Naomi #3
“Didn’t look like you cared much,” she says, gesturing between us with an infuriating smirk. God, they’re two of a kind. I can’t stand it.
Rolling my eyes, I shove farther away from him, ignoring the flicker of amusement in his expression. “I was trying to make a point.”
“Unless the point is that you want to sit in his lap,” she counters, “I’d say you’re doing a piss-poor job.”
“Where’s Fabien?” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
“All right, Mel,” Jaxon interjects. “Easy. I think you’ve made your point.”
“Not nearly.” She places her hands on her hips. “Are you actually going to marry that motherfucker? How could you possibly love him?”
“What the fuck is up your ass?” I snap, standing, even though she’s still taller than me in my heels. She is just a little shorter than Jaxon, but I hold my ground. She blinks, clearly not expecting my outburst. “I don’t even know you. Why do you care who the fuck I marry?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but Jaxon shoots her a look so cold it could freeze fire. With a huff, she storms off without another word.
“What the hell was that?” I throw a hand toward Melody’s display, still fuming. Before I can get another word out, someone slides up behind me, pressing a drink into my palm.
“You look like you need this after that little clash with my sister,” a smooth drawling voice says.
I glance over my shoulder and meet Fabien’s piercing blue eyes. They remind me of someone I once knew —someone who couldn’t be more different from Jaxon and his ice-cold stare.
I set the drink on the table without taking a sip, turning to face Fabien. “No. I need something stronger.”
Snatching a croquette off the tray, I scowl in Jaxon’s direction, before grabbing Fabien by the wrist, pulling him toward the bar behind us.
“You sure this is a good idea?” he asks, his voice raised over the pounding music. “Pretty sure Jaxon doesn’t think so.”
I toss the last bite of the croquette into my mouth and swipe a napkin off the bar to wipe my fingers. “I don’t give a shit what Jaxon thinks? Do you?”
Fabien’s lips curve into a sly smirk. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Only the best kind,” I reply with a wink.
He whistles to catch the bartender’s attention, his eyes flicking back towards me. “Tequila.” I nod to the top shelf.
“Yo, Javi! The lady wants tequila!” he shouts.
In no time, two shots land in front of us, and I waste no time downing mine. The liquor burns, but the warmth feels like defiance sliding down my throat.
“One more,” I tell the bartender, but his eyes flick over my shoulder. He doesn’t even need to speak; I already know who’s standing behind me. His hand snatches Fabien’s shot off the bar before he can take it, his gold ring glistening in the dim light.
“Fuck off, Fabien.” His voice is something akin to a low rumble, and Fabien clears out like he’s avoiding a live grenade, scooping up a tray of drinks and vanishing into the crowd.
His large, tattooed hand slams the empty shot glass down next to my arm.
“You love pushing my buttons, don’t you?”
I don’t bother turning to face him. “If I’m such an irritation, why’d you bring me here tonight?”
His finger curls around my neck from the back, his thumb brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear, grazing over my makeup-covered hickey. “You shouldn’t ask questions you’re not ready for the answers to.”
The press of his growing arousal against my lower back sends a shiver through me, and I hate myself for how much I want him to touch me. The memory of how he felt, claws its way into my thoughts. And loosens without permission, my head tipping back against his chest without permission.
His lips press against my temple, his voice rough and commanding. “Dance with me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I sigh. “Because I feel like you are keeping things from me.”
His lips lower to the curve of my neck, kissing the sensitive spot just enough to make me inhale sharply. “Dance with me, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Gripping the bar for balance, I pull away from him as the tequila crashes through my veins, swirling like liquid courage. Jaxon’s the kind of man who promises the world while hiding the knife behind his back. But I’m a Blaine—I’ve learned to play the game too.
I turn to face him, the picture of innocence. “Anything?” I purr. “Don’t offer me the moon and deliver the stars.”
He steps closer, resting his palms along the bar on either side of me. “Reina, if I promise you the moon, I’ll give you the galaxy.”
I let out a quiet laugh, feigned sweetness masking an eye roll.
The Great Gatsby was one of my favorite books growing up, but Daisy Buchanan was wrong. Life isn’t blissful in ignorance.
I will never settle for being a beautiful fool.
“Okay, Casanova. Let’s see you bust a move.”
Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, I lead him through the tables and bodies toward the dance floor. The band plays the kind of rhythm that makes it easy to keep our distance, which is perfect. I keep a foot between us, making a point to keep him at arm’s length.
“Come here.”
Before I can protest, his hand catches mine, spinning me three times until I stumble against his chest. “You can’t dance with me from all the way over there,” he murmurs, grinning as if he’s won.
His hand falls to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him, and I can’t keep his infectious smile from contaminating me.
His fingers trail down my spine, and I almost moan. “Relax. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right. Yeah?”
As if on cue, the upbeat salsa fades, replaced by the soft crooning of Benny Moré’s “Cómo Fue”.
The shift in the air is electric, the sultry melody wrapping around us like smoke.
He sways, and my body falls into sync with his.
The soft glow of the room, the flickering shadows—it’s a perfect scene, and I hate how it feels so right to be in his arms.
“I don’t think you hate me as much as you want to,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble. “And that terrifies you.”
All of the liquor hits me in full force, and when his thumb strokes the curve of my back, it sends a fresh wave of tingles through my body.
“Just because you’re always around doesn’t mean you know me,” I tell him, keeping my voice steady
“I know more than you think.” He spins me once more, and I gasp when he dips me low, air thickening between our bated breaths. His eyes lock with mine, then slide to my lips, and time feels suspended on the final chord.
But I know I have to let this go.
Do I want to, though?
“Venga, querida. Se está haciendo tarde.” He swings me upright again, saving me from the utter destruction of giving in to him. But he is right, the restaurant is starting to close—it’s creeping closer to midnight— disappointment is a heavy shroud.
As I start to turn away, he pulls me close, forcing me to look up into his eyes. “The next time I kiss you,” he murmurs, voice low and certain, “you’ll ask me to.” He cups my face in his palm, his thumb tracing my cheek like he’s memorizing the feel of me. “You’ll want me to.”
His words are so damn sure, almost like we’ve done this before. I get a flash of déjà vu that feels like a kiss just out of reach.
“Someone’s sure of themselves,” I tease, but it comes out breathy, soft.
He shrugs, but his mouth tightens, as if suppressing a smile and whatever snappy retort I know is brewing inside him.
Instead, his fingers lace through mine, and he leads me through the now quiet restaurant, the echoes of the night’s energy fading behind us. Couples and friends stroll arm in arm, chatting as they leave. When we finally make it to the front, his aunt is waiting for us.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have dinner with you, Mija,” she says, her voice warm, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she kisses both my cheeks. “But I hope you enjoyed the food.”
“It was amazing.” I beam at her. “Thank you for having me.”
Before I can say more, Melody appears out of nowhere, leaning against a curtained archway. “Jesus, Miguel,” she mutters, her gaze flicking between us. “Mami’s not gonna steal her away.”
I hadn’t even realized he was still holding my hand until she said something—but I don’t pull away.
“Why can’t you ever mind your damn business, Mel?” Fabien strolls up to me, popping a kiss on my cheek.
“Careful, Miguel might bite your head off for that,” she says snidely.
Jaxon’s cold glare silences Melody, but it’s their mother’s voice that cuts through the atmosphere sharply.
“Melody, Mi Vida.”
“Si, Mami.”
“Shut up.”
I almost want to kiss Tiá Manuella for that. Melody’s been prickly all night, and it feels good to see someone finally shut her down. I don’t smile like I want to. Instead, I wonder why her face looks like her mother has never spoken to her this way before.
Then I wonder: Why now?
“Must you say everything that pops into your head without thinking?” Tiá Manuella’s voice is soft but firm. “You’re getting too old for this shit.” She squeezes Melody’s hand, her love still evident but tempered with the truth. “I love you, but you need to think before you speak.”
“I’m sorry, Mami.” Melody drops her gaze, her voice small, almost childlike, like she’s been scolded. But I know she’s almost as old as me.
“I’m not the one you’ve been rude to all night.”
Melody’s eyes flash up to her mother’s, shock and horror lining her face, like the thought of apologizing to me is unbearable.
“You can’t be serious,” she says, her voice incredulous.
“Mel, just apologize. You’ve been a real bitch tonight,” Fabien cuts in, his tone sharp but calm.
“Why should I apologize if I’m right?” Melody points at me, her finger trembling with anger. “She should remember. Jaxon does!”
“But it took him time.” Tiá Manuella’s voice softens, but her words land hard. “And he had lots of—”