“What are you doing?” I push against his chest to no avail.
His fingers tense, applying the smallest amount of pressure against my pulse point as he leans in and whispers in my ear, “Just because I’m selective about who I date doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to fuck.”
“Am I supposed to take your word for it?”
His fingers squeeze harder, cutting off my airflow for a second. “Would you rather I demonstrate?”
“Are you suggesting I have sex with you?”
“Absolutely not. Sex with you would be…”
Every inch of my body tingles at the snapshot of him hovering above me, his heated gaze burning into me right as his mouth comes closer to mine— I shake my head, and he frowns. “No need to look so horrified by the idea.”
“Nauseated is more like it.”
His thumb traces over my racing pulse point. “Mentirosa.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
He glares at my lips with every ounce of hate he can muster. “I still remember the time when you begged me to kiss you.”
Julian and I say a lot of messed-up things to each other, but bringing up that topic feels like the lowest of lows, and frankly, he should know better.
I rip myself free from his hold. “I also begged Oliver to do the same, so don’t let it get to your head. And honestly, he was much better at it anyway.”
My words hit their mark, obliterating whatever was brewing between us.
Mentirosa: Liar.
Should I have taken the high road and been the bigger person? Maybe.
Do I regret my choice to do the complete opposite? Absolutely not.
Julian knew what he was doing when he used our kiss as a weapon. Maybe next time he will think twice before bringing up the one weakness I have.
Him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Julian
After Thursday’s run-in with Dahlia at Last Call, I knew Sunday would be unpleasant. When I tried to get out of dinner plans, my mother wouldn’t accept my excuse, claiming Rosa needed help fixing something in the kitchen.
Dahlia declares war the moment I step over the Mu?oz threshold. Instead of acting like a mature thirty-year-old man and deescalating the situation, I match her snide remarks with my own throughout the afternoon and into family dinner.
Our families watch our exchanges like a tennis championship, their heads swiveling back and forth with every calculated barb.
At some point, our parents take over the conversation, only for my mom to turn toward me with that look in her eyes. “I was talking to Annabelle’s mom the other day.”
My body tenses, drawing Dahlia’s eyes to my hiked shoulders.
Fuck.
“Ma,” I warn. We had a deal about her matchmaking, and if she breaks it, then all bets are off for helping Dahlia with the house.
Is that such a bad thing?
On second thought, I hope my mom breaks her word. That way, I have the perfect excuse to pull out of the remodeling plan and leave Dahlia to fend for herself.
Would serve her right after today’s hostility.
Don’t be petty, Julian. You’re the one who brought up the kiss.
At first, I felt validated in my decision to antagonize her, especially once she made her comment about kissing Oliver strictly to get under my skin. But the longer I consider Dahlia’s reaction, the more guilty I feel about our conversation at Last Call and how I have acted today.
Because a hurt Dahlia is a mean Dahlia, and I was too pissed off to see her reaction for what it was.
A way to shield her vulnerability.
She is obviously struggling with overwhelming sadness, and I’m not helping matters by treating her the way I have.
It’s not too late to apologize for what you said.
My mom waves me off. “I know. I know. Never mind.”
“Who’s Annabelle?” Dahlia can’t hide that special glint in her eyes.
“She is someone newer to town whose family moved here from Chicago. Julian dated her a couple of months ago, although their relationship ended rather abruptly.”
“You don’t say,” Dahlia dryly replies.
“Annabelle Meyers?” Lily frowns. “I had no idea you dated her.” The expression of distaste on her face probably matches mine.
I pull at my collar. “She wasn’t worth mentioning.”
“Julian!” my mom calls out.
“How long did they date?” Dahlia asks with the softest, fakest voice.
My mom clasps her hand against her chest. “Not long, although that didn’t stop my son from breaking her heart.”
“Surprised she found him worthy of it to begin with.” Dahlia smirks.
She didn’t. I bite down on my tongue in an admirable display of self-restraint.
“Don’t start, mija,” Rosa warns her daughter.
“Sorry, Mami.”
My mom shakes her head. “It’s okay. I should have warned her mother before they started dating.”
“Warned her about what?” Dahlia perks up.
“Julian leaves a trail of sad women behind him.”
“No, I don’t.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself, but I stupidly continue. “And I didn’t break Annabelle’s heart.” She would need to possess one to begin with, and our exchange proved otherwise.
“How would you know?” Lily asks.
“Because we only went on three dates.” All of which ended with me politely escorting her to the door each night and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
There was no buzz. No chemistry. No special spark that had my blood rushing and my head spinning.
It was hard to find her attractive in the first place with how she mistreated those around her, including servers and those she deemed below her status.
Despite Annabelle’s shortcomings, I know the problem lies within myself rather than with the women I’m set up with. They expect a charismatic billionaire who will wine and dine them around the world, but I’m not that guy. I prefer listening rather than speaking, quiet actions instead of elaborate displays of affection, and working hard to share my money with others rather than finding a way to spend it all on myself.
And while some were willing to accept that about me at first, all of them had the same reaction when I told them I wasn’t interested in having kids—at least not in the way they wanted.
My mom frowns. “Her mother said Annabelle felt something special between you two.”
“Better wife her up before she comes to her senses,” Dahlia adds.
I glare at her. “She wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Obviously not if she thought you two were special.”
Remember that apology you practiced? Forget it.
“Dahlia!” Rosa chides.
She winces. “What?”
Her mom shoots her a look. “You know what.”
“Perdón.” She sinks deeper into the dining chair.
Perdón: Sorry.
I fight back a smile.
Dahlia scratches the tip of her nose with her middle finger.
“That’s it.” Rosa throws her napkin on the table and points a finger at her daughter. “You’re in charge of dishes.”
“But I got my nails done yesterday.” She holds up her hands, showing off her intricate nail art.
“Wear my rubber gloves, then.”