Page 6 of Wishing for La Luna
Huh?
Me
Adina is my best friend.
And then I block him.
I open the window, and even the October air doesn’t cool me off. When I arrive at the club where Sel is hanging out, I find her chatting with a group of guys, oblivious to how some of them are staring at her. Her jeans are tight, but she’s wearing an off-the-shoulder shirt and flats. Her makeup is natural over her golden, amber-toned skin. She takes one look at me and walks away from them. Her hand hooks around the same arm Adina snatched earlier, but my cousin secures it against her side.
Ten minutes later, her jaw is working, and her hands are flexing into fists. “You see? That’s why she doesn’t want me to come when you two hang out. She can’t pull that shit on you with me around. Is that bitch snorting again?”
“I don’t know, but I’m ignoring her and have already blocked him. I’m not losing a friend over him.”
“You know what I always say: men are good-for-nothing dogs. And no, you don’t turn your back on your homegirl over dick. But your girl istrippin’big time, as always. To yell at you like that when she never told you, like fuck, it’s definitely giving coke.”
Her tone yanks a laugh out of me despite the headache brewing in the back of my head. “I think I need to eat something.”
She tilts her head to the door. “Let’s hit theYaroafood truck.”
We head to the food truck spot, and the smell of seasoned meat and fried plantains layered with cheese is so comforting it dulls the throbbing at my temples. But I’m still…annoyed? Disappointed? “He seemed so sincere.”
“Maybe he was. Maybe your girl was bugging like she always does when guys pay you attention. It’s also possible that he’s used to selling thatcarita de niño lindoto everyone. You know he’s always knee deep in panties. And he probably saw you and wondered what you were doing with thathuevo sin sal. Let’s forget him and her tonight. After we eat, we’ll go back and dance our asses off. They have 90s reggaeton followed by Anthony Santos’ hour.”
Jesus. How am I going to survive an hour of dancing to Anthony Santos—no relation to me—with this headache? Every single one of his songs is pure cardio, and they last more than five minutes. But I need a distraction, or I’ll get in a funk. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
He didn’t seem like a conceited jackass or entitled, like some of the people in Adina’s circle can be. That’s what is so freaking annoying. I wish I had walked away faster. It would’ve stayed a cute fantasy. The big star pays attention to me, and the connection is instant enough for me to still feel his breath on my lips. I could kick myself. I don’t want to talk to him or see him. I don’t even want to hear his music.Rio Castillo can go straight to hell.
2
Rio – Six months later
I’m in fucking hell.
And about to get doused in gasoline.
The fast clicking of stilettos echoes closer, reaching me along with the feminine scent—musk, cashmeran, jasmine—of the expensive perfume I had specially made for her birthday.
Hurricane Maeven is here.
I don’t lift my gaze from the spotted dirty tile and the nine hundred and ninety-two spots I’ve been counting, not even when the long sigh, charged with what I can only assume are large doses of fed-the-fuck-up, fills the room.
“When I accepted this job, I made it abundantly clear, Riomar Castillo, that I’m not here for this kind of fuckery.” Maeven’s voice is sharp and tight, and she doesn’t stop there. “You had a wonderful day today. Your new album is trending on social media with people calling it an instant classic. We announced your tour, but instead of shaking our asses to your songs in a club flowing with champagne, I’m here bailing you out of jail.”
I still don’t look at her beyond the five-inch heels with bows on the backs. “Did you know there are 992 stains on these tiles?”
She pushes closer. “No, but when you look for a new publicist, for the right amount of money, you may be able to find 992 candidates that will be willing to put up with this shit.”
She pivots back to the way she came. I push to my feet, raising my gaze from the floor.
“Don’t leave, Maeven,” I say, finally looking up at her.
Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail that dangles even as she pauses. Her jeans and red top with what looks like a keyhole in the front make her look relaxed and laid back, but her face gives more of an on-my-last-nerve vibe. It’s accentuated by the reddish hue on her brown skin, most likely from annoyance.That’s my fault.
“Why shouldn’t I?” she asks while glaring at me as if she could disintegrate me with her gaze.
Yeah, she’s pissed at me, and I can’t blame her.
“It wasn’t my fault. Noryel came in looking for trouble. I was having a good time, chillin’ with my people, until that asshole started throwing shots until he threw a glass at us. I went over there and showed him I didn’t need a glass to make a point.” I flex my fingers against the raw pain in my knuckles.
