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The corner of Mateo’s lips pull up on one side in an expression I would almost call a smirk. “You just don’t like losing.”
8
Mateo
It’s fucking adorable that she thinks I’m only here because I want to be near my dad. For such a brilliant woman, she can be remarkably clueless. I’d feel guilty using my dad as a bargaining chip if everything I said wasn’t one hundred percent true. He’d probably hand dig a moat around her property if he thought it would keep her safe.
Julia is scowling at me, arms wrapped around her body like she’s hugging herself. She sucks her cheek between her teeth, her cherry lips pursed in annoyance. “No one likes losing, smartass.”
“Agreed—” I’m cut off by the sound of a door opening and Dad’s footsteps. Julia sticks her tongue out at me silently, but it’s clear the discussion is on hold for now.
She knows I’m right, and it iskillingher to admit it.
Dad joins us a second later, looking rumpled and groggy. He walks straight between Julia and I and drops onto the couch with a groan. We both watch wordlessly as he leans his head back against the couch cushion and closes his eyes. I glance over at Julia, who’s trying not to laugh as soft snores come from Dad’s mouth.
“It’s the painkillers,” she says quietly.
“Is he sleepwalking?”
Julia shakes her head. “Just really tired, probably.”
“Is he ok?”
She nods, looking unconcerned. “Yeah, it hits some people harder than others and he’s probably been getting terrible sleep if he’s been in pain. He’ll be fine as long as we keep him from driving or sneaking off to the bakery. The industrial mixer would be a bad idea until he’s off the meds.”
I nod in agreement. We stare at each other for a second, neither sure what to do next.
“You want to watch a movie?” she asks. “It’s not like we have anything else to do.”
I nod. “Yeah. What do you want to watch?”
Julia grins and tosses me the remote from the coffee table. “Something terrible. You pick. I’m making popcorn.”
I watch her disappear, heading for the kitchen before I turn the TV on and start flipping through movies until I spot something I haven’t seen since I was in high school. Something truly terrible. I queue up the video and sit on one side of my snoring father. I debate trying to help him back to his room, but he’s probably doing more good here as an unwitting and unconscious chaperone than he could possibly imagine.
Julia returns a couple minutes later, two bowls of popcorn in her hands and a pair of cold beers pinned against her ribs with one arm.
“Help-help-help,” she says through gritted teeth, her face panicky as she nods down at the beers that are slipping through her arm. I jump up, grabbing the bottoms. In my haste, my fingertips snag the hem of her sweater, tangling in the loose weave of the fabric.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Sorry.” It takes me a second to grab the tops of the bottles, juggling them as I free my fingers. As I do, the backs of my knuckles brush against the smooth skin of her hip. I take one of the bowls of popcorn, just to put something in my hands, because if I don’t, I’m afraid I’m going to touch her again and there’s no way I could play that off as an accident.
I hand her one of the beers and drop back into my seat. Unlike me, Julia seems completely unfazed by the touch. And of course she is. Why wouldn’t she be?
She sits down on Dad’s other side, her eyes flicking up to the screen before she groans.
“The Other Guys?” she asks, leaning forward to look at me around Dad, tossing a piece of popcorn at me. It bounces off my chest, landing in my bowl so I pick it up and eat it pointedly.
“Thanks. You said something terrible.”
“Yeah, I guess I did. Oh, but it does have Marky Mark. Bonus.”
It’s my turn to groan. “I forgot you had a crush on him.”
“What do you mean ‘had’? I still have thatItalian Jobposter somewhere.”
I make a scoffing noise in the back of my throat and it makes her cackle. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. I know for a fact you would havewreckedCharlize Theron given the chance.” She emphasizes ‘wrecked’ with the dirtiest sounding moan I’ve ever heard come from her lips, and it makes me choke on my beer. I cover my mouth with the back of my hand, doing my best not to spit ale all over the rug.
“Holy shit, Jules,” I cough as I get my mouth situation under control.
