Mierda mano, when I think shit can’t get any worse, it can. I have to face my one-night stand from Noche Buena.
The one I relive at least four to five times a day.
The one where I got left behind so she could run back to her ex.
The one that has me playing Aventura on a loop.
And it starts with her brother, my friend.
Coño
I pull out the wet wipes I always carry around and swipe the back of my neck, over my arms, and under my pits. I reapply deodorant and throw on the clean Henley I keep in my trunk for emergencies. I blow a breath into my palm and instinctively reach for the mouthwash in the glove compartment.
I need to put the long morning at work behind me—the fight with Lyssa, my girlfriend, over our canceled weekend trip, and my former mother-in-law’s attitude because Ayla wants me, not her, to take her to the mall this weekend. Now, my day is turning into a latrine, but I need to make it look like it smells like roses.
Because Luciana Blake didn’t cancel the appointment for a walkthrough of her reno project like I’ve been praying she would.
I got a text from my friend Cam confirming his sister would meet me at two in front of the side-by-side properties she is looking to unite. My boy actually sounded happy, excited, hopeful…all the things he wouldn’t be if he knew what happened the last time I saw Luciana.
We slept together.
And by slept, I mean nos comimos. Yeah, we ate each other up, rolled on the hardwood floor of my flip, and rode each other to exhaustion. Her scent clung to my nostrils for days. No matter how many times I bathed, I could still smell her on my skin. No matter what I ate or drank, I still tasted her tongue on mine.
Now Cam wants me to work with her and renovate her house like I don’t wake up in cold sweats thinking about how well she fits in my arms. I would have to see her every day, look into her eyes, and remember how she held my hand as we traded stories from our pasts.
And relive how she ran back to New York, Mateo de la Cruz, and a life of parties, press, and riches. All that is the polar opposite of my world as a contractor, coach, and single dad.
When I tried to tell him I’m too busy, too booked, he hit me with, “Please make a space for her. Chase and I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”
Me lleva el diablo.
So I couldn’t say no after that, not when I fully understand what it means to be protective of someone. Anyway, it will just be business with her. I can use the money to pad my savings, which is always a good thing. My negrita—my daughter, my life, my Ayla—wants more things as she grows up, and I’m determined to give them to her. She will never not have something because I don’t have the means to provide them for her.
There’s also no way I can say no without raising more questions from Cam or Chase of why I won’t work on their sister’s project.
Besides, if Lux has no problem with us, I won’t be the one acting despechado over what happened between us. We did what we set out to do on Noche Buena. We gave each other an unforgettable night. Now, she’s back with her famous ex, and I’m in a stable—kinda—relationship.
It’s all good. Really good. Fantastic, really.
I finish freshening up and head to her house in Federal Hill, arriving thirty minutes ahead of our meeting. I barely remember driving up the steep hill lined with red brick rowhomes on Christmas morning when I brought her home. That day, I concentrated on the road ahead, the fallen snow, and the hole she carved in my chest. I ignored the park and, through the snow-covered trees, the view of the Inner Harbor. She has a picturesque view from her front windows and her rooftop. How many times have I seen this on magazine covers and photos on the internet?
This area is like Lux herself—something I watch from afar but never really reach. She is high-class and luxury. My beginnings are so low that humble looks down its nose at them. Every time I step into the shower spray, I thank God for running water inside my house. She’ll never know what the opposite of that is. Just like she has siblings that love and care for her to the point of buying her a property and ensuring a trusted person to work on her renovations. Mis hermanos wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire.
I can’t believe I let myself dream of the possibility. I shake the thought off and turn my head to what’s at hand, like I’ve been doing for the past two months.
I examine the perimeter, walking around the leading property and then the one I’ll be annexing to it. Both are a good size, but I can see why she needs double the space. Baltimore City row homes are famously narrow. Merged, these two will be a perfect-size masterpiece. I can already tell I’ll need to draw permits from the city to merge the water pipelines and the electric panel.
I establish the horizontal width with my measuring tape, then I cross the street and pull out my phone to use the measuring app to get the correct height. I also take several photos and make notes. It will help me with visualizing the annexing point.
The satin-bronze Range Rover pulls up at five till two in front of the property. Through the glass, I can make out the shape of her slick bob. Luciana’s hair, no longer blonde but now a soft brown, is straight today with none of Noche Buena’s bouncy waves. She pulls down the sun visor and applies lip gloss. I love glossy lips on a woman, but it’s the meticulous taps at the corners with her fingertips that get to me.
My heart takes off, pounding away hard against my sternum. She’s wrong for me, like high blood pressure. I rub my chest to thank him for the reminder. This already was all it was meant to be.
I take a breath to steady and brace myself as the door opens. When she steps out of the vehicle, she’s wearing jeans that mold over her hips and that nice, round ass.
I fight against the flutter in my chest because she’s not as beautiful as I remembered her. She looks even more like a flower that bloomed after the winter, from the jade-green top to the sky-high heels.
Heels? I hope she realizes how much walking we’re about to do.
She smooths her hair and looks around but doesn’t see me immediately. I don’t call out to her but let her walk to her door. I want to see her walk. Looking ain’t going to kill me.
At 1:58, I cross the street.
She turns around, and our gazes meet. Her eyes round for a second, and then her gaze slides over me like mine did over hers just minutes ago. “Hi. I didn’t realize you were here already.”
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