Page 34 of Face Off With Fate

I wasn’t thinking about his rule when I’d turned down the best option over heart eyes.

And I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do about it.

TEN

GRACIELLA

BASEBALL BUTTS MIGHT BE FUN TO WRITE ABOUT…

“This is a disaster,” I groaned from where I was sprawled out on Itzel’s aged tile floors. The faint scent of Pine Sol was a small comfort during my breakdown. “Like, full-blown, career-ending disaster.”

And I’d done it to my damned self.

Itzel didn’t even look, stepping right over me to get to the blender. The galley kitchen was so narrow that there was barely enough room for me to lie behind her. It hadn’t felt this cramped when we were kids waiting for her mom to hand us tacos de frijoles.

“I thought you already had that, what with the breaking and entering.”

I glared at the side of her head. Her long dark brunette hair fell in loose ringlets, stuck somewhere between a wave and curl. It brushed the middle of her back as she reached for something in the worn cream cabinets.

“Itze, you’re the first person I come to for help to solve this problem, and instead you’re bringing up shit from the past. Rude.”

I’d driven right over to Itzel’s after the disaster of an interview.

“Right.” She glanced over her shoulder, small smile on her lips as she leaned over me, grabbing a cutting board. “Let me get this straight. You didn’t pick her because she didn’t walk a fake dog?”

“That is a perfectly acceptable reason.” I threw an arm across my face.

Being dramatic helped me feel better. If I was going to suffer, I was going to make a production out of it.

Peppers cracked and popped, the bright red tomatoes hissing on the comal over the open flame of the stove beside her. The spicy scent coating the back of my throat, threatening to make me cough. But damn, did I miss the scent of jalapeños and serranos in the air.

“There was no other reason you didn’t pick her?” She turned a few chiles over, revealing the charred skins. “Like maybe you didn’t want her to be his girlfriend?”

“Fake.”

Her hum had me peeking out from under my hiding spot.

I pushed up onto my elbows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. All I did was go hmm.”

I narrowed my gaze. “No, there was a tone to it. A judgmental tone.”

“Chella,” she said softly, leaning a hip against the counter. “There was no tone to my hum. You’re avoiding answering the question. Do you or do you not want her to fake date Mr. Monroe?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Ew. Don’t call him that. Makes him sound…old.”

Her lips twitched, but I barely caught it before she turned, lifting the lid off a well-loved pot. Steam curled in the air, the scent of frijoles mingling with the aroma of roasting ingredients.

“Okay, then, did you not want her with Josh?”

I stood, moving toward the stove to study her face. Itzel might be quiet, but those facial expressions were loud.

“She looked at him like she wanted to jump his bones. I don’t—” I paused, licking my lips, unsure if I was ready to admit the other reasons I hadn’t gone with her. “I don’t have time to start over,” I said instead, pinching my bridge. “Where am I going to find a nice, quiet woman who doesn’t like attention and who I can trust?”

“Don’t know, Chella. Wish I could help you.” Itzel settled the glass blender cup on its base. The thing was her mom’s prized possession, said it was the key to her salsa. “But I only talk to you and Ari. It’s too bad she’s already in love. This would be easier if you knew the woman.”

My head snapped to her.