Santiago is a year older than Elijah and me, and we all grew close when we were on the basketball team in high school. He was pretty damn good at it, but decided to pursue a career in healthcare instead.
“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Santiago, right? I think I’d end up burning your penthouse down.”
Elijah chuckles on the other line.
Unfortunately, Okasan’s skills in the kitchen were not something I inherited. I’ve attempted to cook a few times, but it’s always a disaster. Being back home and having easy access to her cooking is a blessing. When I lived in Houston, I had to hire a private chef. Although the meals were good, nothing beats a home-cooked meal.
“So you coming over or what? You can sit there and look pretty while us men do all the work,” he teases.
“You act like Andrés does much of anything.” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “But yes, I’ll be there.”
“Alright, man. I’ll see you later.”
The line disconnects, and I get up to change. Listening to sad music for hours on end probably isn’t the best way to spend a Friday night. Hopefully kicking it with the boys will help me get my mind off ofher.
“So what do you think?” Elijah watches me as I take a bite of the burger. He tends to seek validation every time he cooks.
“It’s not bad.” I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “Could use a bit of seasoning.”
“Not bad?” His expression shifts into a frown. “I even added mushrooms to your burger, just like you like it.”
The burger is delicious and cooked to perfection, but watching Elijah’s reaction is priceless.
“How’s your burger, man?” He turns his attention to Andrés in hopes that he’ll give him a better response than I did.
“It’s a bit dry,” Andrés says flatly. “Good job on fries, though, Santiago.” Reaching over, he grabs another handful from the plate, stuffing it in his mouth.
“Thanks, man. It was my first time making them from scratch,” Santiago says.
Elijah stares at the ground, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
We exchange glances, suppressing our laughter.
“What’s so funny?” he snaps, shooting us all a glare.
“We’re just messing with you.” I punch him playfully on the arm. “The burger tastes amazing.”
His face lights up, a cocky grin sliding across his lips. “I knew you boys were just bullshitting. Everything I cook is top tier.” He grabs the burger and takes a bite, a satisfied hum escaping his lips. “Damn, I did a good job. If I wasn’t an NBA player, I could be an award-winning chef.”
“This isexactlywhy we don’t give you compliments.” Santiago rolls his eyes. “You always get a big ole head.”
Santiago’s four-year-old son Isaiah walks up to him, showing him his plate. “Papi, I finished my food. Can I get some ice cream now?” All of his fries were gone, but he’s only taken a small bite of his burger.
“No, mijo. You need to eat at least half of your burger.”
“But I want ice cream,” he pouts.
Santiago crosses his arms, fixing him with a stern look. “If you don’t eat more of your burger, you won’t get any ice cream.”
“Okay.” Isaiah sighs, climbing on the couch and squeezing between Santiago and me as he munches on his burger.
The resemblance between the two of them is uncanny. Big hazel eyes, the same upturned nose, and thick curly hair.
Santiago’s ex, Gabriela, left without a word when Isaiah was only a year old. He hasn’t heard from her since. The fucked-up thing is he later found out Gabriela had been cheating on him a few months after their son was born. I guess she couldn’t handle being a mother.
He was accepted into medical school, but had to give it all up so he could raise his son. Santiago’s father helps out when he can, but he’s busy running his own business.
“I ate more of the burger! See?” Isaiah says, grinning widely.
