Page 12 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
“If you’re interested in selling, I’d love to chat.” Mr. Cooke pulls out his wallet, setting a business card down in front of our hot wings. “I’ve had my eye on one of the boats over at the marina in Hillsdale. Trouble is we don’t have much room left with the deck expansion, so I’ve been looking into…other options.”
Oh my God, this man wants to bulldoze our cabin and make it into a garage for his boat. That’s next-level evil. Like I said before, Disney villain evil.
“That’s good to know.” Dad does an impressive job of not looking like he wants to punch Mr. Cooke in the face. He flicks the business card against his palm before tucking itinto the breast pocket of his shirt. I’m sure it’ll join the other one we have pinned to our fridge. Maybe we’ll adjust it to “Home Destroyer Extraordinaire” this time. “But we’re still not confident we want to sell.”
Last I checked, we wereveryconfident we wanted to sell. So confident that he and Isabel are siccing me and Maya up against the possums on Monday. But Mr. Cooke doesn’t need to know that. He can find out when his new neighbors move in.
Mr. Cooke holds up his hands, beginning to back away slowly. “Well, if you change your mind.” A wicked smile plays at his lips as he lowers his hands. “Unless you want to have some fun, for old times’ sake.”
“What do you mean?” Dad should know better than to let a Seo-Cooke draw him in with promises they’ll never keep. But even I’m hanging on the edge of my seat.
“You should sign up for the games, if you’re feeling up to it. It’d be nice to put up more of a fight for once.” His laugh makes my skin crawl. “We could make things interesting. Like we used to.” He quirks an eyebrow, and the tension in the room skyrockets. “You win, I pay off that last bit of your mortgage. Shouldn’t be allthatmuch, right? Considering how much you paid for it.”
My stomach churns at the fact that he doesn’t consider thousands of dollars that much money.
“And if I win, you let me buy it off of you.” He holds his palm up in front of Dad for a shake. “Fair and square.”
Nothing about this sounds fair or square. We’d sooner give up our car than let Mr. Cooke bulldoze a home that’smeant so much to us. A place that, even when it’s falling apart, holds so many memories of Mami that destroying it would mean destroying a piece of her too. No way in hell.
“You’re on,” Dad replies, slapping his hand into Mr. Cooke’s outstretched one before we can even process what’s happened.
What thefuck?!
“Atta boy!” Mr. Cooke exclaims, lifting his beer up in a silent toast. “Welcome back, Báezes.”
Dad holds up his beer with a grin, nudging Isabel until she lifts her margarita too. The gesture brings Mr. Cooke back to our table, his smile morphing into a frown. “And I heard the news about Ximena. Such a vibrant woman, an awful loss.” He pats Dad on the back before shifting his gaze to Isabel. “Good to see you landed on your feet, though.” And with a cheeky wink, he finally walks away.
God he’s the worst.
Isabel shakes her head, sneering as she watches Mr. Cooke finish off his beer and throw down some cash at the bar, beckoning for a dejected-looking Julian to follow him. “Que pendejo.”
Not for the first time, I wish I’d listened to Mami and practiced speaking Spanish more often. I’ve run out of words in English to call Mr. Cooke an asshole.
Maya takes an angry swig of her Diet Coke. “Believe us now?”
Andy’s still too shocked to respond, his mouth, full of chicken, hanging ajar. Isabel nods soberly, running her finger along the salted rim of her margarita.
It’s not until Mr. Cooke has finally left that Dad drops the fake smile, realizing what he’s agreed to. “I…I didn’t mean to say yes. We don’t have to sign up. We can—”
“We should do it,” Isabel interrupts, her jaw set as she knocks back the last of her drink.
She sure changed her tune quick. “Seriously?”
Isabel nods before gesturing to a waiter to bring another round for her and Dad. Order placed, she holds up her nearly empty glass in yet another toast.
My hand stills while everyone else’s rises. Maya nudges her shoulder against mine, jutting her chin toward my glass.
“C’mon,” she urges.
For a flash of a second, it feels like old times. When Christmas was something worth celebrating. When there wasn’t this weird tension between me and Maya, and all that mattered was us, what snacks we had in the pantry, and practicing our smiles for the Hall of Champions portrait. A time when we were a team.
Maya shoots me a wink when I finally lift up my Diet Coke. Isabel proudly leads the charge.
“To new traditions. And kicking ass.”
We clink our glasses more eagerly than we did last night, drinks downed and hearts racing as we huddle together with cunning smiles. Over the thrill of the fight to come. This isn’t the winter break I had in mind, but then again, I also didn’t picture our childhood cabin getting turned into a boat garage. And it’s not going to. Not if we have anything to say about it.
CHAPTER FOUR
