If only I could do more than look. But I won’t—not today, not ever. I won’t dishonor my friendship with her father in that way. Also, I highly doubt she’s stepmother-material.
She flings open the passenger door and climbs into my truck with a snarl. “You rang?”
“You get an A-plus for following instructions.” I throw the truck into reverse. “But an F for attitude.”
“So funny I forgot to laugh.”
“You seem to forget a lot of things, mariposita.”
“Where are we going?”
Instead of answering right away, I let her sweat it out a little. From the corner of my eye, I catch her eyes trailing over the ink decorating my arm. I only got it last year, after a lot of waffling back and forth. The way she’s biting on her lip says she likes what she sees and it strokes my ego, so I give it a little flex just in case.
“I hate surprises, Mateo. The last one involved a suicide note.” Her words are coated in a heartrending mixture of sadness and bitterness, and I instantly feel like an asshole.
I rattle off a string of self-deprecating curses in Spanish. Truly, how could I be so stupid and insensitive? I know I vowed tough love—but that doesn’t mean without kindness.
“I’m sorry, Seraphine. Truly.”
She shrugs, and I worry I’ve fucked it all up before even laying my plan out.
“I figured we could go to Buster’s. Get some wings and talk. Is that okay?” I’m fully prepared for her to say no, which is why I’m surprised when she murmurs her consent.
“I guess.”
“Perfecto.”
Ten minutes later, we’re tucked into a two-seater booth near the bar, menus in hand.
“Hey there, my name’s Kasey and I’ll be—” She pauses abruptly when Seraphine looks up toward her. “Oh, hey.”
“Hey there, home wrecker.”
If it weren’t for their matching smiles, I’d be worried about our meals coming with a side of saliva.
“Is that ever gonna get old? It’s been like two years!”
Seraphine taps her chin, pretending to mull over the other woman’s question. “Mmm… no.”
“Whatever. What can I get y’all to drink?” Kasey jots down our orders and scampers off, leaving me to ask Seraphine what exactly their history is.
“Ha!” She snorts out a laugh. “Well… before Drake and Azalea got their shit together, he took Kasey out. He couldn’t get over Azalea, though. So, like the shit-for-brains man he is, Drake decided to try and use Kasey to make her jealous. It was a whole thing.”
“Uh huh,” is all I can say while keeping a straight face. It’s times like these that really highlight the age gap between us. She’s still elbow-deep in drama, and I’m… not.
“What?” She shrugs one delicate shoulder. “Those two were messy until they made it official.”
Kasey returns with our drinks and takes our food order—wings for me, a burger for Seraphine. Before I can fully weigh the consequences of my words, I turn to Seraphine and blurt, “You’re a little messy right now, too.”
I brace for impact, expecting her to fly off the handle. Instead, I’m met with a single arched brow and soft but lethal words. “Really? You think so?”
Like every man before who’s made a shitty comment without thought, I give her the age-old excuse of, “That came out wrong.”
Which makes me feel like a jackass, especially when she calmly leans back into her seat and says, “I’m sure it did.”
She stares me down as I struggle to find the right words. After a few painfully long seconds tick by, she gets tired of waiting. “Well, go ahead, try again.”
Dios mio, this woman. She wants to play hardball, so we will—even if it hurts. “No, you know what? I did mean it.”
Her brown eyes widen in disbelief.
“Could I have said it nicer? Definitely, but my poor delivery doesn’t change the facts. You’re letting your grief rule you.” She wants to deny it, to tell me I’m wrong. I can see it in her eyes, but I press ahead. “It ends today, mariposita.”
I can tell she’s gearing up to tell me off, but Kasey arrives with our food before she can. Thank God; maybe after she eats, she’ll be more receptive to my plan.
Our heated conversation pauses as we dig into our meals. The fragile silent truce stays in place until the bill is settled and we’re in my truck. But as soon as I shift into gear, all bets are off, and Seraphine’s ready for war.
“Just who are you to tell me how to run my life?”
“Someone needs to. You’re running it into the ground.”
She glares. “Be that as it may, it’s my life. I can do whatever I want with it.”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter.
“What?” she snarls.
“You sound like a child. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.” I turn onto the road her dad’s shop is on and gun it. Seraphine squeals as I slam on the brakes, bringing us to a jarring stop.