up if I’d have picked other Guardians?”
“Tough one ... no. Wait, yes. Baby Groot.”
