“Do you have plans to meet up with anyone else?” Julian asks, tone casual. It’s like he’s flipped a switch. Am I so easy to compartmentalize in his head? Why does the thought make my chest burn?
“I have dinner plans with two other matches, one on a Friday night two weeks from now, and another that Saturday.”
“Two days in a row.” He whistles low. “Look at you go, player.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Shut up.”
He opens his mouth, but he’s interrupted by the muffled sound of clanking metal and jingling keys from outside.Oh shit. Andrew.The doorknob twists, but jams before it can open fully. A loudclunkand my brother’s curse fills the tense silence between us.Saved by the dead bolt.
Three loud, pounding knocks, and then my brother’s voice from the other side of the door. “Julian! It’s the middle of the goddamn day. Why are you locking the dead bolt?”
I’m frozen, staring between the door and Julian. I know exactly why he locked the dead bolt. Because he knows I don’t want my brother to know he’s helping me. He may not know why, but he hasn’t pried. I didn’t expect him to be as thoughtful as to put in preventative measures against my brother. My heart warms even as I make the split-second decision to run.
Julian whisper-yells after me as I dash through the hallway, butnothing he says registers as I shove myself through the first door I encounter.
It’s only once my heart rate calms that I realize what he was saying.Patio.I could’ve escaped through the patio door without my brother seeing.Fuck.Who knows how long I’ll be stuck here now. I pin my ear to the door, waiting for the telltale signs of my brother’s footsteps and the creak of the door across the hall to alert me that he’s reached his room. Instead, what I hear is Julian’s loud question, “You hungry?”
“Starving.” My brother’s reply comes at a normal volume. “But hold on, we can talk about dinner after I hop in the shower. It’s been a rough day.”
I breathe a sigh of relief until Julian stops him. “I got the pumpkin brioche, your favorite. You sure you don’t want a slice first?”
What the hell is he doing? I can’t be stuck in Julian’s room all night. But once I get a good look at my surroundings, I realize what he’s doing. The guitar in the corner is as familiar to me as my childhood. I must’ve spent every night for a year banging on my bedroom wall for Andrew to stop wailing on that thing. I’m not in Julian’s bedroom. I’m inAndrew’s.
Double shit.
There’s one escape route: the window. If I hadn’t decided to bolt at the last second, my friendship with Julian might be easier to explain away, even though my brother was five minutes away from walking in on us making out. But if I walk out now, Andrew will know I hid and become suspicious. He might even think his best friend and I are hooking up behind his back. He doesn’t even know we’ve met before, let alone failed at dating each othertwice.
I pull out my phone from my back pocket and text Julian.
I’m going out the window. Make sure to close it back before my brother sees.
His reply comes seconds later.
Will do.
I hid your purse in my room. I’ll bring it up later.
Good lord, how did I forget about my purse? At least Julian has my back in this harebrained scheme, no questions asked. I don’t think he’s eager to answer my brother’s questions either.
I breathe a sigh of relief to myself that Andrew lucked out with a first-floor apartment and that the windows in this complex are huge, so I don’t have to worry about squeezing myself through the opening. I pull up the glass, duck beneath it, and climb out onto the porch with little exertion.
That was a close one.
23
Julian
The Maldonados have gone all out for Andrew’s birthday. The kitchen has been taken over by trays of barbecued meats, refried beans, Spanish rice, and drinks of all kinds (but mostly alcoholic). Hell, Mrs. Maldonado’s three-in-one Crock-Pot takes up the entire back counter. The apartment smells heavenly and has made my stomach grumble all day as I helped put up decorations with Elena and Diego.
“Think it’s too late to ask your parents to adopt me?”
Elena laughs. “You’re Andrew’s best friend, which automatically makes you one of us.”
The smell of warm tortillas whips my head around. “No way your mom is making those from scratch.” It’s clear I’m wrong, though, as both of us watch from the living room while Mrs. Maldonado flattens out a small portion of the dough with one hand while flipping a tortilla on the comal with the other.
“Is it clear Andrew’s the favorite yet?” There isn’t a hint of derision in Elena’s tone, even though something nags at the back of my mind. The Maldonados have been here for over an hour setting up the apartment for Andrew’s surprise party with onenotable exception. Every few minutes, I catch myself staring at the front door, waiting for Leti to walk through it.
“I’ve only ever had store-bought tortillas atmybirthday parties,” Elena continues. “Times like these, Leti’s feud makes perfect sense.”
