Chapter 20
Twenty
ISABEL
I find Jaime running on the treadmill in the indoor gym the next morning with no Kieran in sight, thankfully.
I’d dreamed of Kieran last night, as if he cast a spell on me from the way his eyes grazed all over my body as he sketched me, to the way he listened intently to me as I rambled on my soap box.
In my dream, we were floating deep in the ocean, the water freezing cold, but our bodies warm from each other.
We spun in slow circles, holding each other close.
There was no need for words; a look was enough.
When he leaned in, his breath was mine. We kept each other alive.
I don’t think I’m ready to face him after what such a dream did to me. It’s like I’m growing a list of more and more things to apologize for.
“Jaime,” I say. “Can I talk to you?” I glance at Cisco and Bo, who are scattered around the room and lifting weights.
“Sure,” Jaime says, but he makes no move to step outside.
“In private?”
“Whatever you want to say to me, you can say in front of my friends.”
I bristle at that. Okay, then. If he wants to be rejected in front of his boys, that’s his choice.
“I just wanted to apologize. For the way things ended yesterday.”
Jaime stares straight ahead, his expression unchanging.
“I’m—” I draw in a deep breath. God, be with me. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me. I’m not—I’m not looking for anything right now, serious or otherwise, and it was wrong for me to lead you on like that. I’m really sorry.”
The air is thick and still. My back is turned to Cisco and Bo, but I know they’re watching.
Jaime slows the treadmill to a stop and turns to face me.
He smiles, and for the first time, I see that whenever he does so, it looks as though he’s baring his teeth.
“Listen, Sugar,” he says. “It’s cute that you think I like you like that.
But it was just a kiss. I’m a big boy, yeah?
You don’t want to kiss, that’s fine. But don’t get your panties in a twist about it.
It wasn’t anything more than what it was. No need to lose sleep over it.”
“I wasn’t—” He walks past me and asks Cisco to spot him while he lifts a barbell over his chest. That’s the end of our conversation and I know it.
Bo catches my eye as I exit the room. To his credit, he looks a little sympathetic.
* * *
I decide to stay behind when the girls leave for the spa that afternoon.
It’s the perfect time to catch up on my writing and talk to Rocío without worrying about any interruptions.
After about an hour of writing so intensely about the past few days, my hand cramps, so I dial Rocío’s number.
The relief I feel when I see my best friend’s face is immeasurable.
We’re in the same city, and yet I feel so far from her, as if I’d entered a bubble and have no means of getting out.
Not wanting to be selfish, I ask her how things are going with Joaqs.
She waves me off and says it’s the same as always.
I don’t bother telling her to leave him; his first year in law school, he got into a talking stage with a classmate.
Even if his classmate had a long-term boyfriend of her own, she and Joaqs messaged each other every day—first thing in the morning, even—and carried on talking late into the night even after Joaqs told Rocío he was going to bed.
They took that stupid BDSM test with their block and traded results.
She encouraged him to crush on another classmate, saying there’s nothing wrong with finding other people attractive, and he made fun of Rocío’s writing to the classmate, saying he would have to bring in all the money as a lawyer.
Rocío’s a writer like me, except instead of fiction, she writes essays.
She has a growing Substack newsletter where she examines trends in culture, such as the damage that co-opting therapy speak has inflicted on our relationships; or in media—like puritanism in horror, and how engaging in sexual activities almost always spells death for those characters.
She writes about anything and everything under the sun that tickles her fancy and that she considers worth writing about.
Killjoy: It’s that deep is what she calls her Substack, a poke at the common criticism writers like her face.
She’s the smartest girl I know, and so clever just listening to her speak feels like inching closer to enlightenment.
Amparo’s been trying to get her to edit for Sinta, but her dream is to write for Belletrist, an independent lifestyle and culture magazine known for its quarterly print issues.
She’s a shoo-in, if you ask me, but Rocío, for all her bravado, is prone to overthinking and standing in her own way.
I’ve been bugging her to send in her application as staff writer, but she always has an excuse. Not yet, I’m not ready, tomorrow.
His mockery cemented his place as Enemy Number One in my book—above even our high school bullies. But catching Joaqs emotionally cheating on Valentine’s Day wasn’t enough for Rocío to leave him, so at this point, I think he’ll have to die for my best friend to be free.
I give Rocío an update on Luz, because I know she wants to hear gossip about her brother’s ex first. Then I tell her everything that’s happened: the shopping, getting high, the kiss with Jaime, being drawn by Kieran. She wiggles her brows at me for that.
“You like him, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Ugh, yes, you do. You said his name all different.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did. I know you. Say it again.”
“Kieran. Kieran? I’m not saying it any differently.”
“You are.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, anyway, I don’t like him. Not in that way, anyway. Out of the guys? Sure, yeah, I like him in a platonic sense. He’s been the nicest to me out of the four of them. But he’s also got Natalia’s name written all over him, so—”
“So?” Rocío echoes. “You’re the one he’s painting, not her. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
I give her a look. “I’m the newest addition. He’s probably painted her dozens of times before. Probably even nude. I mean, they met when she modeled for his figure drawing class. He’s probably just looking for novelty.”
“Sure, Sabs.”
“And besides,” I add. “I’ve learned my lesson. I felt like shit after kissing Jaime. I don’t care if Natalia doesn’t care. I care.”
“I can’t believe he’s a terrible kisser. I mean, I can, but it still makes me laugh.”
I laugh with her.
“Anyway,” I continue. “Kieran and Natalia are in, like, a complicated situation or whatever where there’s feelings involved, so I don’t want to get involved in that mess, you know?”
She quirks a brow at me.
“What?”
“You see that?”
“See what?”
“You brought him up again.”
“We were talking about him!”
“We were talking about you. And somehow, you’ve switched the conversation back to Kieeeee-ran.” She pretends to swoon as she says his name.
“I do not say his name like that.”
She cackles. “You so do.”
“Do not!”
“Do, too! If you’re not going to admit you have a crush on this guy, you can at least admit you say his name funny!”
“You’re hopeless,” I say.
“Would you pose nude for him?”
“Oh my God, Rocío!”
“I’m not hearing a denial!”