36. Santiago
SANTIAGO
For the next few weeks, Ariyan took me out to eat after every fight.
He always insisted on paying, rarely spoke, and only ever ordered a cup of green tea, which he never even touched. Yet, his company, just like tonight, was more than enough.
“Do you even like tea?” I asked, mouth full of meat.
Tonight, we went to a steak house I’d always wanted to try. It even had a dress code, which was a nice excuse for me to stare at Ariyan’s sexy suit.
“Don’t speak with—”
“Your mouth full,” I mimicked him. “Yeah, yeah. Now, answer my question.”
He huffed, looking full of disdain, before he leaned back in his chair.
“No, I do not.”
“So why always order it?”
“Because I feel like it.”
What an odd reason.
“Don’t you feel like ordering something you’ll actually enjoy? I dunno, like coffee?”
“Caffeine is bad for you.”
“Coke?”
“Too many calories.”
“There’s diet.”
“No, thank you.”
“Beer, then—”
“Don’t even get me started on alcohol.”
I placed my fork down and raised both hands. “I give up.”
Not finding me amusing, Ariyan’s expression remained unfazed as his lips set in a hard line.
Already used to it by now, I just went back to eating my T-bone.
“Your shirt is hideous, by the way,” he said.
Still chewing, I glanced down at my clothes. “Is it?” My brows creased as I eyed the denim button-up shirt. “I bought it when I was eighteen. It’s the best shirt I have—”
“Well, it’s hideous,” he hissed without looking at me.
“Sorry…”
“Not to mention, it’s two sizes too small.”
He had a point.
“Why don’t you use some of the money you’ve made to buy proper clothes?”
Reaching for my water, I took a sip, then placed the glass back on the table.
“I’d rather save up. Besides, I have no fashion sense, so you’d probably hate what I bought either way.”
“You’re right about that.”
Unable to hide my smile, I snorted. “At least I’m not wearing sweats—”
“Ugh. That vile trend. Why don’t we all just go outside in our pajamas and call it a day, huh?”
“I don’t think they’re that bad.”
He side-eyed me. “Says the one wearing a denim button-up.”
This guy… forever kind with his compliments.
“Well, I might dress badly, but let me tell you—” I cut through my steak, juice spilling onto the plate. “—I cook much better meat than this.”
“Is that so?”
Sinking my teeth into the medium-rare steak, I nodded.
“Fuck yeah.” I went back to cutting another piece. “Just wait until I make you asado.”
“So you cook?”
“Nah. Asado ain’t cooking. It’s a fucking culture.”
He snorted, and I looked up from my plate to find him smiling.
That’s new.
“I sometimes forget you’re Argentinian.”
My chest filled with pride in my heritage. “You’re damn right I am—”
“Language.”
I grunted, took another bite, and then said, “My dad taught me how to grill.”
“That must have been nice.”
Yeah, back then, everything was.
“What about you?” I pointed my fork at him.
“I don’t cook.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No, no… I meant, where’re you from? You’re fluent in Spanish, and you don’t have an accent when you speak it, so I figured you’re also Latino.” I twisted my lips. “Although you don’t look like it.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re as pale as a ghost.”
“Stereotyping much, don’t you think?”
I scoffed. “Come on.” My cheeks got warmer. “Don’t get all politically correct with me… You know I’m dumb.”
He smiled. “Finally admitting the truth, are you?”
“Hey!” I whined too loudly because we’d caught the attention of the table across from us.
Mind your own business, assholes.
“Well, if you must know,” he started, grabbing my attention back, “I’m half Colombian from my mother’s side.”
I whistled.
“Colombiano? That’s hot.”
He huffed, circling the mug’s rim with his finger. “Is it?”
“For sure. So, are you close with your folks?”
He looked up to meet my stare, and surprisingly, he didn’t seem upset. If anything, the small smirk on his lips made him look amused.
“You’re asking an awful amount of questions tonight.”
“Just taking advantage of your chatty mood.”
His lips curved up before he leaned both elbows on the table. “Fair enough.” He sighed. “You can ask me three more questions, but that’s it.”
Trying not to look too eager, I bit my lip and nodded.
“Go on. Ask away.”
Debating where to start, I decided to stick with my original question.
“So… Your folks. You’re close with them?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“What are they like?”
“Is that your second question?” He studied me with a raised brow.
Running my fingers through my hair, I grunted. “It’s more of a two-part question.”
He chuckled, eyes dropping to his tea while he moved one hand to rub his neck.
“My father is a decent, hardworking man. While my mother, well, she’s a kind, warm-hearted woman.
Growing up, I remember the house always smelling of polvorosas and ajiaco santafereno, and whenever I came back from school, she’d be waiting for me with a hot meal.
And for dinner, all three of us would sit around the table and talk about the day we’d had, while the family dog played with its toys between our feet.
You could say we were the embodiment of the American dream. ”
I might be a bit slow, but right now, I knew he was lying.
It wasn’t that he was a bad liar; in fact, he was probably one of the best I’d ever met.
But the way he told me this fairy tale about the perfect family, one that perhaps existed but had nothing to do with people like us, I knew it was bullshit.
