This Means War

3. - LUIS -

three

- LUIS -

R afael’s apartment always surprised me. It didn’t matter how many times I came over. You’d think a guy like him—gym-obsessed, all charm and no chill—would live in a space that matched his personality. Something flashy, loud, maybe a little gaudy. Instead, it was the opposite: sparse furniture, neutral tones, not a single picture on the walls. His apartment looked like it was a model unit no one had ever fully moved into.

It made me feel weirdly self-conscious every time I walked in. For the first five or so minutes until Raf and I got talking.

“Don’t you ever get tired of living in a museum?” I asked, plopping the takeout bags I brought over onto his pristine counter.

Rafael shot me a look from across the room, where he was folding a towel in the exacting way that only a man with too much discipline could. I was surprised he didn’t iron it. “It’s called minimalism. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Minimalism?” I gestured around, grabbing a beer from the six-pack in the fridge. One of the few things that are actually in his fridge with any sort of consistency. “This place looks like you’re staging it for a realtor.”

“Some of us value simplicity,” he said, tossing the folded towel into a small hamper basket. “Not everyone needs neon beer signs and football posters to feel at home.”

I grinned, twisting the cap off my bottle and taking a long swig. Raf always guessed what my place looked like, but he’d never seen it. We were best friends, obviously, but I still needed a place where I didn’t need to pretend about anything. “You’re not wrong about the beer signs. Speaking of which…” I grabbed another beer and walked over to offer it to him.

Rafael rightfully didn’t believe me as he took the beer then nodded toward the food. “What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need an occasion to check in on my buddy?” I asked, feigning offense.

He arched a brow. “You ‘check in’ with beer and takeout? What’s really going on, Luis?”

I held up my hands, mock-innocent. “Nothing! Can’t a guy bring his friend dinner without being interrogated?”

“Not you,” he said, popping the cap off his beer and taking a sip.

I smirked, leaning against the counter. He wasn’t wrong.

“Fine,” I admitted. “I just thought—I don’t even know, I had a good day at work. Seemed worth celebrating over a drink with a friend.”

Rafael gave me a look but wasn’t going to push it. Not yet, at least.

“So,” I said, tearing open one of the takeout bags. The smell of chicken fried rice filled the room, and Rafael wrinkled his nose. “How about you? What’s new with you? Meet anyone interesting lately?”

There was a beat of silence, just long enough to make it awkward. “Not really,” Rafael said finally, his tone flat.

I hid my frown by digging into the food. “Funny. I would’ve sworn you only get that look when you’re hiding something.”

Rafael’s shoulders stiffened. Got him.

“It’s just some woman I ran into,” he said casually, but there was an edge to his voice now. “Why do you care?”

“Oh, I don’t,” I said, far too quickly to sound convincing. “Just interesting, is all. Not the type you usually go for.”

“And what’s her type?” Rafael asked, crossing his arms. “I’ve told you nothing about her.”

Damn it.

“She’s classy. Professional. Like she has her life together,” he said before taking a bite of chicken, nearly smirking as he chewed. “The sort that could straighten out a playboy like me.”

I twitched at the phrasing. Whatever enjoyment this stranger might bring, I knew it was nothing compared to the enjoyment he got from dissecting me. Some days I worried we were friends simply because we could disarm each other far too easily. It kept us sharp around everyone else.

“Oh, come on,” I said, waving a fork at him. “I’ve known you for years. You are never going to be the type to settle down.”

He didn’t respond, which was as good as a confession when it came to Raf. So I decided to press my advantage. “I’ll give you credit, though. She sounds like a good choice. Someone like her would make you look…” I paused, savoring the moment. “Respectable.”

Rafael’s jaw tightened. I could practically see the gears turning in his head. “Yeah, whatever man. What international trade agreement am I even meant to be celebrating right now? What’s the angle?”

“The angle?” I laughed. “I just enjoy being friendly at work. Unlike you, I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

Rafael took another sip of his beer, his expression unreadable. “Right. Because you’re such a modest guy.”

“Exactly,” I said, flashing him a grin.

The tension in the room was palpable now, and I could feel the rivalry simmering just below the surface. This was the real reason I came over tonight—to get under his skin, to show him up, and maybe now to remind him that he wasn’t the only one with a claim to girls. Not that I really cared about any in that way, of course.

“Let me guess,” Rafael said suddenly, his tone sharp. “You’re here to talk strategy.”

“Strategy?” I asked, playing dumb.

“You met someone too, didn’t you?” he asked. “You want to know what my next move is so you can copy me.”

I laughed, setting my beer down. “You give me too little credit. I’d never copy you, Raf.”

“Right,” he muttered, leaning back into the couch and savoring the beer. “Well, I’m in a good mood so I’ll toss you some scraps on how to get a girl. Her name is Monica—”

Rafael’s words hung in the air, and in that moment, time seemed to stop. My hand tightened around the bottle as the name hit me like a punch to the chest.

“Monica?” I repeated, my voice tightly cautious. I set the bottle down on the coffee table with a little too much force, the sound sharp in the silence that followed.

