Chapter 6
Yael
I won.
The match with Don Santos ended quicker than expected. The student outwitted the teacher. Now, I’m waiting for Adri to come and play. Her grandfather takes a front row seat beside Don Rogelio and winks. Making my win feel more like charity than victory.
I mean, he didn’t even try…
Still, a win is a win.
My hands shuffle the tiles, mixing in all twenty–eight fichas as everyone shouts around me.
The domino table is loud, and the block is even louder.
Music blasts from every corner, but the second Adri steps into the circle, everything fades.
It takes every ounce of willpower to make myself focus on what I’m doing.
And that is handing out the domino pieces.
I deal everyone seven tiles, even as I watch Adri grab a milk crate and slide it right in front of me, making my breath catch in my throat and my heart race a little faster.
The smell of shea butter and mango drifts through the summer breeze.
I chase it like a line—skiing down the mountain of the scent that’s utterly hers.
It hits fast, the way it always does—sweet and impossible to quit.
“You ready?” she asks, her tone dripping with sarcasm. One I match well.
“I was born ready, Ciela,” I say, tongue dragging over my lips, eyes locked on her.
It’s in the eyes, papi. It’s all about that initial connection.
The one that sets your heart ablaze. Needing more of her, I let my gaze drop to the gold chain catching the streetlight, the leopard-print top hugging her just right, and the dimples on her lower back on full display when she turns to whisper to Ruben.
Who looks like he’s not too sure about what she’s telling him. Manny elbows me, so hard it actually makes me wince. The pain is immediate, a blow to my side.
I glare at him, as he mutters under his breath. “Bro, you gonna play or you gonna stare?”
I ignore him, opting to mess with Adri instead. It’s more fun. Leaning back in my chair, I let a slow grin spread across my face.
“You remember how to play?” I ask, tapping a tile against the table. “Or do you need me to teach you again?”
Her emerald orbs narrow, mouth curving into that dangerous little smirk that used to ruin me. “I remember teaching you,” she fires back. “Pretty sure that’s the part you,” she points my way and winks, “must have forgotten. Ready to lose?”
Ruben chokes on his Corona, and Manny slaps the table. Everyone laughs. Except me. I don't, even though I want to. She did indeed teach me how to play, and let’s say I taught her other creative ways we can use a tile.
As always, Alex is the last one to get the joke and laughs the loudest, yelling, “Diablo, she got you there, bro.”
She did.
And I won’t lie and say I didn’t have to fight the urge to join them all.
From behind her, I spot Estrella, who stiffens at the sound of Adri's voice. She looks fucking pissed, even more now that she feels some kind of possessiveness towards me, and I can’t say I blame her.
Even though I wasn’t with her, I wasn’t fucking other women either.
I spoke a big game and delivered very little.
In the end, I sold her an illusion. Estrella crosses her arms, her eyes slice between Adri and me, like she’s deciding who to kill first.
I look away before she catches me staring. All my attention locks onto the woman in front of me. La morena consentida del barrio Altura.* My eyes scan the brown freckles that adorn her golden skin like stars in the night sky.
“Ready to lose?” I echo, licking my lips. “Mami, that was beginner's luck.”
She leans forward, elbows on the table, her damp curls falling over her shoulders, making her shimmer. And all I can picture is myself biting into her sweaty flesh and her bouncing on this dick. It’s fucked up, but still doesn’t stop the thought.
“Then put your money where your mouth is, Yael Cruz.”
If the memory didn’t do it, the dare in her eyes has blood rushing to parts of my body I shouldn’t be thinking about right now. The block goes quiet—too silent, but charged with tension, like everyone could feel the shift between us. I drag my tongue across my teeth, fighting the smile.
“Oh, I plan to,” I murmur, pinching a ficha between my fingers.
“Remember all summer,” I remind her of my earlier wager.
Of our own personal bet, one I intend to cash in.
Not because I want to force her to be with me or some dumb shit.
I just want answers, and Adri is as competitive as you can get.
This is how I get closure, by beating her in the game that made us fall in love.
Estrella steps closer, baby voice on full display and scratching my skull painfully. “Yael, papi,” she purrs. “Make it quick.”
My gaze shifts to Adri, who looks down at the tiles in her hands with a curl on her lips, not even bothering to face Estrella when she says, “If you’re not here to play.” She points to the side with a flick of her finger and adds, “Wait over there.”
