Page 13 of Fire
Thank God for the interruption. I would have had to look up at Luca as he shoved me away from him with a look of hatred—or worse, pity—on his face.
Don’t think about it. Hopefully, by the time Grave and Dream leave, I can find a way to apologize to him. Familiar shame rises in me. More likely, I’ll slink off to hide in my bedroom, and tomorrow, I’ll pretend it never happened.
“Good, you’re back,” Dream says, looking up at his boyfriend as he and Luca come through the door. “We’re staying for dinner. It can be a double date.”
Luca’s face freezes into a mask.Oh God. Kill me now.
“Dream,” Grave growls in a light warning.
“Hah. Just kidding,” Dream says with a wink. “But—” He pulls out a bottle of tequila, what looks like red-colored salt, and a cup of limes from a bag he’d hidden under the table. “I also brought dessert, so who knows what might happen between you two after a couple of body shots.”
Desperately needing to change the subject, I pick up the bottle of red salt and read the label out loud. “Tajín,” I pronounce the word with a hard J, rhyming with gin and tonic.
“It’s Tajín,” Dream says, with a soft H sound—Tuh-heen. You haven’t had it with tequila before?”
“I’ve never had tequila before.”
“I’m sorry. I should have asked you before if you drank. I know better.”
“I don’tnotdrink,” I tell him truthfully.
I had just started to come out of my shyness during my freshman year of college. I drank a few beers and smoked a few joints at the few parties I‘d gone to, but I hadn’t experimented any further. Then, the fire happened, and my father exiled me to Chicago. The rumors about me being an arsonist had followed me here and didn’t exactly encourage many party invites. Aftera while, I’d become used to being a recluse with no social life other than hookups.
This might be my chance to make up for a lost experience. “I want to try it,” I declare.
“You sure about that?” Luca says.
My irritation at his bossiness helps me temporarily overcome my embarrassment about earlier, and I’m finally able to look him in the eyes. “Are you protecting me from hangovers now?”
“Nope,” he says. He puts his hand out and points to the bottle. “Dig your own grave.”
Tension arcs between us, and I swear I can feel the energy around us sparking.
“Not till after dinner,” Dream says, looking between us. “I can’t handle all this sexual tension with an empty stomach. Let’s eat.”
Even with the tension between Luca and me, dinner is nice—more than nice. The last time I sat around a dinner table was with my family. Since then, I’d only had Delilah for company while I ate on the couch as she begged for table scraps. Dream’s stories of his life as a waiter and graphic novel artist kept me laughing and from focusing only on Luca.
“Time for dessert,” Dream declares, pouring four shot glasses full of tequila and passing them out to each of us. He turns to me. “Okay, rookie. Follow my lead.”
I nod and watch him carefully.
“Lick your hand.” I follow his instructions, and then he sprinkles a liberal amount of Tajín where I’d licked. The others do the same. “Now lick the Tajín off your hand and take the shot.”
I do as Dream says and enjoy the spiciness of the Tajín before the tequila goes down like a fire in my throat, bringing tears to my eyes
“Now suck the lime,” Dream orders, and somehow the citrus smooths the burn.
I look up at the table. “Good,” I manage to cough out in a voice that sounds like I have a four-packs-a-day habit.
Dream and Grave laugh, but Luca just stares at me.
“What?” I demand defensively.
“You missed some of the Tajín,” he says, his voice deep and rough.
I flick out my tongue to search for the Tajín. As I lick it from my upper lip, Luca tracks the movement. His brown eyes darken in a way that reminds me of earlier when he stopped me from going to the mailbox.
Stop it. You’re imagining things again.
