Chapter 19
jett
“We might have discovered a new species of microbe,” Mateo cheers, beer sloshing from his cup as his hands fly around. “It’s an incredible find. I can barely believe it.”
God, I missed my friend.
“How do you know it’s new?” I ask, subtly inching out of the splash zone.
This is a shirt Sofía picked out at the clothing store in Sydney. I don’t want it to get ruined because Mateo is proud of his research.
“We sequenced it, and it doesn’t match any other genome in the public database. We need to do more digging, but imagine if we discovered it. How cool would that be?”
“Wicked,” I reply, scanning the bar for Sofía.
I think she’s avoiding me, bouncing to a new region of the pub any time I make it within five feet of her. I want to talk to her, but she continues to evade me.
Mid-scan, I do a double take, a ruckus occurring where we left Charlie and Oliver to get another round of drinks.
“Uh…Mateo, man, I don’t want to ruin your killer moment about your research, but I think we’d better…”
I don’t know what we should do, but I think we’d better do something.
He follows my pointer finger until he gazes upon the small scene unfolding in the back corner. In the booth—where Charlie and Sofía watch on with thinly veiled concern—Amy and Oliver are making out, as if nobody else exists and they haven’t agreed they’re better off as friends.
Sofía waves me over, chewing on her straw, and I whip through the crowd to get to her.
“Should they be doing that?” she asks, swaying into my side.
“Probably not.”
“Should we stop them?”
“They’re adults,” I tell her.
Plus, if anyone should stop them, let it be Charlie and Mateo. They’re equally concerned, but neither makes a move to break up the PDA.
“They’re going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t they?”
In a crowded room, with a million other things to watch, I can’t rip my focus away from our friends. Amy won’t regret this tomorrow, but she will grieve the brief moment where a relationship seemed possible. Every time they get together, only to break apart, another piece of her withers.
She loves him. He told her he could never be with her, not fully.
I don’t know the whole story, not in the way Charlie and Mateo might, but I know as someone who’s been offered so little love in her life, she’d rather have slivers than nothing at all.
I can’t say I blame her, nor do I judge her for it. Very few realizations slice as deep as loving someone wholeheartedly and knowing they only offer crumbs in return.
“They will,” I say.
The words are still hot on my tongue when Charlie steps in, telling them to go back to the hotel or cut it out. Amy smooths her hair, and Oliver readjusts his collar, both of them acting like scorned school children. Mateo meets my eye and shakes his head.
I shrug, mouth Have fun with that, and clasp Sofía’s hand to drag her out to dance. A DJ replaced the band, and the older crowd filtered out, leaving backpackers, tourists, and groups of university students.
We push through a throng of people to the back of the makeshift dance floor, the rest of the group following the path until we’ve weaseled out a sliver of space.
Early 2000s pop music blasts through the speakers, and I watch, enraptured, as Sofía moves, a kaleidoscope of light from the disco ball reflecting off her silk dress.
I have no rhythm. The best I can do is wiggle my shoulders to the music, tapping my fingers against my beer glass. The girls form a small circle, in their own world, and when the song ends, Sofía passes her cocktail to me.
“Can you hold this? I need to go to the restroom.”
The drink is in my hand before I can answer.
“Mine, too, please,” Amy says, and I scramble to grab hers before it falls, juggling three glasses.
Charlie decides three isn’t enough and four is the new magic number. “Oh, mine, too.”
“I only have two hands,” I scream, overwhelmed and barely clinging to the glasses. The liquid from one sloshes when I’m hit from behind.
Mateo and Oliver wave from the bar, and I signal for help, but they miss it. I’m in a crouched, defensive position when the girls return, doing all I can to protect their drinks from spillage or any other untoward actions.
They take back their beverages, and the weight of responsibility lifts from my shoulders. The music’s bass rattles my teeth, and the girls squeal when “Untouched” blasts through the speakers.
“This is my jam,” Mateo yells, weaving back into the group, shimmying his shoulder as he slides into the center of the tiny dance group Charlie, Sofía, and Amy have created.
