Page 44 of Liar
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Ihold Hayden’s freshly washed T-shirt up to my nose and close my eyes, inhaling the fresh lavender scent and remembering how well the material clung to his body.
I’ve never lusted after a man before. I’ve never had a crush on someone until now. I’m not the type to moon over a man or rehash our every exchange, every look, twisting and turning it into the perfect memory. I’m a practical girl, a business owner, a competitive dancer. Who has time to waste on fanciful memories? Who spends day after day fantasizing about what could be, when the object of her affection is so damn unattainable?
Still, I can’t get what he said out of my mind.
Mine.
I need to get a grip.
Returning his shirt to the neatly folded pile, I set my mind on my work.
I read that the difference between being good at something and doing it better than anyone else hinges on the enjoyment a person gets from the work. It shouldn’t be surprising how profitable Lavandería Luciana has become, given that the place is a second home to me. Most people hate doing laundry. But I find peace in the simple task of taking something soiled and returning it to its purest state.
Of course, Diego gives me grief about the mostly-male clientele. “Men with words as dirty as their clothing and with too many compliments on how well you handle their bottoms.” I bit my lip and kept quiet, my performing at the yacht party outranking any sassy response I had brewing.
Stacks of dirty clothing I can manage. My brother’s overbearing tendencies, not so much. I remove Diego’s white dress shirt from the drying rack, hang it on a hanger, and douse it with enough starch he’ll be itching for weeks.
It’s a matter of time until he hears what happened on the yacht, and then you’ll never leave the house.
The bell over the front door rings, and as if his ears were ringing from me even thinking about him, Señor Bullheaded himself rushes in.
“I asked for permission to kill him.”
I don’t dare verbally confirm El Calaca’s name. Pausing, I offer him a look of disbelief. “You’ll start a war.”
“That’s what the Boss said. Preserve peace no matter the cost.”
“No matter the cost,” I mumble, a little hurt. It’s irrational, I know. It’s not like Hayden didn’t knock El Calaca out with a solid punch. It’s not like he didn’t claim me as his.
“I settled on a beating.”
“Diego.”
He begins pacing back and forth, wearing away the adobe tiles beneath his feet. “That little bell over the door is pointless. I’m having someone install a security system in here, pronto.”
“A security camera.” I grit my teeth and pick up the hot iron. “But El Calaca got his beating. Point made.” Tossing his white shirt on the board, I set work.
“Cameras will monitor who is inside the lavandería at all times.”
“Crime is down since the peace agreement.”
He ignores me. “You won’t even know it’s there.”
I run the iron across his shirt. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re about? A camera with an app to monitor me around the clock. Big brother always watching, quite literally.”
He doesn’t reply. Answer enough. But what slips out next catches me off guard.
“I won’t always be around to protect you.”
“What do you mean?”
He glances at his watch. “Gotta go. We’ll talk about it later.” He spins, and as if this conversation is over, stalks toward the door.
“Don’t run off so fast,” I shout at his back. “I want to show you something.”
He turns back my way, surprised.
