Page 32 of Capicú Summer

Our eyes lock for one final time, and just like that, she slips behind the crowd, allowing me to do my part. We all walk across the street, and one by one, I jot each name and amount into a small notebook, the black ink bleeding slightly under the heat. The block hums with energy again—loud, alive, and unstoppable.

Altura’s heartbeat is back…

* coño que tu hace? - Fuck, what are you doing?

CHAPTER 14

Adriana

“Dile Al Amor,” by Aventura drifts through the streets, the kind of song that makes the night feel like it’s alive. Tonight marks the first tournament of the summer, and our block has transformed into one large get together. Music spilling from every speaker, bass thumping through the pavement like a pulse. I take it all in, inhaling the night. The court is alive in a way I haven’t been. It’s packed with folding tables, floodlights, coolers packed with ice, and speakers stacked on milk crates.

The smell of fritura and smoke moves between the crowd, mixing with laughter and the sharp click of dominoes. I step forward onto the basketball court, the neutral ground for those who run the streets. The only place where rivalries pause long enough for a game, where it’s nothing but vibes.

The wavy hem of my cotton dress brushes against my skin, soft but clingy in the humidity. After almost spending an hour trying to tame my curls, I opted to pull it back into a long braid that stops right above my ass. I can’t help but shiver from all the energy buzzing inside me—ready to explode. People dance around me, couples pressed together as they feed off rhythm. My feet begin to move, my waist following the beat of the song. I close my eyes, and let the music take me.

When I open them, he’s there.

Yael.

Not missing the beat as he cuts in. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs.

I wasn’t planning on it, so I don’t.

We land on the same step, our bodies already in sync. My hips match his beat. The song shifts, the rhythm tightening, demanding closeness. Yael’s hand finds the small of my back, firm but careful, guiding me into the step. His other hand catches mine, only for him to wrap it around the nape of his neck.

We move together—side to side, back, tap—our hips tracing the beat. My heart settles into a steady rhythm, lips lifting into a carefree smile. His palm presses lightly, steering me through the turn. My braid swings, and his masculine scent hits me like a wave. Taking me under and drowning me in him. He smells like cologne and Hennessy, warm and inviting. Every moment pulls us closer until there’s barely any space between us. The music slows, and he leans in, his breath grazing my ear.

“I’m glad to see that you didn’t forget how to dance,” he says over the music.

“Why would I forget something I love doing?” I reply with a smile, licking my lips to provide moisture, when he spins me again, then catches me. His hand sliding back in place, like it never left. The final chords of the song stretch out. We stop moving, but neither of us steps away. Yael’s eyes drop to my mouth, and mine do the same. The memory of the other night slams into me, making me tingle in places I shouldn’t be. The air between us hums—charged, so fragile and inevitable.

“YAEL!” Someone shouts his name from the table, breaking the spell. I blink and pull away. He exhales, a quiet laugh escaping him.

“Guess it’s my turn.”

I nod, pretending my pulse isn’t still racing. Just as he turns to leave, Ruben waves me over. “Y tú también⁠*. Come.”

Fuck me.

I can barely breathe, let alone think. I couldn’t play under these conditions, I’m too wound up… too high off him. And still, my feet move forward, the players already trading places. The dominoes gleam under the floodlights, each tile waiting to decide someone’s fate. Yael takes his seat, confidence radiating off him. I sit across, pulse still tangled.

“Ready?” he asks, smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Always.”

One of the players begins to shuffle, the loud clicking and clacking fills the space. People around us pour jungle juice, amongst other things, into white styrofoam cups. I like my darker drinks, the ones that burn on their way down, and opt for my usual. Which is Henny and Coke.

Once we all have our seven pieces, we begin. The first tile hits the table, a sharp bang. A blank-two sets the pace. People dance, eat, and shout over the music. Every slam of a domino feels like a heartbeat.

Yael plays fast, his focus given the situation is unshakable. We all take the game seriously, but he’s on another level—calm, calculating, and fucking relentless. Like we say in DR, gran pela que ta dando⁠*. I try to match him, but my hand is trash, and every time I reach into the boneyard, I know I’m losing ground. His brown eyes flick up at me, his grin widens as he slams down his last tile.

“Capicú,” he says, voice low but triumphant.

Cheers and high pitch whistling erupt around us, alongside the sound of the metal chairs scraping against the pavement. Someone passes shots down the line, it’s tradition. I grab my cup, taking it back in one go. The burn of the Hennessy hits my throat before I can think.

From the corner of my eye, I see Yael lean back, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching me with that same maddening calm.

“You owe me,” he grumbles low enough for only me to hear. I roll my eyes, feeling the alcohol flood my system. Or maybe it’s his proximity that makes me weak in the knees and warm in my center. Before I can reply, he begins to collect his earnings. Wasting no time, and within minutes, there’s a wad of cash in his hand.