Page 41 of Birdy

“Nope.” I grin. “Not now, anyway. Let her think everything is gravy, that I’m just letting her do her thing. She and I will chat when it’s finally time to collect.”

Mari doesn’t like that answer, expression fraying with worry. “B, don’t be doing anything stupid. It’s not worth it. I only told you ‘cause—”

“I got this. I’m not gonna fuck her whole shit up. She just needs a reminder of how things work around here. She wants to link up with Franca? By all means, go for it, but she’s gonna keep giving me my cut if she’s gonna bring that shit in here and sell to our girls.”

That answer doesn’t sit well with her either, lips thinning disapprovingly, but she doesn’t push her opinion. I suspect it’s ‘cause we don’t have time. I’m sure I’ll hear about it later, though. Mari’s not old enough to be my mom, but she worries and loves like a mom. She has a big heart, and if you’re part of her clique, she only wants the best for you. Knowing how hard I’ve been working on getting my early release, she’s undoubtedly going to give me an entire list of reasons—probably scribbled on a piece of notebook paper—as to why I should just let Koko do her thing and turn the other cheek. I can see her passionate ass already, my lips twitching at the thought.

Let’s just say dinner is going to be interesting.

Five minutes later, we got all the laundry sorted in their individual bags and onto the cart for redistribution. CO Rodriguez took Diana and Kati to do just that, leaving the rest of us with Walker...andhim.

Andrés.

When I saw him coming to pick us up, knowing he would end up right behind me, my heart literally stopped and not in a good way.

I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s barely spared me a look in the last six days. He will, if it’s in relation to the job, but other than that?

Nothing.

It’s like he flipped the switch from one day to the next like I don’t exist, and I don’t understand why. Truthfully, I haven’t really tried to pick it apart and understand it. Yeah, the change is drastic from his first two days here, but it was only that. Two days. Forty-eight measly hours.

So why am I tripping about it?

The high,my subconscious whispers, which like always, isn’t wrong. The rush he gave me multiple times in those two days. God… I haven’t felt so alive in such a long time. I’ve been dying within these walls, suffocating, wasting away day by day because I made stupid choices fueled by greed and musings of the heart. The world around me had lost its lustrous color, all its vibrant hues drained in entirety until only shades of gray, black, and white existed.

But in came Andrés, splattering different colors on the dark monochrome canvas that is my life with a single look. And that dimpled smile? He smiled at me, and all I could think was holy shit. The man sparked a flame I’m sure he didn’t mean to spark, and I think what gets me most is, I know he felt it too.

Is that why? Does it feel as overwhelming for him as it did for me? Unless it’s the kite? Was that a step too far?

Probably.

That has to be it. Looks, smiles, and stolen whispers can’t be proved…a paper trail can.

I’m so deep in my analysis, trying to connect the dots and give myself some sort of an answer, that the sound of his throat clearing behind me almost sends me through the roof. I’d forgotten he was there. Hand slamming down against my racing heart, I force myself to breathe and keep on as normal...until I hear it again, closer than before.

He’s not dangerously close, but the heat radiating off his person still manages to envelop me, prickling the hairs at the nape of my neck.

“Put your hand out,” Andrés whispers, the simple command widening my eyes.

For one, he’s talking to me? And two, my hand? Why does he want my—

Fuck it, I’m too curious to try and make sense of it right now.

Doing as he’s asked, I reach back with the hand closest to the gray wall and find a small note placed in my palm, not two seconds later. It’s not balled up like the one I gave him. No, it’s folded into a perfect triangle like the notes I used to pass with my friends in high school. His warm fingers seal over mine, closing them into a fist to trap the kite inside, shooting a gasp free from my throat at the unexpected contact.

“Hide it. Hurry,” he demands, voice hushed yet still commanding enough to get me moving.

Nodding, I wait until we round the corner to the B Block hallway and leave the cameras behind us before I slide my hand into my uniform top, and tuck the note into my bra. This is probably the one and only time I’ll ever be grateful for theseabuelitabras. The cups are so big—legit covers your entire tit—you can shove anything in there, and it’ll hold.

And it does, holds right through the rest of our walk and our check-in with Jordan inside the block, all the way to my cell. I try not to make it too obvious and rush in here—stopping to greet some of the girls along the way—but the damn thing is burning a hole through my shirt.

Not to mention, my head is spinning.

Almost a week of silence and thenBOOM,he hits me out of nowhere with this. Not a look or another one of those smiles, but an actual physical reply.

The whiplash is real.

I’m relieved to see Lena’s not here yet, deflating like a balloon as I dive into my bunk for two minutes of privacy. She’s been wondering about Andres, too, becauseof course,she noticed the change as well. If she saw me unwrapping a note from him, she’d have a fucking field day.

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