Page 30 of Wishing for La Luna
A wave of heat engulfs my skin. It takes all of me not to turn around and look back at him.
The man in the seat next to mine arrives, and he calls out to Ty, who turns to me. “Can I take your seat? I haven’t seen my friend in a long time.”
Esme points to the seat next to Rio. “Do you mind? That’s a friend from college, and I like to sit next to Ty during games so he can explain what’s happening to me.”
I don’t get to say anything because she winks at me and then takes the seat next to her husband.
I turn back around and look at Rio, who has the same confused expression on his face.
“Fucking Maeven,” he finally says.
As if she heard him, she whispers in our ears, “Don’t be mad at me. If I told you, you would have overacted, trying to sell this. The element of surprise makes it look more real. Now sit next to each other and chat…about something neutral.”
“Um. How was your day?” Rio asks, leaning a little into me.
A strong waft of his cologne drifts to me. “It was okay. I was a little nervous about this.”
Damn, he smells good.
“Me too. Maybe it’s a good thing. We’re too nervous to fight.”
It makes me laugh. “You’re right. I don’t think I’ve got much fight in me right now, anyway. The internet has so much smoke for me, it’s unbelievable. Adina did an interview today.”
His lips flatten. “I saw. I can’t believe she would do that to you.”
It’s the same thing I have been saying to myself, but I shrug. “She thinks I betrayed her.”
“She knows you didn’t because she knows Thierry was the one who kissed you. You didn’t consent, just like you didn’t take that drug on purpose. You don’t deserve this.”
His gaze is so warm I have to look away.
We stick to bottled sparkling water and chit-chat about the game. The Knicks are battling, but this is not as bad as I dreaded all day.
“Were you in the studio today?”
He nods. “I recorded a remix today. It was one of the tracks that didn’t make it to the album, but I’m releasing it in the deluxe extended version. It’s insane.”
“Oh. What song?”
He turns from the court to me. “It’s called ‘Si Tu me Dejas.’”
“If you leave me?”
“Nope. If you let me.” The way his eyes glow when he says that, and the way his lips pucker the P, sends currents through my body.
I so don’t like that…
“You want to hear it?” he asks.
I frown at him. “Hell yeah.”
“I didn’t know. You hate me.”
“Not your music, though,” I say without thinking.
Shit.
I start to apologize, but the smile that blooms on his lips makes my cheeks tingle.
