Page 28 of Off Script

“Tristan Maxwell!” the hostess gushed. “Juan told us you were coming.”

“Yep, that’s me.” Tristan threw the young girl a dazzling smile. He wrapped his arm around Jada, squeezing her more tightly than necessary to make his point.

“My girlfriend and I would like your best table, please. The one by the window.”

The hostess rushed to seat them to his exact wishes. Well, more like Doug’s wishes. Doug had insisted their top priority while out on the town was to be seen. So Tristan and Jada would now be dining practically in a fishbowl, with the other diners openly gawking at them. Yet Tristan tried not tofeellike a trapped goldfish as the paps outside pressed their noses to the glass to continue staring and taking photos.

“This isn’t uncomfortable at all,” Jada said, meekly putting her napkin in her lap.

“Yeah, it’s not the best, but you get used to most of it. I mean, it’s not like this is your first time having the spotlight on you when you go out in public.”

“Well, no. But it’s never been quite this much.” Jada lifted a warning finger at Tristan’s emerging smirk. “Don’t you dare say it’s because of you.”

“I guess I don’t need to.” Tristan couldn’t hide his smugness. It was good that Jada saw that being with him would put her in the limelight. Delivering on her expectations would keep her playing along with the charade. And now that his mind had circled back to their relationship fraud . . .

“Juan will stop by soon to introduce himself,” Tristan admitted, eyeing the kitchen’s door in the hopes that Juan hadn’t already been alerted to their arrival. “So we should probably know a bit more about each other than we started dating while working together.”

“Hmmm, if only we could have gone over that in the car,” Jada gritted out through a fake smile that must mean “You’re lucky the paparazzi are watching us, you jerk.”

“You were too on edge and—never mind. Let’s focus on selling this thing, okay? Tell me something about yourself.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Your favorite color or favorite movie. Something about you and Mikayla. Or whether or not you have any more dresses like this in your closet—or something a bit skimpier that you like to wear to bed. You know, any of those things.”

“Color’s red. Movie-wise, it would have to depend on the genre, because how can you choose an all-time, across-the-board favorite. As for the rest, it’s none of your business what I wear to bed or what’s in my closet. What kind of things will Juan expect me to know about you?”

“ThatIam much more open about my wardrobe, and particularly that I go to bed nude.”

Jada spit out the water their waiter had dropped off, hacking in a very unladylike fashion.

“Why in the world would he know that?” Jada asked after getting her coughing fit under control.

“There was a camping incident.” Tristan waved off her astounded curiosity.

“You’re screwing with me, aren’t you?” Jada scrutinized him.

Tristan had a whole monologue prepared about the health benefits of sleeping commando when boisterous, vibrant music filled the restaurant. As he nearly jumped out of his seat, Tristan’s mouth dropped as he watched a mariachi band head toward their table. Juan himself followed the group. Unlike the smartly dressed band, Juan wore a crisp chef’s uniform over his built frame—but hedidhave a violin in his hand, and was playing along with the band. Jeezus! The man may have left acting behind but his flair for the dramatic had not died.

As Jada mouthed “What’s going on?” to Tristan, the mariachi band and Juan launched into singing “Besáme Mucho.” Unable to clue her in without being superrude to the performers, Tristan had no choice but to hope Jada would go along with his grateful smile and nod routine. When the band’s dulcet sounds reached the final notes, everyone in the restaurant applauded vigorously.

Beaming with triumph, Juan bowed. “Welcome to La Rosa Dorada, Jada.”

“Um, thank you. That was amazing. Unexpected but beautiful. I appreciate it.”

Blushing under the new onslaught of attention, Tristan didn’t feel quite as eager to shower his friend with praise. “Really, Juan? A whole mariachi band?” he whispered once the band had dispersed.

“You know our pact.” Juan invited himself to sit down at their table, then addressed Jada with a wink. “I promised Tristan I’d do a whole serenade if he ever found his soul mate.”

“Cállate, cabrón,” Tristan snarled at Juan. He wanted to sound firm, but he hid behind his menu to escape Jada’s baffled look.

How dare Juan bring that promise up when it had been made years ago, back when Tristan’s mom had gotten him hooked on watching reruns of old telenovelas, likeLa fea másbella.Tristan had been obsessed with it, including the scene where the main character gets serenaded by a mariachi band. He kept saying he wished he had his own mariachi band for scenes inGarcia Central,and then Juan had taken that memory ten steps too far (as usual).

“Soul mate?” Jada took another sip from her water, either parched or speechless at Juan’s announcement.

“Well, he openly called you his girlfriend to me and Rafe. Not hanging out, or ‘We’re just talking.’ So, either this is the real deal or he’s pulling my leg.”

“Please excuse Juan’s overdramatic romanticism. Being happily married has made him insufferable.” Tristan deflected, able to lock eyes with Jada now that his face no longer felt like an overheating lava lamp.

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