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“Could have fooled me with how you kicked the machine when you thought I wasn’t paying attention.”
He scratches his nose with his middle finger, spreading gray dust all over the bridge. I reach out and wipe it away without a second thought.
He stares up at me like one does the sun—in equal parts pain and wonder.
I take one long step back and tuck my hands behind my back. “So, what’s the point of being a billionaire if you don’t have people at your beck and call ready to handle messy tasks like these?”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Then why not call someone to come help us with thismaster plan of yours?”
His eyes narrow. “Because if my dad were still around, he would kick my ass if I asked for help making concrete. He taught me this stuff when I was Nico’s age.”
A pain echoes through my chest at his casual mention of his father. How many times did I beg Julian to open up to me after his dad passed away? Tens? Hundreds? He erected a wall around himself to effectively keep everyone out, including me.
He stabs at the power button, only to curse when nothing happens.
“Need any help?”
His back tenses. “I got it.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as he takes apart the machinery. I become distracted by the stars twinkling off the surface of the lake while Julian reads through the user manual on his phone.
“¡Chingada!”
My head snaps in his direction. “What happened?”
He drops the cable like a live snake. “Nothing.”
“Please tell me you didn’t forget to check if it was plugged in.”
“Of course I checked.” The moon above us highlights the faint blush creeping up his neck.
The idea of Julian obsessively checking everythingbutwhether or not the machine was plugged in has me curling over and laughing until my lungs hurt.
Chingada:Oh, fuck.
“This is the last time I do something nice for you.” He grumbles something else under his breath.
“I’m sorry!” My voice comes out wheezy.
“No, you’re not.”
“Forgive me? Please?” I bat my lashes.
He glowers. “Only if you don’t repeat this story to anyone.EspeciallyRafa.”
“Cross my heart.” I draw an invisible X over the spot.
“Tell anyone and I’ll share that boxed wine video I have of you.”
My eyes widen. “You kept it?”
“Blackmail has no expiration date.”
The idea of him keeping funny videos of us from our time at Stanford shouldn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy, especially when it’s Julian, yet my stomach does this betraying flip at the notion.
I keep my voice detached as I say, “Never fear. Your moment of incompetence is safe with me.”
