Chapter 18
18
HOPE
M ari cozied up to me at the bar, and with a nudge of her elbow asked, “?Quién es él ?” Who is that ?
I didn’t need to turn around to know whom she spoke of. “That’s…” The bane of my existence . “My cousin.”
Despite my insistence that Vaughn didn’t need to escort me to work, he’d driven us to Javi’s and taken up residence at a table in the back corner.
Judging by our mutual silence during the ride in, neither of us was eager to talk about what had happened in the casita. I had so many mixed emotions that I didn’t know where to start.
Mostly, I was confused about why Vaughn had tried to hide his scars from me. Of all people, I understood what it was like to bear them. But then I remembered how hard it’d been giving Vaughn the details of my own injury. His were so much worse. No wonder he’d freaked out. Why would anyone want to talk about being tortured?
Way to go, Hope .
Still, he hadn’t needed to turn into a psycho and shove me out of the casita. His reaction was way out of line.
“You never mentioned him before.” Mari adjusted her apron. “Is he from Colorado?”
Steam billowed from the dishwasher when I opened the door. “He’s on vacation.”
“He seems kind of intense.”
“That’s one way to describe him.” I pulled out the drawer to remove glassware.
Mari folded a napkin and placed it on the pile she’d already stacked. “And does your cousin always stare at you like he wants to eat your pussy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”
“Mari!” I hissed.
“I’m only asking because if my cousin looked at me like that, he’d be castrated and exiled from the family.”
“You’ve got it wrong. We don’t even like each other. I can’t wait until he’s gone.”
At least that was what I told myself. Having Vaughn around certainly made things interesting.
“So”—she licked her lips—“you don’t mind if I spend a little time with him while he’s here?”
“You want to hook up with Vaughn?” I frowned as a strange spike of jealousy heated my blood.
“He’s fresh meat in a small town. If I don’t get my claws into him, that bitch Carmen will. And if you haven’t noticed, your cousin is hot as fuck.”
Unfortunately, I had.
“What about Luis?” I asked.
“We broke up. I caught him sending dick pics to some skank.”
I jammed one hand on my hip. “That pig.”
“I’m not cut up about it.” Mari shrugged and smiled. “I’ve been texting other guys.”
“Slut.”
“Cousin fucker.”
We laughed, and when I glanced toward Vaughn, I caught him watching us with a stern expression.
Did I mind if Mari slept with him? After what had happened in the casita, I planned on keeping our relationship strictly professional. If Mari wanted to chew Grim up and spit him out the way she did with her other escapades, good luck to her. Still, the thought of my best friend hooking up with Vaughn made an ugly feeling grow inside me.
What stung was that Mari was different from me in all the ways men appreciated. Not only was she beautiful, with a body to rival any glamorous Latina movie star’s, but she also had an infectious smile and a flirtatious personality that drew men in, regularly bringing them to their knees. Literally . At least two guys in town had begged Mari to marry them right here in this restaurant.
I took another glass from the dishwasher. “He’s all yours. Fair warning, though. He’s unstable.”
“You know what they say about the crazy ones.” She gave me a knowing smile.
“Yeah.” I chuckled. “Stay away from them.”
“Don’t be so naive.” She shook her head. “Guys like him”—she flicked her eyes toward Vaughn—“are great in bed. Kinky, you know? They’ll slap your ass, pull your hair, and make you beg for more.” Mari shimmied her tank down until the lacy fringe of her black bra poked above the neckline. “Wish me luck.” She gave me a playful grin, then aimed it at Vaughn.
I…did not like watching this. Not when Mari slunk into the chair beside him, her short skirt riding up her shapely thighs. Not when she brushed her long, wavy hair from her shoulder and laughed at something he said. And especially not when she leaned her elbows on the table and gave him an eyeful of her bulging cleavage.
After they shared a brief conversation, Vaughn locked eyes with me, and I had the unfortunate realization that I was scowling while strangling the life out of a dishcloth. It shouldn’t have surprised me when the shithead smirked. It also shouldn’t have surprised me when he held my stare and said something to Mari that left her so stunned she rose from the table and hotfooted it back to the bar.
As she reached me, she scrunched her face up. “Your cousin’s disgusting.”
I clicked my tongue and tried to hide my smile. “I warned you.” I was going to hell for rejoicing in her rejection. But then curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, “What did he say?”
Mari picked up her phone as though she needed an urgent injection of confidence-boosting messages from her harem of suitors. “He told me I’m not his type, and when I asked what his type is”—her eyes lifted from the phone to meet mine—“he said he prefers keeping it in the family.”
My jaw dropped. “He said that?” What the hell was wrong with him?
“Word for word.” Mari gave me a skeptical look. “Keep telling yourself your cousin doesn’t want to rail you until your pussy catches fire.”
I relaxed my hold on the dishcloth. “You know he’s not really my cousin.”
“I figured. Maybe one day you’ll tell me who he really is.” Mari leaned her hip against the bar. “I know you have secrets, Hope. If you ever feel like sharing them, they’re safe with me.”