Ruben wheezes, beer and spit particles flying in the air as he tries to contain the laughter.
Alex, as always, is ready to pour gasoline on a fire. “El diablo, she said, ‘move.’” My best friend turns to Estrella. His demeanor already changing. I can tell he’s trying to diffuse the situation. “Mami, we’re playing. Stop distracting Yael, this is important.”
I don’t have to look up to know Estrella’s jaw is on the floor. She’s fuming, and the tone in which she says, “Excuse me,” confirms it.
“That's my man,” she adds, pointing her index finger in my direction. I glance around me confused. My eyes go wide, and maybe I’m a dick for what I’m about to say, but my question is practically a reflex.
“Who me?”
Adri finally looks up at her, with a smile sweet enough to rot teeth, and I know that she’s about to end it all.
“I thought we were playing dominoes,” she says lightly. “The only thing I want is a capicú. What does a man gotta do with anything?”
Estrella takes a step forward, already removing her hoops and flaring her nose. Ruben steps in, intercepting the two women before anything pops off. “Estrella, mujer*, what are you doing?”
Her face twists, along with something inside my chest. I know that look—rejection, rage, and the ache of being left behind.
I’ve worn it too. I understand the feeling all too well.
That same feeling has me cowering, sinking into my chair, and focusing on my hand.
Someone lowers the music, and the entire block is focused on the show happening right now, while years of resentment and jealousy crackle in the air like static.
Estrella’s face goes red, then purple. “Yael,” she snaps, voice shaking with anger. “Say something. Stop fucking with me.”
I place my tile down with a slow, deliberate clack.
“I’m trying to play,” I say, my eyes locked on Adri.“ You’re the one starting shit, you’ve got no business starting.”
The heat of Estrella’s glare burns the side of my face.
From the corner of my eye, I can see her jaw clench tight, her brown orbs shimmering with tears and for a second I think she might cry.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she scoffs, squaring off her shoulders with a slight tilt of her chin before turning on her heel and storming down the street.
I know this isn’t the last of this drama, but instead is the beginning of the end.
The music resumes, and the tension quickly fades along with the bachata beat coming from the speaker.
The normal conversations continue, like the altercation never happened, and in that moment, I couldn’t be more thankful.
Right now, it feels like it did back then, like tragedy never happened and Adri never left.
The sound of a tile hitting the table has me looking towards the direction of the sound as Adri places the double three face up on the table.
Our gazes clash across the table, and she smiles.
“Your turn, Cruz.”
Ruben groans, running a white rag across his sweaty face. It’s hot as fuck tonight, and being right in front of my personal wet dream has my body tingling with need. “Cono*, how do you always end up with doubles?”
Adri shrugs, curls bouncing as she leans back. “It’s tradition. I like even numbers,” she teases with a grin.
I shouldn’t say this, but between you and me, that’s luck. We don’t actually choose the number we get—we only play the tiles we’re dealt. She just got lucky.
Manny leans in, squinting at his tiles. “Tradition is me winning, morena.”
Alex slaps him on the side of his head. “Oye, dique* tradition. You're always talking shit and getting smoked.”
I glance down at my own hand, contemplating my next move. I have a mixture of low numbers and one lonely double. Not ideal. I play the two-three, sliding it into place with a flick. “Let’s see what you got, Manny.”
He grins, showing me his gold tooth, as he places the three-five. “I got heat, Chulo.”
Adri quirks a brow, mischief dancing in those beautiful eyes. “You got gas, Manny, that’s different.”
The table erupts in laughter, not Manny though, he just pouts while Alex continues to talk his shit and mock him. “Diablo Manny, in other words you're full of shit and hot air.”
Manny throws his hands up. “Ya’ll laugh now. Watch me close this game.”
That won’t be happening. Not tonight. I got a bet to win. The board begins to fill, five branching left and three stacking right. Adri plays a five-two, then leans back, sipping from a sweating bottle of country club. Frambuesa*. Her favorite.
Her eyes flick to me, then away.
I play the two-four, listening to Alex complain about the game.
“You trying to block me, bro?” he asks, already realizing he’s losing this hand. It shouldn't be new to him—he sucks. I honestly don’t even understand how. He’s been playing longer than I have and still can’t read the table. I tilt my head to the side and lick my lips.
