22. Lina
Lina
“Are your feet bothering you?” Jonathan asked.
There was a small voice in the back of my head telling me I shouldn’t have gotten in his car and allowed him to take me home.
The original plan after my blind date was to take a rideshare home—even if Mateo offered. I didn’t want to send the wrong signals. Mary had insisted I let him drive me when she came by earlier to give me a pep talk and help me get ready. But I knew what was best for me.
When he didn’t show up, I considered getting a few cocktails and having fun by myself. But with that creep watching me from his corner of the restaurant, I had to refrain from drinking any alcohol to keep myself alert.
I hadn’t planned on seeing Jonathan, pretending he was the guy I was with, or getting into his car for the night.
Yet, the universe always seemed to have some sort of plan for us.
“What?” I responded, confused.
“It looked like your feet were hurting,” he clarified. “If you like, you can take off your heels.”
I didn’t realize he noticed. I didn’t wear heels often, so I wasn’t surprised when the throbbing, sharp pain settled in my toes and the arch of my foot as we waited for his car. I pushed past it to climb into his car, and I assumed I did so gracefully.
The apples of my cheeks warmed. “No, it’s okay.”
He fired immediately back with a, “You don’t look okay.”
“We’re not even close, so no. I’m not going to take my shoes off in your car.”
Jonathan let out a soft, melodious laugh. “Is this how you are on first dates?”
“We’re not on a date,” I countered. Never mind that I’ve never even been on a date before.
He didn’t say anything, allowing silence to creep into the car. Rock music played quietly in the background as I turned to him. His smile was wide and amused more than anything else.
“You like to fight, don’t you?” he asked.
I glanced back out the window to watch the town passing by. Streams of dim silver streetlight shone down on us one second and were gone the next.
“I like to win, Jonathan,” I said.
“So do I, Lina.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “However much you want to push and win, you’re uncomfortable and in pain. I suggest you take off those heels because you can’t always win if it’s hurting you.”
“Is that why you insisted on helping me under the guise of being a caring and responsible pharmacy manager?”
“It’s not a ruse. I was genuinely worried about you and your safety.”
“You don’t do this with all of your employees. As far as I’m aware, you don’t offer to help your employees move or take them home from their failed blind date.”
He let out a soft breath. “No, I don’t.”
I expected him to refute my claim, so I froze.
He swallowed thickly. The wet sound of his throat working bounced in the tiny space that made up his car, making it feel smaller and tighter.
It was as if we were in that janitorial closet again.
Chest to chest. Face to face—noses barely brushing against one another’s.
“Why me?”
“Lina, I hate to break it to you, but we’re much more alike than you care to admit. We both always want to win.”
I had no comebacks. No sassy words to rebuke his observation. It was true. I wanted to win, and so did he. Always.
“We’re water and oil. Similar in some way, but never able to mix,” I stated plainly.
“We’re both fire, Lina.” I could practically hear the way the grin on his lips tilted into an arrogant smirk. But I didn’t turn to look. It would only give him satisfaction if I gave him attention. “We yearn to burn one another—down, up, and every single possible angle there is.”
I leaned back into my seat. “Sounds dangerous.”
His tone dipped so low I could feel his words trace down the hollow of my spine. “We would be if we joined forces.”
A strained, cool smile pulled taut across my lips, and I let that icy, bitchy voice slither out of me. “And I thought we were meant to be enemies.”
Jonathan laughed. Light, amused, and wholly delighted. Unlike before, he wasn’t deterred, let alone triggered. To my utter surprise, I smiled a genuine one, too. The corners of my lips lifting into a shy and lopsided grin.
Something had shifted between us. He was right. We were more alike than I wanted to admit.
Jonathan pulled the car into the half-filled parking lot of a church and parked on the far, empty side.
There, in the middle, stood a taco truck with a long line of people clad in sweats and flip-flops, and short dresses paired with heels—all ready to place their orders for a night in or out on the town.
Excitement roiled in me, making my mouth water.
When he parked the car, I moved to get out.
“Just wait in the car for me. Your feet hurt,” he said.
“But how would you know what to order for me?” I asked.
“I’m getting carne asada tacos. How about you?” He arched a brow. “What meat would you like on—”
“Get me two al pastor tacos,” I cut in.
He hummed, unbuckling his seat belt. “Good choice. Corn or flour tortilla?”
“Always corn tortilla,” I replied quickly.
“And drinks? They always have watermelon and hibiscus agua fresca along with horchata.”
“No, I’m good with drinks.” I reached for my purse to grab my wallet.
Jonathan reached out to stop me. The heat from his hands prickled against my skin. “Don’t worry about it. This one’s on me. Lock the door as soon as I step out, okay?”
Before I could refuse, he closed the door and walked off.
I could’ve been stubborn and walked out as well, but I didn’t.
I stayed there and finally took off my heels.
I sighed as I eased into the car seat. With the car and the heater off, the cold soon crawled its chilly tendrils into the vehicle, nipping at my hands and feet.
It wasn’t long before a dark figure walked toward the car.