A dark skull decorates the top of one hand, flanked by dark red roses. Black leaves peak out from behind the crimson petals to mix with a thick coil of thorn tipped vines that twist and tangle a path across his forearm.
On his other hand is a catholic rosary, the delicate beads wrapping around his wrist before falling over the top of hishand, leaving the cross to rest between his thumb and index finger. The details are meticulous. Even from here, I can see the level of artwork that went into the designs. The shading and highlighting that make each bead look as if they’re a three-dimensional object resting atop his skin.
His neck is covered in ink, too. Colorful playing cards decorate the column of his throat, intermixed with traditional roses. They’re not your standard deck. Each card is decorated with a different yet familiar image. One holds a moon. Another has a bleeding heart.
It takes me a moment to place the game, but when I do, a small smile curls the corners of my mouth. “Loteria,” I whisper, not expecting him to hear me, but he does.
“You play?” He rubs the back of his neck and grins as if we’re just two old friends catching up.
I chew on my bottom lip and shake my head. “Not since I was a kid.” I admit.
“I sucker the guys into a game every now and again. Usually around the holidays, but it’s been a while. Maybe you can join us next time?” He shrugs. “If you want to.”
Right. That sounds like a terrific idea. Not. He did just see my massive meltdown, right? Why is he doing this? Talking to me? We don’t know one another, so he has no reason to initiate a conversation with me right now.
Folding my arms across my chest, I wait for him to stop tiptoeing around whatever it is that he wants, because he wants something. Guys like him always do.
“You okay? This enough space for you?” He indicates the gap between us.
“Y..yeah. I’m good.”
“Good. Good.” He presses his lips together before releasing a huff of breath. He glances around us, like he’s searching for theright words to say. And whatever they are, I need him to get on with it so I can get the hell out of here.
“Did you need something?” It comes out ruder than I intend, but I don’t bother to apologize or take it back. I stopped trying to be polite and make other people comfortable a long time ago.
He sighs. “Look, I know we just met and it’s not my place to pry into your business …” he trails off and shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m fucking this up.”
Julio rubs the back of his neck again. “You remind me of someone,” he admits.
I lift a single brow and wait for him to elaborate.
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
He cracks his knuckles. A nervous gesture if I had to guess. “Both depending on how you look at it. You remind me of my friend, Alejandra.”
Okay. “Do I know her?” I ask, not really interested, but curious to see where he’s going with this.
“Nah. We went to high school together, but she transferred senior year when she moved to Sun Valley.”
“All Souls Academy?” I guess. It’s the high school I graduated from, not that I remember Julio from my time there. He might be a year or two above me. We could have attended the same school and just never crossed paths. Or maybe he’s an out-of-state transfer.
He chuckles. “Definitely not.”
I bristle at his tone, and he immediately backpedals.
“I’m not judging,” he adds. “But I didn’t come from money, and I didn’t have the grades for a scholarship to that kind of school. Allie and I went to Pacific Prep. Richland’s public school. Gabe and Felix, too. We’ve been best friends since grade school.”
“Mmm. Must be nice.”
“It’s good to have people you can lean on. Friends you know will have your back no matter what.”
I swallow hard and look away. Lucky him. I think about Joelle and Kim. How we were once thick as thieves. Until last summer, that is.
“I’m happy you have that. It’s good to have a support system,” I tell him and push up on shaking legs. “But I need to go. It was nice meeting you.”
“Don’t you want to know why you remind me of Allie?”
Not really,I want to say. But I bite my tongue and wait, knowing he’s going to tell me anyway.
