Page 59 of The Problem with Dating

“That would cancel it out. You’re not supposed to share your wishes with others.”

I leaned in toward her and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’m hardly a person.”

She leaned in closer toward me. “You seem very person-like to me.”

“That’s just the effects of sangria. Really, I’m a monster.”

Yara bit her bottom lip, and all I wanted to do was nuzzle it, too. I needed to stop staring at her mouth. The more I stared, the more my thoughts became clouded. What was she doing to me?

“If I tell you my wish,” she softly spoke, narrowing her eyes as she locked them with mine, “you have to promise not to tell another soul.”

"That's easy enough. I don’t talk to people."

"You talk to Tatiana."

“That doesn’t count. Tatiana is like…”

“A fairy godmother.” Yara giggled. “She’s weird and perfect and always right.”

As far as I knew, I couldn’t disagree with that fact.

Yara took another sip, humming to herself.

For a moment, I sat there and took her in. She was heartbroken and drunk and beautiful and drunk and sad and drunk and perfectly imperfect. I hated that bad things could happen to good people because they didn’t seem to deserve it at all. And Yara Kingsley was a good person. She was the kind of person who made me almost consider being good, too.

“I don’t have one for you,” she randomly said.

“What do you mean?”

“A nickname. You call me Goldie, and I call you Alex.” She tilted her head to the side to look at me. “You need a nickname.”

“To be fair, Alex is my nickname.”

“Short for Alexander?”

I shook my head. “Alejandro. I was named after my great-grandfather.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“Goldie?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you crying?”

She laughed as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t know. I just really like that name. Can I un-nickname you and call you Alejandro?”

I laughed. “You’re drunk. You probably won’t even remember this tomorrow.”

“I swear I will if you say I can call you it. Does anyone call you that?”

I shook my head. “My great-aunt Teresa was the only one who called me it.”

“Oh.” She paused and sat up more. “So it was her thing. I don’t want to take her thing.”

I smiled. “You can take that thing. But only you can call me it. No one else.”

“Is it because you think I’m nice?” she said, pursing her lips together, hopeful.

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