With my eyes still glued on her, I respond to his question. “I’m just trying to win.”
It’s her turn to play. Carefully, she studies her hand like she's solving a puzzle, her manicured fingers tapping against the edge of a tile before she picks the middle one. Adri places the four-six on the table with a soft clack. “Play harder.”
“Careful, Morena,” I murmur, voice low enough for us at the table. “You tell me to play harder, I might start thinking you mean it in every way.” I glance up at her, noticing the poker face she puts on, trying hard to not give into my game.
“Then stop thinking and just play,” she quips.
“Oye, oye…” *Ruben whistles before shaking his head. “Step it up, my boy,” he says directly at me before slamming down the six-one. I lean forward, scanning the game. I might actually lose this round if I don’t step it up.
Manny slaps down another tile, and I look over and see the one-five. “Ya’ll better keep up. I’m about to close this out.”
Alex groans, dragging a hand down his face and blowing out an exaggerated breath. He’s losing the game and still runs his mouth like a winner.
“You say that every game.” With that, he drops his final tile.
And I play the five-two to keep the chain alive.
Adri’s eyes flick to me, then to her fichas.
She plays the two-three, and Ruben whistles.
“She’s setting herself up to win.” Using his middle and index finger, he motions to his eyes. “Watch.”
Manny throws down a three-six, and Ruben follows with the six-zero. The board is finally getting tight, options are shrinking, and the music dips into a slower grove bachata again. Romeo crooning about heartbreak and second chances. Adri plays her last tile, another fucking double.
One-one.
“Capicú,” she shouts, rising to her feet, brushing off her shorts and straightening out her shirt when she’s offered the victory shot.
Adri takes it in one go, shaking her limbs as the warm cognac slides down her throat.
Manny throws his hands up, while Alex continues to run his mouth before getting up from the table and trailing off with one of the girls from the salon.
I blink once, then another time, hoping that the board changes and somehow she got her win fucked up. There’s no way I lost.
By the time I’m done licking my wound, she’s halfway down the street, already running away from me.
I wait a beat, trying not to make it obvious before I follow her path.
Going past the bodega and up the rusted fire escape behind the laundromat.
Sure enough, she’s there. Sitting on the rooftop, legs stretched out, eyes on the stars barely visible through the city brightness.
Quietly, I move closer. She doesn’t look back when she hears me approaching, instead she moves over, making space for me like it’s the most natural thing. I sit beside her, close but not touching.
“I guess some things never change.”
“You lost,” she mutters lowly. “I can’t work with you.”
“Why?”
Finally, she looks at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Why?” she parrots. “Why?”
Adri opens her mouth to speak but slams it shut before the words come out. Her shoulders rise, jaw clenched tight, and then I see it. The war behind her eyes. The grief. The guilt. The ache. And the one emotion that kills me to notice—the accusation.
I reach out, my fingers brushing slightly against her wrist. I expect her to pull away. When she doesn’t, I let out a shaky breath. So many questions run through my mind. To the forefront comes the one that haunts me the most. Why?
One single word has me vomiting all the emotions I kept buried under nonchalance and swagger.
“You left,” I say quietly. “You left me and got with my cousin. And yet you can’t work with me? You can’t even give me answers? Why?”
She turns away from me, her breath catching in her throat, lips parting like she might speak or maybe cry. “Yael, please… it’s been so long…”
“For you.” My tone comes out harsher and louder than I intend. But it’s what happens when you have years of heartbreak locked inside of you. “Por un minuto*, sit down and imagine what it’s been like for me. I lost everything and I never knew why.”
“Please.”
I lean in, just enough to feel the heat between us.
Enough to make my pulse jump and hers, but she doesn’t move and I don’t push.
Instead, I let her go and stand. Letting the silence settle between us.
Letting the fucking stars hold whatever we couldn’t say.
She’s not wrong, it’s been years, and she’s been with Lenny for all of those. What am I even doing?
“I’ll see you around, Adri.” I mutter as I walk away before I change my mind.
* La morena consentida del barrio Altura. - The favorite brunette of the Altura neighborhood.
* Mujer - Woman
* Cono - Fuck
* Oye, dique - Listen
* Frambuesa - Raspberry.
* Oye, oye - Listen, listen.
* Por un minuto - For a minute