Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 89536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
This is some juicy gossip.
“Anyway,” she goes on, “my dad needed Buzz for something quick—probably loading the wood box or hauling something up from the basement, I don’t exactly remember—and when we were alone, Marshall leaned over and kissed me.”
“Uh…” I scowl. “You hadn’t gone on a date or anything? The dude just randomly leaned over and kissed you?” That’s fucking lame.
“It was sweet!” she protests, smiling fondly at the memory.
“Was it a peck on the lips or full-on kissing?”
She considers this for a moment. “More of a peck.”
“Is a peck really considered a kiss?” I ask. “Like if I lean over and do this”—I lean forward and kiss her cheek, just beside her mouth—“would you say I kissed you?”
“Uh, no—my grandma kisses me there.”
“Exactly.” Satisfied, I nod.
“A kiss on the cheek is not the same thing. And besides, it’s my memory and my secret.”
“So if I did this…” Before I can think twice about it, I gently plant a kiss on her full, pouty lips. Pull away. Bask in her surprise. “Would you say we kissed?”
If she’s flustered, she barely shows it, the only telltale sign I rattled her a little the shaking of her head to reset her brain.
“No, I would not say we kissed.”
“But you are saying Marshall was your first kiss?”
“He was the first boy to put his lips on top of mine, so yes—even if it wasn’t an actual kiss, I still consider that my first.”
Lame. “That’s all Marshall tried to get away with? One lousy peck? What a douche.”
True bursts into laughter, and a few people turn their heads to look at us, smiling at the fact that we’re smiling, two attractive people spinning around the dance floor at a wedding.
I bet we look amazing. Dark hair, dark eyes—we fit together as if planned by God.
Whoa, Mateo—if your sisters heard the thoughts in your head, they’d be disgusted…
“Mateo.”
Gloria’s voice is impatient, repeating itself over and over.
“Hey. Earth to Mateo.”
Now she’s snapping her fingers at me across the island separating the kitchen from the living room, agitated and bossy like every single Espinoza to come before her.
“Mateo, get the door? It’s Rosie and Mariana.”
Estupendo. Great.
Just swell.
My sisters overwhelm my condo, bustling through the door in waves, all except Sophia, who is with her family tonight, and thank God for that because of all my sisters, she is the most headstrong.
“Why are you all here?” I want to know, convinced this is an ambush.
“Glory told us you’re in love with someone and we want to know the details.”
“Goddamn it, Gloria!” I look around the room at my sisters’ faces, most of them ignoring my outburst in favor of filling their plates with food—food I paid for, at an impromptu gathering I’m hosting.
Hosting my own hostile takeover.
Sooo typical.
It’s like paying someone to beat the shit out of you. The only one who wins tonight is them.
It’s always been like this and always will be.
“I’m not in love with anyone.”
“Fine,” Ana allows. “At least tell us who has you in knots.”
Who has you in knots—what a romantic way to phrase ‘feeling fucked up inside’.
“I had one dance and one night with a girl—that doesn’t make us in love, and that doesn’t have me lying awake at night.”
Camila snickers. “No one said anything about you lying in bed awake at night, which means she has you lying in bed awake at night.”
She and Rosie high-five each other across the table.
“Knock it off you guys.” I roll my eyes, my only line of defense.
“¡Dios mío, hermano, just tell us who it is!” Oh my god, brother…
They’re frustrated with me? Um. What? No. “Are you out of your mind? You’ll look her up and stalk her social media.”
Ana shrugs. “So?”
“No. I don’t need six of you stalking her.”
“Looking at her stuff isn’t stalking, especially if her accounts are public.” Camila rolls her eyes back at me, sticking a chicken wing into hot sauce and biting into it with her teeth. Her lips are red and her eyes are blazing—she isn’t leaving tonight without information.
“Espera.” Wait. “Hold up.” Camila stands then, bracing her hands on the table, leaning forward toward my spot on the couch. “Did you say ‘one night’?”
“Yeah?” So? What’s her point?
“Mateo José Espinoza, are you implying you already slept with this girl?”
“Oh my god, Cami, how did you come to that conclusion—all I did was say we had one damn night together!”
“You didn’t say one date! You said night, that’s how!” She throws her hands up, disgusted. “Oh my god you guys, he had sex with her.”
“Gross!” Glory shouts.
“You slept with her?” Ana alleges disapprovingly. “What kind of a pig are you?”
Oh my fucking god. “It’s not a crime to sleep with someone on a first date, Ana! Get off my back!”
“So you did sleep with her?”
We are all shouting at once, my sisters traumatized that their perfect baby brother is a philandering sex maniac who has no respect for women, doesn’t act like a gentleman, did not take this woman on a proper date, and what are they going to tell our mother.