Like some shitty text he’d learned in advance and memorized countless times, he recited this story to me with a hollow expression.
Was this bullshit story his fantasy? Or just another attempt to keep me in the dark? Either way, I had no intention of putting him on the spot. After all, he knew I recognized his lie, so what was even the point?
“It really does sound like a dream,” I said, and he smiled.
“It does, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “I bet you keep in touch with them, too.”
“Why, of course.” His fingers still circled the mug’s rim. “I speak with my mom every night.”
“And your dad?”
“Only on the weekends. He’s too busy with work during weekdays.”
I huffed. “Sounds like you hit the jackpot.”
He smiled again, yet it was so sad it nearly broke my heart. “I’m very fortunate.”
Fortunate.
Saying something like this with such a sad expression…
shit. What this man was doing to me was fucking illegal.
If only I could hug him, but I couldn’t.
He’d probably stab me—or shoot me—so instead, I crossed my arms. Looking at him right now, I’d give just about anything to know what was going through his mind.
What a shame I was out of questions… not that it mattered. Either way, all I’d get from him would be more lies. But who was he lying to? Me or himself?
“We can go home,” I said, breaking the silence. “I’m done eating.”
“I have a question for you.”
Surprised, I sat up in my chair. “Yeah?”
“When will you tire of these meals? After all, they will only satisfy you for so long before they don’t.”
My lips curled up into a half smile.
“Why? Worried you’ll run out of money feeding me?”
It might have been subtle, but just then, his lips quivered like he was fighting a painful smile, and he cupped the tea mug harder.
“I’m saying that… this arrangement will soon not be enough, and ultimately, you’ll ask to revert to its original terms.” With his eyes not meeting mine, he took a deep breath. “So I’m asking… when?”
This guy will be the death of me.
Reaching forward, I slipped the mug from between his fingers.
Shocked, Ariyan looked up, that scared expression on his face, the one I rarely ever saw. It left a bad taste in my mouth, so I took a sip of his tea, which had gone cold by now. Done, I placed the mug back on the table and wiped my lips.
“You’d be surprised how much I can eat.”
The tension between his brows broke, and he seemed relieved. I liked that expression. It suited him much more than sadness. But knowing he’d probably hate me if I showed compassion, I instead knocked on the table and got up.
“I’m gonna pay tonight.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Yeah.”
He averted his stare, and I briefly watched as he chewed on his bottom lip. At the end of the day, we all deserved a bit of empathy, even a psycho like him.
* * *
“Need a ride?”
Surprised by his offer, I stopped and looked ahead. Standing next to his beautiful red bike, helmet in hand, Ariyan glanced back at me while waiting for my answer.
“Why are you being so nice today?” My lips curled into a teasing smile as he clicked his tongue.
“A simple no would have been more than enough.”
“Just saying—” I strolled closer to him. “—I might get used to your sweet side.”
The death glare he gave me made me take three steps backward.
“Whoa, how scary,” I chuckled.
The thing is, he truly is a dangerous man.
“Anyway, I’ve got my bicycle, so I’m all set.”
“You and that damn bicycle.”
With a snort, I shook my head. “You’re the one who bought it for me.”
Not saying anything in response, he got on his bike.
I guess that’s good night.
“Next Saturday is Christmas Eve,” he said.
My heart paused, and my body tensed on the spot. Why did I react this way? Was he about to invite me—
“I’ll have to be at the hotel, so see the fight as canceled.”
My brows immediately snapped together.
“What? Why?”
“As I said, I have to be at the hotel; therefore, I cannot escort you there.”
“Escort?” I scoffed. “I’m not some medieval maiden, yeah? I can go by myself.”
“I’m surprised you know what a maiden even is,” he muttered when I frowned at him.
“Asshole.”
“As I was saying, next week, you’re off the hook, so instead of calling me slurs, be grateful for the time off.”
I should have been grateful because it meant I’d be able to spend the holiday at home, only… I wasn’t. It would be a joke to admit I’d hoped to at least spend some time with Ariyan on Christmas, but I did. Especially after these last few weeks, where it actually felt like we were getting closer.
“I have a shift.”
“Pardon?”
“I have a shift at the hotel. Don’t you remember?” Walking closer to him, I stopped with my shoe nudging his. “You put me on Christmas Eve duty.”
That was a blunt lie because he hadn’t, in fact, put me on schedule. And yet, instead of calling me out, he glanced down at his helmet. I focused on the stray locks of white hair that fell over his brows until—
“So you better not be late,” he said, put on the helmet, then kicked the bike into gear.
The beast roared to life, its lights illuminating the dark night. Getting the message, I took a step backward so he wouldn’t run me over when he sped out of here.
After he drove off, I didn’t immediately leave.
Instead, I kept standing where I was and watched him ride away.
And once he was gone, I rubbed my chest to ease some of the pressure created there.
Every encounter with him left me with this odd feeling…
like something was eating through me, nibbling its way deep into my heart.
And the heat it ignited me with, as stifling as it was, was also addictive, to the point I stopped trying to make sense of it.