“Fuck. Sorry. That was meant for her.” Penelope’s face is bright red, and Karlya’s laughing so hard she might cry.
“Our place it is.” Ares nods. “It’s okay to go there, you know. It is the best food in the city.”
I nod. “I know. I just didn’t want to make it weird.”
Ares smiles. “You agreed to date him.” He jerks his head to Tate. “Things are already weird.”
The result of his jibe is Penelope bursting into such tinkling, melodic laughter that I never want it to stop. I contemplate asking one of my teammates to punch me in the face to see if that’ll work to make her laugh again.
“Today?” Ares glances at his phone. “Eloise says today, sí?”
I’m all for it happening today. Sooner the better so my girl doesn’t realize what she’s agreed to, freaks out, and backs out.
“Today’s good for me.” I keep my voice level, but inside I’m dancing in my underwear and fist pumping like whoa.
Penelope nods. “That works.” She turns to me, purses her lips, her nostrils flaring like I’m about to lose my favorite nut. “I don’t share my patatas bravas.” She points a finger at me. “If you want some, order your own.”
Ares nods, his face stern like there is no other acceptable way to bravas. It’s the most random Mexican restaurant, owned by a Dominican family, and serves Spanish food. But it works. Their blend of Latin flavors and their creativity in the kitchen is unparalleled in the area. There’s a reason it’s everyone’s favorite place to eat.
I nod, solemnly. “Scouts honor. I’ll get my own potatoes. Pick you up at six?”
“I can make it by myself you know.” Those eye rolls of hers should come with a warning label.
“It’s not like I have to go far to pick you up.”
She nods like I have a point. “Fine,I’llpickyouup at six. And if you so much as look sideways at my potatoes, I will stab your hand with my fork.”
Ares chuckles. “I like you.” He points his finger at her.
She beams at him. “I like you too, but alas we’re both taken. Tis not to be.” She covers her heart with her hand, and he laughs.
“You’re trouble, aren’t you?”
She nods gravely. “With a capital T.”
I insert myself into their conversation, not liking that he has all her attention. “Can confirm.”
Without looking at me, she slides a cup across the table in my direction. The mug ofDrunk on Jealousy. Touché, Aphrodite, touché.
At five minutes to six there’s a sharp knock on my dorm room door, and every muscle in my body takes a collective sigh of relief.
If nothing else, she’s not standing me up. I admit, I’d been just a little anxious that she’d leave it until six and then tell me to go chew a cactus or something.
I suppose it’s still possible.
When I open the door, she takes my breath away. She’s wearing jeans, and a well-loved Flint Flames t-shirt. I can’t help laughing.
With a shake of my head, I click my tongue. “Only you would think to wear an enemy’s shirt to dinner at the de la Peña’s restaurant. Don’t come crying to me if Ares hits you with his blocker at dinner. Or steals your potatoes.” I shrug, and her cheek twitches like she’s fighting a laugh.
“Too much? Should I change?” Her blue eyes hold mine captive.
The temptation to tell her to get that dish rag off her beautiful body is so fucking strong, but somehow I bite it down and spare myself from getting a black eye. “No, Pitstop. You look perfect.”
She’s got eye liner, some pink on her cheeks, and a sweep of something shiny on her lips which serves only to keep my attention drifting back to her loathing pout. There’s also some stubborn glitter lingering in her hairline and on her chin. We’re both sparkling pretty hard.
When I pull the door closed behind me, I offer her my hand. If I’m going to get a date with the woman I want to get more dates with, I’m going to make her play the game.
She stares at the outstretched hand like it might have the Ebola virus smeared on my palm. “Really?”