Rafael, oblivious to the change in tone, continued with a shrug. “Yeah. Monica. I ran into her this morning at a coffee shop. Smart, elegant—real put-together type. Seemed like someone worth getting to know.”

I forced myself to breathe, but it was hard. My thoughts were a whirlwind and I didn’t know which was going to land first. My chest felt tight, and there was an odd fluttering in my stomach. Not only had Monica listened to my suggestion, but this also meant that so had Raf.

“She… she’s the one you’re after?” I managed, though the words felt foreign in my mouth. My stomach twisted in a way I couldn’t quite place. It had all been too casual, too simple when Rafael mentioned it like it was just another name.

Rafael shot me a puzzled glance. “Yeah. What’s the matter? You know her or something?”

I finished my beer in a single swig as my mind raced. This was not supposed to be how things went. This was supposed to be easy, a casual thing between us, just some harmless fun. But now, with the name hanging in the air…

I forced a casual chuckle, the sound hollow. “Nah, man. Just surprised you’d go for someone like her, that’s all.”

“You are repeating yourself,” Rafael said with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

I tried to wave it off and lean back into the couch to control the erratic acceleration of my heart. Anticipation coiled in me—the thrill of winning something from him.

He just shrugged, taking another swig of his beer. And I thought he didn’t catch the undertones of what I was thinking.

Raf let out a bitter laugh. It was a clipped sound that was all too full of himself. “You’re the one who told Monica about the breakfast place.”

The rivalry over something new was quickly thickening between us. The thought of Raf going after Monica didn’t sit right with me, and just like he was too stubborn to tell me he liked my breakfast picks I was too stubborn to tell him why.

He had always been known as the one who got the girl. Always. Since I liked using my words less of a show was expected of me. But I enjoyed the subtle bravo in her.

“You know,” I said, picking up my trash and walking over to the kitchen. “This could be fun. A little friendly competition. May the best man win.”

Raf eyed me like I was the only thing in his house worth focusing on. “And what happens when you lose?”

“Lose?” I repeated, feigning shock. “Come on, Rafael. You think your tongue can win a diplomat?”

He didn’t answer, but the look he gave me was enough to let me know I’d hit a nerve.

“Relax,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s not like I’m going to sabotage you or anything. This is just… a game.”

“A game,” he repeated, his voice dripping with machismo.

“We’ve both been single for far too long,” I said, grinning. “Maybe all we needed was some motivation.”

“All games need rules,” he said slowly, “so let’s settle it the old-fashioned way.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What, you want to arm wrestle or something?”

“Not exactly,” he said, gesturing toward another room where I knew a set of weights and a punching bag sat. “Let’s see if you even can keep up with me in the first place.”

The muscles in Rafael’s shoulders flexed as he tugged off his shirt, revealing his lean and defined torso. My fingers itched for the familiar cool of the beer bottle, and was unable to even force myself to look away. I wasn’t supposed to be this drawn to him. Not now. Not like this.

Instead, I merely scuffed, shaking my head. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone challenging. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I hesitated for a moment, then rolled my eyes. I didn’t work out enough anyway. “Fine. But don’t cry when I beat you.”

We squared off in a gym that was outfitted enough to have been shared by the whole apartment building. The workout started simple enough—push-ups, pull-ups, basic strength exercises—but it quickly escalated.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Rafael taunted as I struggled to finish my last set of weights.

I had learned to dress more casually when coming over since this exact sort of thing had happened before. But that didn’t mean I was in proper gym clothes as even my casual clothes were more restrictive. “No one enjoys it when you get cocky,” I shot back, wiping the sweat from my brow.

The final round was sparring, and that’s when things got interesting. Rafael threw the first punch—a quick jab that I barely managed to dodge. “Even half naked you’re too slow,” I said, smirking as I countered with a hook that grazed his shoulder.

He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said everything. This wasn’t just about Monica anymore. Though it probably never was.

We went at it for a long while, each of us refusing to back down. By the time we finally called it quits, we were both drenched in sweat, and my breaths came in ragged gasps. I had the urge to strip out of my t-shirt to cool down faster, but refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Not bad,” Rafael admitted grudgingly as he wiped his face with a towel.

“You too,” I said, though the words tasted like defeat as a clean towel was tossed at me.

After the workout, we collapsed onto Rafael’s couch, the rivalry momentarily worked out.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” Raf said, cracking open another beer.

“Likewise,” I muttered, though there was a hint of a smile on my face.

We sat in silence, the news on for a while, the sound of the city humming faintly through the windows.

“I don’t get you, man,” Raf said finally, voice low. “Why Monica? What’s the real reason?”

I didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, I thought I might not reply at all. “She might really get me,” I said finally, truly unguarded. “When she was leading a meeting and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.”

He nodded, taking another sip of beer.

This spoken truth hung between us, heavy, but acknowledged.

The thing was I couldn’t even claim that neither of us cared about Monica. Someone as smart as her wasn’t that safe or uncomplicated either. And yet still the perfect distraction from the parts of ourselves we couldn’t admit, even to each other.

“Just so you know,” Raf said, his voice breaking the silence, “I’m not letting you win.”

I grinned at the TV before shaking my head. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”