Page 128 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
The waiter brings our beers and ceviche with a plastic basket of tortilla chips still warm from the oven. Carlos orders the daily lunch special for two—camarones with rice—and we dig into the cold, delicious ceviche.
We eat in companionable silence until, through a mouthful, Carlos quietly remarks, “Don’t look now, but that guy at the corner table in the cowboy hat is staring at you.”
I snort. “He’s probably never seen a woman inhale a pound of chopped fish in under thirty seconds. Which reminds me, we need more chips. Where’s that lispy waiter?”
Carlos wipes his mouth with a paper napkin, takes a long swig of his beer, and then politely belches. “I’m serious, Ana. He hasn’t stopped staring at you since we walked in. Look.” He sends a surreptitious glance to my right, and then motions for the waiter.
Trying to be casual, I glance in the direction Carlos indicated.
There is a guy in a cowboy hat sitting at the table in the corner, but he’s definitely not looking at me. In fact, he appears to be asleep. He’s got his boots propped up on a chair, his long legs crossed at the ankle. His hands are folded across his stomach. His big white cowboy hat is tipped low over his face, obscuring his eyes and nose. His moustache is even droopier than our waiter’s.
I turn my attention back to the bowl of ceviche. “The guy’s taking a nap, Carlos, not checking me out. Are you this jealous with your girlfriends?”
“I know when a man is looking at a woman, Ana, and he’s looking at you, no matter how hard he’s trying to seem like he’s not.”
Well, if he is, he’s probably just wondering who dropped a bucket of bleach on my head.
Leaving that thought unspoken, I finish off my beer. Then I match Carlos’s belch with one of my own.
He lifts a brow. “Now you’re just trying to seduce me.”
“Yep. I’m a real lady. I’ve got class coming out of my ass.”
Carlos laughs and slings an arm around my shoulders. “Ah, you see, Ana—this is why I adore you!”
I laugh along with him. “You have very low standards, my friend.”
He shrugs. “Life is too short to look for perfection.”
Truer words were never spoken. I squeeze his hand, and then toss his arm off my shoulders so he doesn’t try to reach down farther and cop a feel.
By the time we finish lunch, I’m ready for a nap. Drinking in the daytime always makes me sleepy. Between the alcohol and the heat, I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open. Since it’s Friday, I know Mr. Colón won’t be coming into the office, and the thought of dealing with the oppressive heat in there has me depressed.
“Carlos, if I bug out early, would you cover for me if anyone drops in?”
He sends me a sideways smir
k. “Of course. Because then you’d owe me one, Anacita.”
“Yes. But ‘one’ as in a general favor, not sex.”
“Sex can be a favor,” he says reasonably. “I once had sex with a girl who was repaying me for fixing a flat tire on her car.”
“Wow. That’s a steep price to fix a flat.”
Carlos smiles. “I think she flattened the tire herself.”
“Of course you do.” I dig a few bills from my purse and toss them on the counter. “And now I’m leaving.”
I blow Carlos a kiss and walk away. He calls out behind me, “One day, Anacita, you will have sex with me, and then you’ll see the true face of God!”
I’ve already seen the true face of God during sex, Carlos. And honey, it ain’t yours.
I wave over my shoulder without looking back, and then step through the door of the cantina into the searing heat of the street.
* * *
Six hours later, I’m finally driving up the long dirt road to my house.
