Page 17 of Sleeping with the Frenemy

“Miss Puerto Rico?” Abuelo Papo’s voice was high with excitement.

“Yes,” Sofi told him. “My abuela Fina was Miss Puerto Rico in the ’60s.” At her side, Sofi’s grandmother preened.

Abuelo Papo tugged on the front of his light blue guayabera and ran a hand over his short hair. “I knew Sofi’s grandmother had to be beautiful, but I didn’t know she’d be famous too,” he told her in Spanish.

Sofi’s abuela tittered and fluttered her lashes, the old flirt. “Oh, that was a long time ago.” She held out a hand for Abuelo to take, but she held it palm down like a queen waiting for a subject to bow over. “I’m just Josefina Santana now.”

Abuelo Papo grabbed her hand and bowed over it like a gentleman of old. “Mucho gusto. Soy Ricardo Vega, pero todos me dicen Papo.”

Josefina tittered again. “I’m not calling a grown man Papo, but it’s nice to meet you.” She turned her body slightly to the side, popped out a hip, elongated her spine, and tilted her chin just so. She was a tiny little thing. Probably only a few inches over five feet, but she stood like she was a Titan. He’d seen Sofi do that same thing many times. Many may overlook the similarities between Afro-Latina Sofi and her white European–looking grandmother but those people hadn’t spent as much time studying Sofi’s face as Leo had. Sofi had the same high cheekbones, pointed chin, and perfectly arched brows as her grandmother. Not to mention the mile-long lashes and ever-present spark in their dark brown eyes.

“I’m Leo,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you, Doña Josefina.” He leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek like he’d been taught to do.

She waved him off. “Digame Fina.”

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he was being tested. “I couldn’t disrespect you by calling you anything other than Doña,” he told her in Spanish.

He must’ve passed because she gave him a bright smile. “At home the young ones would call me Doña Fina.”

“Ya veo porque te dicen ‘Fina’,” Papo murmured before dropping a quick peck on the hand he still held.

Leo let out a choked sound from behind him and Abuelo turned to give Leo a dirty look.

Leo had seen Abuelo Papo charm everyone he came in contact with, but he’d never ever seen him flirt. He’d especially never heard his grandfather call a woman “fine.” He was equal parts scandalized and amused.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Sofi said. “His pickup lines are as cheesy as yours.”

Both Leo and Abuelo Papo shot her matching looks of offense.

“The hell they are,” Leo said at the same time Abuelo Papo denied flirting.

“Just because I give a beautiful woman a compliment it doesn’t mean I’m trying to pick her up.”

Abuela Fina gave Sofi a look. “No seas vulgar.”

“I don’t use pickup lines,” Leo decreed. “I don’t need them.”

Sofi’s abuela Fina examined Leo. “With that face and those eyes? I believe you.”

“Except he inevitably ruins the illusion by opening his mouth,” Sofi said.

“Now, Sofi. We both know that my voice only makes things better.” He was referring to the voice he used when they were in bed—the one that never failed to rev her engine—but their grandparents didn’t know that. It was enough that she knew. And she did, if the scowl she shot him was any indication.

His abuelo obviously thought Leo was talking about his singing voice, because he told Sofi’s abuela, “He got that voice from me, you know. I used to be the best singer in Humboldt Park.”

“No me digas,” she purred. “So you’re both singers?”

“I’m retired,” Abuelo Papo said.

“But that doesn’t stop him from singing all day long despite no one asking,” Leo muttered.

Abuelo shrugged, completely unconcerned. “If you don’t want me to sing when you play songs I know on the guitar, then you need to do it yourself.”

“You play the guitar too?” Sofi’s grandmother asked him.

“A little,” he said.

Her eyes lit. “¿Y eres soltero?”

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