They cheer, and when the chorus hits, I’m dragged into the center with him, shaking my hips like I’m Shakira—minus the rhythm and skill—which incites a plethora of giggles.
Nothing beats the sound of joy, and Sofía’s rings louder than the others, an alcohol flush turning the tip of her nose a bright pink. She jumps up and down, her hair flying as she enjoys the music. The song ends, and she tugs on my hand, forcing me to lean down.
There’s a small thrill in leaning down so she can whisper in my ear. A sense of impractical male pride when she gives me an incredulous look but has to gaze upward, which dampens her ire.
“I want food,” she says, then, in a booming voice, declares, “Pizza! We need pizza.”
Before I can process, I’m dragged out of the crowded bar and into the cool night air. Sofía’s hand clutches mine as she tows me through the streets.
“I’ll never turn down pizza,” I say, gently tugging her back, “but we don’t need to run.”
“But you love pizza.” She pouts, and my heart clenches. “I remember. Extra pepperoni, lots of sauce, and ranch to dip on the side.” She yanks on my arm. “And there’s a pizza stand around here, I know it. We have to find it.”
We take a left, a right, and then the scent of grease fills the air. Sofía cheers and scurries over to the small shop, rattling off the different slices she wants. She digs through her purse, but I step forward to pay and hold the slices. Her nose scrunches.
“I can pay for it.”
“I know.”
Her hands land on her hips. “I can afford to buy my own pizza.”
“Okay, then pay me back.”
I’m well aware she can afford to buy a slice of pizza—I’m the one who signs her paychecks. But I also know there’s nothing in that tiny bag but her ID, a lip gloss, a hair tie, and a handful of hard candies.
“Right now?” she asks, eyeing the food. “Can’t we eat first?”
“You have cash in there, right?”
She peeks into the bag. “Well, I have some back at the hotel…”
A sheepish expression crosses her face, and I step toward her. “I like buying you things,” I admit. “You work hard. You deserve to be spoiled. Even if it’s only a slice of pizza.”
The look she gives me blazes through my chest, and I guide her away from the front of the shop. At the corner, Sofía leaps forward, steals the pizza from my hand, and runs away.
She gets a head start while I process her theft.
“Get back here!” I chase her down the street as she giggles and pumps her arms like it will make her move faster.
But the cartoonish movement only slows her down. She chomps on the end of her food, melty cheese pulling as she chews.
“You’ll never catch me,” she yells over her shoulder, mouth full, but she stumbles, nearly dropping her pizza slice.
I steady her, clutching her waist. The silky dress twists when she faces me. Her brown eyes peer up at me beneath her lashes, and my stomach somersaults when her free hand lands on my abdomen.
She steadies herself, takes another bite of pizza, and then lifts the slice and hovers it in front of my mouth. I dip my head and tear off a piece, the salt and oil melting on my tongue.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I groan, savoring the food. My stomach grumbles, and she offers another bite, which I greedily take.
I’ll do anything to keep her close, so when she leans against my side as we stroll back to the hotel, I let her. And when she offers me the last bite of crust, I draw it between my teeth and revel in the sizzle that zaps down my spine.
An electric silence stretches between us after we enter the elevator. We stop in front of her hotel room door, and my heart thumps in my chest.
“I had fun tonight,” I admit. “I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good—”
Before I can finish, Sofía presses onto her toes, palms braced against my chest, and slams her lips against mine.
My eyelids flutter shut as my hand caresses down her waist, but the kiss is over as soon as it begins, and once I pry my eyes open, Sofía stares at me in horror like I’m a car crash that’s lit on fire.
“Oh, god,” she mutters, her fingers scraping against her lips.
She retreats, her hand slapping against the card scanner. Her face is pale, a stark contrast to her swollen lips. My body moves before my brain catches up, and I close the space between us, reaching out to touch her.
“Sofía, I—”
The lock beeps, Sofía slides into the room, and the door slams in my face.