Wishing for La Luna (Ritmo y Deseo #1)

Chapter 1

Rio

Conazo, I already regret this.

The last place I need to be is an industry party.

I weave in and out through the two-sided hallway.

It’s hot, infused with the clashing smells of bodies, perfumes, colognes, and refined weed.

My goal is to avoid the crowd of people who stop dancing to try to get my attention and instead head into the living room area of the penthouse, near the balcony.

The tightening in my chest is intense. My breath comes in choppy intakes as I stand near the window.

The air hits my face, and I can’t breathe it in fast enough, so I push my hoodie back.

I need a minute to center my gaze on the millions of lights in front of me in the postcard-like, breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline with its skyscrapers, bridges, and the Hudson River on the horizon.

“Rio,” a gravelly voice I would recognize anywhere calls out from behind. I turn to see Niko, owner of this view, rushing my way with a smile that splits his face and is brighter than the yellow jersey he’s wearing. His arms go around me. “We’ve missed you, Manito.”

His hand claps my shoulder hard, like he’s only Nikanor Romero, my friend of more than fifteen years, not Niko El Rebelde, the superstar who turns every musical note into gold and any venue into a street party.

He’s one of the few true friends I have and one of the two people in the industry who could lure me out of the house these days. I can’t help but return the grin.

“It’s good to be back,” I say, and it’s not necessarily a lie, just not the whole truth. “I’m still trying to get into the groove of things.”

He bobs his head up and down. “I get it, and what better place to start than with your friends? We’ll jump in the studio later.

For now, you play. Hay muchas shorties. Have fun.

I need to check that we are all set with the equipment, but I’ll be back to get you.

Tu sabes que Vampiro is mad cabrón about having everything just perfect. ”

I nod. Calling our music producer, Vampiro, temperamental is putting it mildly. The man wouldn’t think twice of walking out and messing up our plans if we don’t have every detail ironed out to perfection.

Niko leaves me alone to look around the room.

I’m trying to keep an open mind, but industry parties are not my vaina right now.

I want nothing but to be away from people, locked in my room, but Niko invited me to record tonight.

Our song is destined to be a banger, and I’m excited for my verse.

I’ve been tweaking and perfecting it. The music grows louder.

“Energia” by Alexis y Fido booms from the speakers, and everyone screams. Great song, just not in the mood.

I retreat to a corner near the balcony to sip my beer, avoiding eye contact.

Hopefully, the message is clear: no me jodan.

“Excuse me,” a feminine voice says from behind me.

Fuck. Do people not get the hint when others don’t want to be bothered? I try to school my face to something neutral and force the annoyance from my voice as I turn and reply, “Yeah?”

And holy shit. Brown skin like chocolate de agua, tight curls for days, and small almond eyes in a heart-shaped face that I’ve never seen before but I would have definitely remembered.

My gaze drifts lower, and yeah, I would have screenshotted and filed away all those curves in jeans and a deep-red, sweetheart-cut shirt that frames her generous chest in my brain.

Si, I would remember her.

“You’re blocking the drink table,” she says, luscious lips stretching in an almost hesitant way.

I blink a couple times and look behind me, only to flush. Heat rises up my chest to my face way too fast. What an ass I am. Here I’m thinking she’s coming to cozy up to me, but all she wants is a drink. I move slightly and say, “Sorry.”

“It’s all good.” She moves past me and stops, eyeing the table like she’s lost.

“You can’t go wrong with Brugal, Coke, and lime,” I offer.

“How traditional of you,” she says, and the smile she turns on me brightens her face.

I extend my hand. “Rio Castillo, and I can mix it for you, if you want.”

She takes my hand in her softer and warmer one. “Luna Santos, and I would love that, if it’s no bother.”

“Not at all.” I mix the drink quickly and hand it to her. Behind her, there’s a window, and her namesake, the moon, is high in the sky. It almost glows like a halo behind her. “How lucky am I?”

“Como así?” she asks in an accent that’s a nostalgic callback to my people.

De lo mío. Dominicana.

I point at the sky beyond the window. “I’m in the company of two lunas in one night. That’s got to be a good omen. Or maybe you are la Diosa Luna?”

“I never heard that one before.” But she laughs. It’s a little loud, but her eyes glow like jewels, gotitas de ambar, against the light. I can’t help but stare at that full mouth and throw my wish to be alone far away.

“You want to sit?” I ask.

Her eyes brighten, and she nods, leading the way to a small couch nearby.

