Page 13 of Mistaken Prejudice

Pooh pressed his button nose against my leg, so I reached to scratch his brown coat. He wagged his docked tail that his old asshole owners had cut to make him look intimidating—I wished I could cut their dicks off—and lay down on the floor with his paws in the air, asking for more. With my attention on the dog, I admitted, “But it still sucks.”

“Love always does. But that makes it much better when the right person comes along.”

“You and your philosophical bullshit again?” Diesel grumbled as he stepped out of the house, a cigarette already in his mouth. “Fuck me. I’m tired. Are we going or what?” He bumped me with his leg, and I shoved him away.

“That shit will kill you,” Chief casually mentioned in between sips.

“Oh shit, you even sound the same,” Diesel grunted and then reached for the mug I was holding in my hand.

“By all means, help yourself.”

He took a deep gulp and then spat it right out. His brows curved in disgust. “Repugnante.” Disgusting. “How can you even drink this shit?! Who puts milk in their coffee?”

“Just make your own next time.” I snapped the mug back. “Sukin syn,” I mumbled as I pressed it against my lips.

“How did you call my mother?!” Diesel slapped the back of my head, making me choke on my very delicious coffee, and walked back into the house. Beside me, Chief chuckled, and I gave him an annoyed look.

I heard the fridge door open and close. A moment later, Diesel popped his head out again.

“How about Arepas for dinner?” he asked with his cigarette between his lips.

“Sure, kid. I’ll ask Levi to buy the ingredients. And don’t smoke in the house.”

Diesel hummed as a reply and disappeared back inside.

“Keep an eye on him, Chica,” Chief said and winked at me as I got up from my chair.

Chica. The one who labeled me with this cute little name was none other than Diesel, and thanks to the bastard, it stuck.

“Will do. See you later.” I waved him off with two fingers and walked back inside the house. I grabbed my phone, keys, and wallet. Outside, Diesel was already waiting by the truck. I climbed in the driver’s side with one thought on my mind. Working on a Saturday is a crime.

Chapter 6

Miles

“Did you remember to put on sunscreen?” Papa asked in French as he pulled out his sunglasses from his tennis bag and put them on, all while fanning himself with his hand to cool down. “God, do I miss France weather. Miles, darling, did you put on sunscreen?”

“Yes, Papa,” I answered back in French. Despite living here for the past twenty years, Papa was more comfortable speaking his native tongue. I didn’t mind because speaking French was as natural to me as speaking English.

“Good, good. Remember what I told you. Nothing is as important as taking care of your skin while it’s young. You’ll thank me later, Bunny.” He pushed the glass door that led into the air-conditioned restaurant and sighed in relief at the feeling of the cool air hitting us. After a two-and-a-half-hour tennis match under the California sun, a cool beverage and an air conditioner were a necessity.

We picked a table by a window overlooking the beach and sat down.

“What do you think, Bunny? Should we order the lobster?” He took off his sunglasses and put them on the table as he checked out the menu. “On second thought, how about the Billfish? I prefer to keep it light. We still have the whole day ahead of us.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want. I’m not that hungry anyway.” I put down the menu and gave him a soft smile. I had no appetite for the last few days. I wanted to blame it on everything that happened with Andrei, but I knew how pathetic that sounded. I don’t want to eat ’cause a guy I knew for one day ghosted me. After canceling our lunch, I sent Andrei a couple, or a lot, more texts. All blatantly ignored. Feeling already like a stalker, I was too embarrassed to go and search for him at school. Besides, what was the point of that? Not replying to me made the message loud and clear.

“Oh no, are you sick?” Papa leaned over the table and pressed his palm to my forehead. I felt like I was five again.

“Why is it that your first assumption is always about me being sick?”

“Oh my! You are burning!” he gasped.

“Of course I’m burning. We just played tennis for two hours in eighty degrees.” I tried unsuccessfully to move away.

Papa reached for his bag and pulled out his phone, all while mumbling something about how I didn’t stay hydrated enough.

“Let me call your father. I’ll see what he says about that.”