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Oh fuck.
Her phone falls into the sink full of water and lands at the bottom with a sickening thud.
“Oh my fucking God! I’m going to kill you!” She dives for the phone and pulls it out. Water drips everywhere as she does everything in her power to turn it back on.
I rip the other glove off and run my fingers through my hair. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”
She scowls hard enough to make me take a step back. “You’re sorry?”
“It slipped.”
“It wouldn’t have been in your hands had you not accosted me.”
“Accosted? A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” A small laugh escapes me.
My reaction seems to fuel the fire behind her eyes. “I’ll show you dramatic.”
With a burst of impressive speed, she grabs my phone from my back pocket and tosses it like a football into the sink. The glass screen hits the side of a heavy metal pot before plunging to the bottom of the sink.
Both of our mouths drop open as the cracked screenflickers once before going black.
“I can’t believe I did that.” She stares up at me with wide eyes.
“I can.” I seethe.
Five deep breaths.
Except five doesn’t exactly cut it. Twenty breaths later, I’m still fighting the urge to snap at the woman beside me.
El que se enoja pierde,my dad’s go-to proverb, echoes through my head, easing some of my irritation.
“I’m so freaking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She rubs at her eyes.
“You’re sorry?” I ask with a cool voice.
“Yes.”
I can’t explain what possesses me to react the way I do, but I grab the side hose and spray Dahlia like we did countless times as kids.
“Julian!” She holds up her hands, making the water splash everywhere.
I ignore her cry as I blast her face with cold water, ruining her makeup and hair in the process. A mix of mascara, eyeliner, and blush runs down her cheeks.
I drop the hose. “I accept your apology now.” My gaze flickers toward her soaked T-shirt. The black fabric clings to the curves of her breasts like a second skin, emphasizing the—
“What the hell?” I sputter while choking on water.
“You look like you need to cool down.” Dahlia sprays mewith enough water to soak my hair, white button-down shirt, and the front of my pants. The water feels cool on my skin, but a blast of warmth pours through me as her gaze follows as it trickles down my arms.
El que se enoja pierde:Who gets angry loses.
Her tongue traces her bottom lip as she focuses on my abs pressing against the wet fabric.
I follow her gaze. “Like what you see?”
“Consider me unimpressed.” Although the faint blush creeping up her neck gives her away.
I grab my shirt by the soaked hem and lift it to wipe my dripping face. Dahlia’s eyes widen as she is given a full view of what lies beneath the drenched fabric.
