9. Fabián #4
I huff a laugh because if I don’t, I might collapse. “You’re evil.”
“You came in my mouth in my mom’s trailer.”
“My point stands.”
His smile turns softer, but it’s still smug.
He tucks me back into my pants with shocking tenderness for a man who just assassinated me orally.
Then he stands and I grab him immediately and he lets me pull him in.
Our mouths hover over each other, and for one second, I think about what just happened.
About his mouth. About mine. About the fact that I said yes outside and came undone inside and still have to walk back out there where people can see my face.
My panic starts reaching for me. Elías sees it, and his hand slides to my chest, right over my heart.
“Hey.”
I breathe.
“Don’t disappear.”
I close my eyes and let a calm wash over me.
I can do this.
“I’m here,” I say.
He studies me and then nods. “So you really meant it?”
“Yes.”
“Out there?”
“Yes.”
“You said yes because you meant it, not because you were jealous?”
I open my eyes and think to myself that both are true. Yes, one is safer, but the other is honest.
“I was jealous,” I say. “But I meant it.”
His lips part, and I keep going. “I don’t know what together means yet. I don’t know how to be this version of myself where everyone can see.”
His throat works.
“But I know I don’t want anyone else trying to take you away from me. So if that means being out, then I’ll figure it out as I go.”
He looks away, then back, and his eyes are shiny.
Fuck.
“Okay,” he whispers.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” He wipes at my mouth with his thumb, even though I am not the one with spit everywhere. “Okay.”
I catch his wrist and press a kiss to his palm. His breath catches as if he didn’t expect that kind of tenderness.
That makes me feel better—a little.
Then he steps back and looks me over with evil satisfaction. “You look wrecked.”
“I am.”
“You should fix your face.”
“Not sure it’ll help.”
He laughs, quiet and bright.
That laugh.
God, I want to hear it every day. In bed with me every morning, and at night before I go to sleep.
The thought arrives like a brick through glass. I don’t say it out loud, because it’s too soon for sappy shit like that. But I don’t shove it away either.
Progress.
Elías opens the trailer door a crack and peeks out. “Coast is clear.”
I try to step around him, and he blocks me with one hand on my chest.
“What?”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Zip.”
I look down.
My fly is down and my waistband is crooked. “Fuck.”
He snickers, and I fix myself while he watches like this is fine dining.
“Stop staring.”
“You look cute after you come.” He teases. “Kinda want to see you like this all the time.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
No. I really don’t.
We slip out of the trailer separately enough to pretend we are subtle and together enough to prove we are not.
The market lights hit too bright and the air outside feels cooler for half a second before the heat rolls back in.
People are still in line. My tía is at the register.
Elías’s mother is restocking spoons. Junior’s still on the cooler, because God refuses to test that man with employment.
His eyes go to us immediately.
Then to my face.
Then Elías’s mouth.
Then back to me.
His grin spreads so wide I consider his murder a civic duty.
“No,” I say.
He points at me with a new corn cob. “You look like you saw the Virgen.”
Elías chokes.
I glare. “Shut your mouth.”
Junior’s eyes drift lower to where I’m still semi-hard. “Oh my God.”
I point harder. “Don’t.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Bro.”
“Junior.”
“Did you just get your soul sucked out in the raspado trailer?”
My tía gasps. “Junior!”
Elías’s mother yells, “Julian!”
“Why am I in trouble? Look at him!”
The line erupts, and phones lift up higher. My entire life flashes in front of my eyes, and somehow Junior is annoying in most of it. Elías steps beside me, closer than he has all night.
Shoulder brushing mine.
The girl at the front of the line, the one who asked if we were together, looks between us with her mouth open.
“So,” she says slowly. “About that, yes?”
Elías freezes and I feel it.
This is the moment. My second chance to prove to him that I’m not scared… even though I am.
I look at Elías and he looks back.
Do not make me say no for you again.
My pulse pounds, and I turn to the customer, clearing my throat.
“Yes,” I say with more conviction this time. “We’re together.”
“That’ll be $5.75,” I say. “Cash or card?”
Junior clutches his chest like he’s been shot. My tía says nothing. Elías’s mother also says nothing. Elías just smiles with his cheeks pinking beside me while he starts making her raspado. Then he leans close enough that only I can hear him.
“Next time you choose me in public,” he whispers, “don’t look so scared after.”
“I’m not scared.” I smirk, knowing that I’m fucking terrified.
“Mentiroso.”
I look at the tablet, then at the line. At the customers trying very hard to pretend they are not filming us having this very public, tender disaster.
Then at him.
“I was trying not to come again,” I mutter. “Those red shorts are fucking attempted murder.”