Page 19 of Capicú Summer

Adri finally looks up at her, with a smile sweet enough to rot teeth, and I know that she’s about to end it all.

“I thought we were playing dominoes,” she says lightly. “The only thing I want is a capicú. What does a man gotta do with anything?”

Estrella takes a step forward, already removing her hoops and flaring her nose. Ruben steps in, intercepting the two women before anything pops off. “Estrella, mujer⁠*, what are you doing?”

Her face twists, along with something inside my chest. I know that look—rejection, rage, and the ache of being left behind. I’ve worn it too. I understand the feeling all too well. That same feeling has me cowering, sinking into my chair, and focusing on my hand. Someone lowers the music, and the entire block is focused on the show happening right now, while years of resentment and jealousy crackle in the air like static.

Estrella’s face goes red, then purple. “Yael,” she snaps, voice shaking with anger. “Say something. Stop fucking with me.”

I place my tile down with a slow, deliberate clack.

“I’m trying to play,” I say, my eyes locked on Adri.“ You’re the one starting shit, you’ve got no business starting.”

The heat of Estrella’s glare burns the side of my face. From the corner of my eye, I can see her jaw clench tight, her brown orbs shimmering with tears and for a second I think she might cry. But she doesn’t. Instead, she scoffs, squaring off her shoulders with a slight tilt of her chin before turning on her heel and storming down the street. I know this isn’t the last of this drama, but instead is the beginning of the end.

The music resumes, and the tension quickly fades along with the bachata beat coming from the speaker. The normal conversations continue, like the altercation never happened, and in that moment, I couldn’t be more thankful. Right now, it feels like it did back then, like tragedy never happened and Adri never left. The sound of a tile hitting the table has me looking towards the direction of the sound as Adri places the double three face up on the table. Our gazes clash across the table, and she smiles.

“Your turn, Cruz.”

Ruben groans, running a white rag across his sweaty face. It’s hot as fuck tonight, and being right in front of my personal wet dream has my body tingling with need. “Coño⁠*, how do you always end up with doubles?”

Adri shrugs, curls bouncing as she leans back. “It’s tradition. I like even numbers,” she teases with a grin.

I shouldn’t say this, but between you and me, that’s luck. We don’t actually choose the number we get—we only play the tiles we’re dealt. She just got lucky.

Manny leans in, squinting at his tiles. “Tradition is me winning, morena.”

Alex slaps him on the side of his head. “Oye, dique⁠* tradition. You're always talking shit and getting smoked.”

I glance down at my own hand, contemplating my next move. I have a mixture of low numbers and one lonely double. Not ideal. I play the two-three, sliding it into place with a flick. “Let’s see what you got, Manny.”

He grins, showing me his gold tooth, as he places the three-five. “I got heat, Chulo.”

Adri quirks a brow, mischief dancing in those beautiful eyes. “You got gas, Manny, that’s different.”

The table erupts in laughter, not Manny though, he just pouts while Alex continues to talk his shit and mock him. “Diablo Manny, in other words you're full of shit and hot air.”

Manny throws his hands up. “Ya’ll laugh now. Watch me close this game.”

That won’t be happening. Not tonight. I got a bet to win. The board begins to fill, five branching left and three stacking right. Adri plays a five-two, then leans back, sipping from a sweating bottle of country club. Frambuesa⁠*. Her favorite.

Her eyes flick to me, then away.

I play the two-four, listening to Alex complain about the game.

“You trying to block me, bro?” he asks, already realizing he’s losing this hand. It shouldn't be new to him—he sucks. I honestly don’t even understand how. He’s been playing longer than I have and still can’t read the table. I tilt my head to the side and lick my lips.

With my eyes still glued on her, I respond to his question. “I’m just trying to win.”

It’s her turn to play. Carefully, she studies her hand like she's solving a puzzle, her manicured fingers tapping against the edge of a tile before she picks the middle one. Adri places the four-six on the table with a soft clack. “Play harder.”

“Careful, Morena,” I murmur, voice low enough for us at the table. “You tell me to play harder, I might start thinking you mean it in every way.” I glance up at her, noticing the poker face she puts on, trying hard to not give into my game.

“Then stop thinking and just play,” she quips.

“Oye, oye…” ⁠*Ruben whistles before shaking his head. “Step it up, my boy,” he says directly at me before slamming down the six-one. I lean forward, scanning the game. I might actually lose this round if I don’t step it up.

Manny slaps down another tile, and I look over and see the one-five. “Ya’ll better keep up. I’m about to close this out.”