“So, are you one of the models in Niko’s video?”

She laughs again, shaking her head, making me lean closer. “Does that actually work? Are girls, like, ‘Omg, Rio thinks I’m a model,’ and then they lose their mind and self-control?”

She knows who I am.

It’s my turn to shake my head. “I didn’t mean it like that, but stop playing. You know you’re gorgeous.”

“I don’t know about that.”

I purse my lips, pointing them up toward my nose, in a very Dominican gesture meant to let her know I don’t believe her. “Does that work? The whole modesty thing? Because there’s no way you don’t know how bad you are.”

Her lashes flutter. “Thank you. You’re sweet. You looked annoyed when I approached you. I thought you were going to chew me out.”

“Sorry about that. I hate these things… I’m usually better. I thought you were a groupie and… Man, I’m so embarrassed.”

She grimaces. “Um, I’m definitely not a groupie, but full disclosure, I’m a fan. ‘Dime Mami’ is my favorite song. I actually came to tell you that.”

I’m caught off guard by her admission, but I can’t stop staring into her eyes. Her embarrassment is cute too. Definitely not turned off.

I open my mouth to tell her it’s okay, but her hand shoots out to touch mine. “I’m not here to bother you. I can go do something else. I just wanted to say how much I love your song.”

Her hand is so warm. Her gaze holds mine, and the tightening in my chest is sudden.

“You’re not bothering me,” I tell her. “It’s actually good to hear. I’ve been away for so long, I wonder if anyone remembers me at all. So, what do you actually do other than listen to my music?” I tease.

She scoffs. “?Qué arrogancia! I said one song. You assume I meant your whole discography.”

I shrug, enjoying the feistiness in her voice. “Maybe it’s wishful thinking.”

She holds a hand up to her heart. “I’m not confirming nor denying that I listen to all three albums regularly and the mixtape.”

Jesus, she’s gorgeous.

“Favorite?” I ask.

Luna taps her chin, but the twitch in her lips gives her away.

“The mixtape, After the Rain. You were raw in it.” She presses her hand against mine, sending a wave of heat over that area of my skin.

“Don’t get me wrong, all three albums are awesome with great bangers, but they’re more commercial.

The mixtape feels intimate, like we’re sitting in a living room and you’re telling me the story of how she broke you. ”

They. All of them broke me. Some with a breakup, others with silence, but nothing compared to the last…way after I released the mixtape. She couldn’t deal with my mess.

But I don’t get caught up in that, because the intimate moment she described feels like this moment. I can’t remember the last time someone touched me while talking, other than fucking, and I…don’t hate it—quite the opposite.

“I was younger then, and I had plenty of heartbreaks to talk about.”

She lifts her hands. “No judgments. Just grateful because it got me through a breakup.”

I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Now, what pariguayo would break up with you?”

Her gaze narrows on me. “Vas a seguir?”

I can’t help but laugh. “I mean it.”

“Every single time with every single girl, I’m sure.” Her tone is drier than the air outside.

I laugh again. This time, Luna’s mouth curls into a small grin.

“Seriously, though, what do you do, Diosa Luna?”

“Hahaha, cute. I’m a social media and marketing manager.”

“That sounds like a fun job,” I say, because I’m 100% sure I could not do that. I do the bare minimum on my own social media. It grates my team to no end.

“I love it.” Her eyes gleam, lighting up her face. “It’s finding ways to resonate with people and audiences. We do it for restaurants, stores, and brands.”

“That makes sense. It’s like testing songs to see which one makes people feel the music and dance. But those are all different. What does your heart call out to most?”

I want to know what she’s into. It’s been a while since I had a conversation like this with someone. I haven’t wanted to. With her, I want to keep talking.

“There’s an up-and-coming fashion-and-lifestyle brand called Morena & Miel, which I happen to love. Creating social media for it is my favorite thing in the world.”

“Why?”

“The products are original, and everything is carefully chosen. The pieces are well thought out and one of a kind. I love unique things—like that charm.” She points to my Cuban link chain.

I touch the center where the special skeleton key hangs, and I’m flooded with all the feelings and the call of something deep inside me. I’m searching for words to say but can’t come up with anything. I close my fist around it.

Her face goes from curious to soft as she watches the gesture. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

There’s warmth in her voice, so I find myself telling her more than I usually share. “It’s a key, actually.”

She blinks. “Really? What does it open?”

My casita, mi museo de recuerdos, and my whole soul.